#polar masterlist

[thecutestgrotto]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do cute white bears eating blueberries?

Hi anon! Due image size it’s really hard to get them to eat blueberries without losing details but I did some that contain blueberries to make up for it Xx 💗

Polar Bears

[fawniswriting]

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

Taglist: @steph88x @athenabarnes @sugarmummystuff6 @wintercrows @jay-jaystevebuckyloki @spideysimpossiblegirl @vainillacookie @mazzaroni-cheese @killerwendigo @s-r-reads @nydubs @rafeskai @unpeellievable @thisismyacc11 @rimunagenius @buckygirls @buckyslove1917 @defn0tonyourleft @buhangini @infinitymitten @lemonhead456 @thescooponsof @buckytheloveofmylife95 @mizukiqr @littlegreenjellybean @p3nis-parker @shortlikerdj @onlyheluvsme @theschoolbasketcase @jjulesii @jvanilly @seaskysunrise @minminswag04 @dameronspector @buckybarnesfic @nameless-ken @marie-sworld @silverwolfeyes @idkitsem @waiting-so-long @redtabularasa @buckyinluv @ghostytoasty17 @moreadsfic @chlovocaine @mcira @personal-fanfic-storage @spookyreads @eternalsams @the-sunflower-room

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ mirror, mirror ~ k. bakugou

sum: mirror mirror on the wall, maybe you can show us how we fuck? in which you find yourself in front of a mirror getting a brief look at how your husband fucks you.

pairing: timeskip husband! katsuki bakugou x wife! reader

content: 18+ mdni. p in v, slight teasing, dirty talk, marking, multiple/implied multiple orgasms, mirror sex, creampie, reader gets called princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content, aftercare. slight anime/manga spoilers for new fans/not caught up on anime/manga.

a/n: on a roll with another post - this time an old work that was part of kinktober. padded out to feel better. feels like this is one of the better things i've wrote to date. hope you all enjoy! as always, likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 2.2k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

To everyone out there in the world, you and your husband looked like the perfect couple, despite being polar opposites in appearance; you gelled together perfectly. Everyone comments on how perfectly you complement each other.

Anyone who was anyone wanted to be like you and your pro-hero husband, even if he had a temper to rival some of the villains he fought. A temper you'd never be on the receiving end of. The perfect married couple living in a cliché house in the middle of a rural area.

Your life was full of clichés, from waking him up to a nutritious breakfast with his hero suit ready to go, to the sweet kisses you gave him as he left the house, ready to keep the streets of Japan safe for another day.

With a sweet life, everyone had the foolish thought of every aspect of your life being vanilla, even when it came to your sex life. With how tired your husband must be from working all day, sometimes weeks at a time, he wouldn't have the energy for anything other than soft missionary.

Oh, how wrong they were - if they could see the inside of your mind, then they'd rethink their assumptions.

"Hah, Kat, so full". Letting out a whine, you gripped the sheets beneath you as your knuckles turned white. With your face pressed into the mattress, you tried desperately to anchor yourself to something as you felt yet another orgasm creeping up from your toes.

Your thighs were already numb, slowly reddening from the harsh thrusts of the man responsible for having you in this position. You could feel the numbness from the pleasure spreading down your legs; no doubt you'd have trouble walking when he'd eventually let up.

"Fuck, does that feel good princess? Does getting fucked by my cock feel like heaven? Like you were fucking made just f'me". The obvious smugness in your husband's voice, paired with the way he was slamming his hips against you, had your jaw slack. The mushroom tip of his cock repeatedly thumping against that spongy spot deep inside had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, whimpers slipping past your swollen lips.

On a normal night, the sound of the bedframe squeaking would have blended in with the sounds both you and he made, but tonight, after a rather long day with a villain that tested him to his limits, it was nothing more than white noise compared to the noises coming from you both. "I know you're close darling, let me feel that pretty pussy milk me before I even think about filling you with my cum".

The weight on top of you shifted as you felt Bakugou's chest press against your back, large hand finding its way between your legs before the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit. Whining out again, you felt him rub circles in time with his thrusts, helping to coax you to your nth orgasm of the night.

"Please, Kats, fuck, I can't take much more". Trying your best to look at him from the corner of your eye, you managed to make out the mass of ash-blonde hair belonging to him.

"Then let go f'me okay? I know you want to". As if on cue, you felt your legs stiffen as your fingers gripped the sheets harder, a broken cry of Bakugou's name leaving your throat as you felt that hot pleasure zap throughout your body. That one the strongest orgasm you felt of the night so far, or so you thought.

Your cunt was overly sensitive, so paired with the way Bakugou toyed with your clit, of course you were going to feel whatever you body wanted you to feel. Not that you cared, you were too drunk on pleasure to think about anything other than the cock thrusting into you at what felt like inhumane speed.

The squelching of your sopping wet cunt only added fuel to his desire for you as he pinned you down under his weight, hips rutting faster as he drew horse sobs of pleasure from your throat. You really were amazing in his eyes; you took everything he gave and more, never giving up when it became too much pleasure for you to bear.

Not long after, a moan of disappointment left your throat as you became hyper-aware of the empty feeling deep within. Letting out a shaky sigh, you began to turn before finding your movements halted, your body becoming weightless as you were picked up in strong arms.

Humming out, you looked at Bakugou with glassy eyes, tilting your head as he smiled softly at you. Opening your mouth, you tried to question what he was doing, only to be silenced by a gentle kiss that took you by surprise as he moved off towards a corner of your bedroom.

Just what was he planning?

The few steps he had taken halted, causing you to turn your head, eyes widening slightly. There staring back at you was not only your fucked out expression but your body decorated with bites and scratches from your husband. Your skin was covered with a soft sheen, making you look ethereal. "Kat, what are you doing?".

Casting your gaze at the mirror to the side slightly, you looked at the man who now stood behind you, head tilting as you observed him. A proud smirk tugged at his lips as he placed a hand on your body, fingers rolling the perky bud of your breast as you moaned softly, leaning back into his chest.

You were usually so good at reading the expressions your husband wore, but this time, he wore one you couldn't quite read.

Before you had time to register what was happening, you felt your body being hoisted, legs spread open for not only yourself, but your husband to see. To see the way your pussy clenched around nothing as some of your husband cum began to seep out. "You know, princess, I've always wanted to do this...".

Before Bakugou continued what he as going to say, you felt the mushroom tip of his cock poke at your cunt again. The way it dragged across your already sensitive folds had your head lolling back slightly, breath catching in your throat once more as he thrust up into you.

The sinful moan that slipped past your lips had him chuckling, hips thrusting up into you as he helped to bounce you on his cock. "...I've always wanted to watch every single part of you while I fuck you senseless".

Chewing on your lip, you let your head fall back against his shoulder, eyes focusing on the ceiling as he continued to thrust against the spongy spot deep inside - the new angle a welcome feeling. "Fuck, baby girl, you need to watch as well". Opening your mouth to protest, you felt your head being moved, forced to look at the image in the mirror in front of you.

Casting your eyes down, you sucked in a moan as you focused on the part where the two of you were connected as one. Where his cock was buried deep inside your pussy with every thrust he made. The sight made you tingle, heat spreading across your body as newfound confidence took over, your walls squeezing him tighter.

The new sensation around his cock had Bakugou growling out, head dropping onto your shoulder as he began to bite at the already sensitive skin on your neck. Moaning out, you tried to look away from where he was disappearing into you, tried to look a few inches to the side to your husband's figure, but you couldn't. You were entranced by the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you. The way your combined essence dripped down his cock, being driven deeper into your very being. "That's a good girl, baby, watch how I fuck you".

The words and praise caused you to moan out, that all too familiar feeling beginning to creep over you once more. The feeling that caused your cunt to tighten relentlessly around your husband. "Hah, Kat, I'm gonna...".

Letting out an almost guttural moan, Bakugou gripped your chin and turned your face as he thrusted into your tightening cunt. Rough kisses were placed against your lips, desperate and needy as you kissed back with what you could muster, messily pouring out your love.

You could tell he was close to coming; thrusts becoming not only sloppier and needier but harder as well. The mushroom tip of his cock pressing more against the entrance to your womb. Pulling apart, you looked through glassy eyes once more, a string of saliva connecting you both. "Fuck, hah, that's it, squeeze me tighter, baby. Let me feel it while I stuff you full again".

After a few sloppy thrusts, you felt his hips press against your ass as that all too familiar warm feeling of his cum filled you. The spam of your pussy squeezed around him, milking him through his orgasm. Loud moans of pleasure sounded around the room as you arched your back, pressing yourself further into him.

Letting out a soft sigh, you turned your head and rested your forehead against Bakugou's as best you could, chests rising and falling as you panted. Lazily bringing your hand up, you ran your fingers over his cheek, humming slightly. "Look in the mirror, darling, I want you to see this".

Letting your head fall, you looked towards the mirror, down at the place where you connected just in time to see Bakugou pull his cock out of you. Still semi-hard, he twitched slightly as ropes of come connected you both briefly before breaking a few seconds later. A breathy moan of relief and tiredness sounded from you both as you felt yourself being carried back to your shared bed.

Looking up at your husband, you smiled softly and placed your hand back on his cheek. Thumb rubbed over the smooth skin as you looked into his eyes. You never failed to feel so much love for him, no matter what he was doing. The fact that he wasn't just a pro hero, but your husband, made your heart swell with pride and love.

"You know, we should do that more often, I love watching everything, and I mean everything". Your sudden response caught Bakugou by surprise, a soft smile tugged at his lips as he cupped your cheek, eyes taking in your tired and flustered face.

He didn't think you would be up for doing that again, ashamed to admit he might have been a bit selfish in wanting to do something he had wanted for a while. He had a hard time expressing himself, especially when it came to his sex life with you. Not that you weren’t adventurous enough when you were in the throes of pleasure. Still, despite being patient enough with him, he still felt that guilt from time to time.

"You read my mind, princess, but you know I won't do anything you're not comfortable with". His eyes softened as you nodded your head, letting a tired yawn escape. "Let me get you cleaned up, then we'll cuddle".

Placing a soft kiss on your forehead, you felt the weight on the mattress shift as Bakugou left you for a moment, returning with a cloth, bowl and towel. Dipping the material into the water, he moved your legs apart slowly, dabbing the cloth across your swollen pussy to remove the bodily fluids that were starting to dry.

Despite the rough exterior, your husband was as gentle as can be when it mattered the most. When you were cleaned up enough, you felt the mattress dip with his weight once more, a tired smile tugging at your lips and you found yourself wrapped up in strong arms as the bed sheets.

Moving closer to your husband, you cuddle into him and placed your hand on his chest, resting it just above his heart. Your fingers resting gently on the scar he had from his teenage years. When a fight against a villain went wrong. Where his heart stopped before he was brought back to life in front of your eyes.

A sight that still haunted you every now and then to this day. "I love you, Katsuki, I'm so glad I chose you".

Red eyes glanced down at your now sleeping form. A soft smile staying on his lips as he leaned over, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Of course, he knew how much you loved him, it was obvious to him, and everyone out there just how much you'd fallen for him.

From the shy, timid girl he first met in the hero course at U.A High, to the confident woman who was now in his arms, he never stopped loving you. Even when he thought his life had ended, even when you gripped him tightly when he was revived, not tight enough to hurt him, though. Even on the day you got married, it had always been you.

He was forever grateful that you chose him because no one else would ever get to see him like this. To see him vulnerable in such a raw way. And no one else would ever get to see this side of you, too for as long as he lived.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[arkaiveofurown]

you left him a kiss mark without him knowing 💋

Pairings: Law x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Ace x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 - 2,000 words each

tags: fluff

my masterlist here ♡

——

Law

You caught Law alone in his cabin after a long day at sea. The sun was dipping low outside, casting a warm orange glow through the small window, stretching shadows across the sparse, functional room. Maps, medical supplies, and a few personal items cluttered the desk where Law was bent over his work.

“Mind if I crash here for a bit?” you asked, voice teasing as you leaned against the doorframe.

Law looked up slowly, his dark eyes sharp, narrowed in mock suspicion. “You mean, just to bother me?”

You smirked and stepped inside, closing the door behind you. “Maybe.”

His usual calm stayed unshaken, but you caught the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth, like a secret smile.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “But only for a moment.”

The cabin smelled faintly of antiseptic and sea salt, and you moved closer, feeling the coolness of the room contrast with the heat of your fingers as you brushed your hand lightly over his wrist.

Your lips brushed softly over his jawline, then you quickly pressed a kiss mark just below his ear—red and bold against his pale skin.

Law froze for a heartbeat, eyes flicking down to the spot, but then he simply tilted his head so you could see better.

“Well, well.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh softly. “What?”

His expression stayed unreadable, cool as ever. He didn’t say more, eyes flickering between you and the maps scattered before him.

Without breaking focus, he spoke, “You’re unpredictable.”

You grinned. “And you like that.”

Law’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t react to the mark on his neck—not outwardly.

You stepped back, heart pounding just a little, pleased that your secret was still safe.

——

The night air was cool, the stars blinking faintly overhead as the crew slowly filtered onto the deck. The work was done for the day, and a casual, easy quiet settled over the Polar Tang.

You leaned against the railing, glancing toward Law who stood near the helm, staring out over the dark sea. The faint red stain on his neck was hidden beneath his high collar, but not to everyone.

Bepo was the first to notice.

“Heh,” he said low, nudging Shachi with his paw. “You see that on Captain?”

Shachi followed his gaze, then grinned. “The lipstick? Yeah. She’s got guts, putting that there.”

Bepo laughed softly. “Captain’s so serious, he probably thinks it’s just a scratch.”

Shachi shook his head. “I bet you five berries he doesn’t even know.”

Bepo’s eyes sparkled. “That’s hilarious. Can you imagine? The Surgeon of Death, with a bright kiss mark?”

Just then, Penguin ambled over, curious about their whispering.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, tilting his head.

Shachi lowered his voice even more. “You know Captain, right? Well… someone left a little gift on him.”

Penguin blinked, eyes wide. “Really? But Captain’s so focused. He wouldn’t notice.”

Bepo grinned. “Exactly. It’s our little secret.”

Penguin chuckled quietly, and Jean Bart, leaning nearby with a cigarette, flicked ash and smirked.

“That’s bold. But no one messes with Captain like that unless they’re special.”

Bepo grinned wider. “We keep quiet though. No need to ruin the surprise.”

They all exchanged knowing looks, careful to keep their voices low so the Captain wouldn’t hear—except, of course, Law did.

You spotted the slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle tightening of his jaw as he remained still near the helm, pretending to watch the dark sea.

Bepo whispered again, “Better keep it down, Captain’s listening.”

But Law’s voice cut through, calm and even. “If you’re all talking about me, I suggest you be more discreet.”

The crew froze for a heartbeat, then quickly scattered, chuckling quietly as they moved away.

You stepped forward, heart pounding slightly as you approached Law.

“Got caught,” you murmured, brushing your fingers lightly over the collar hiding your kiss.

Law’s eyes met yours, sharp but unreadable. “Did you think you’d get away with it?”

You smiled, trying to keep your cool. “Maybe I hoped. It’s not exactly subtle.”

He reached out, gently tugging the collar down just enough to reveal the faint red mark.

“Bold,” he said, voice low.

Your breath hitched. “You don’t mind?”

Law tilted his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I might even say I like it.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by the honesty buried in the calm edge of his voice. “Really?” you asked, tone teasing but quiet, testing him.

He didn’t look away. “I just don’t appreciate being the last to know I’ve been branded like property in front of my own crew.”

Your brows rose, lips twitching into a slow grin. “Property, huh? That’s a strong word for someone who lets me crawl into his bed every time I’m cold.”

Law didn’t flinch, though his fingers twitched slightly where they still held the edge of his collar. “That’s different. That’s quiet. This—” He glanced down toward the faint stain near his neck again, “—this is loud.”

“Mm.” You leaned in slightly, so close your lips nearly brushed his ear. “Then maybe I should go louder next time. Somewhere they can’t miss.”

His breath caught just enough for you to notice.

He turned his face just slightly toward yours, voice low and clipped. “You’re trouble.”

“And you like it.”

Law’s eyes searched yours for a long, still moment. Then he murmured, “Too much.”

There was something almost dangerous in how softly he said it. Not a warning. A confession.

The silence between you tightened, slow and heavy like a pull between magnets. You could hear Shachi and Penguin laughing faintly from below deck, Jean Bart’s footsteps fading toward the galley. But up here, it felt like the rest of the crew had disappeared.

You brushed your knuckles against his coat lapel, playful but deliberate.

“I can stop if it bothers you,” you offered gently—meant it, even if your tone still carried that bite.

He studied you for a second longer, unreadable. Then he reached forward and slipped two fingers under your chin, tilting your face up—not roughly, just enough.

“Do it again,” he said simply.

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped in, barely an inch of space between your bodies now. “Next time you decide to mark me—do it where I can feel it happen.”

Your stomach dropped and soared all at once.

“Oh?” you breathed, eyes gleaming. “Captain giving orders now?”

Law’s smirk was razor-sharp. “Just making sure I’m aware of the battlefield.”

You laughed under your breath, hand sliding to rest lightly on his chest. “And here I thought you’d be the one hiding in the dark, pretending not to care.”

He leaned in—close enough that your noses nearly touched.

“I always notice, y/n. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with.”

Your heart kicked hard behind your ribs.

But instead of kissing you, he stepped back. Just slightly. Just enough to drive you crazy.

Then: “Now get below deck,” he said smoothly, the Captain voice back in place. “Before you tempt me into something more reckless.”

You grinned and turned, making your way toward the hatch.

But just before you disappeared below, you looked over your shoulder and shot him a wink.

“Next time,” you promised, “I’ll use redder lipstick.”

Law exhaled a slow breath as you vanished from view, head tilting back toward the sky.

He didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t pull his collar up again, either.

——

Sabo

The meeting room inside Baltigo’s command hall was quiet, the long table lit by afternoon sun filtering through cracked windows. Maps were spread out across the surface, alongside hastily scrawled notes about incoming cipher intel and revolutionary cells in East Blue. Dragon sat at the head of the table, silent and composed, while Sabo leaned over the documents with his usual sharp focus.

You were seated to his right, scribbling logistics into a worn notebook, trying very hard not to grin.

Because you knew something Sabo didn’t.

You’d kissed him earlier. Just once. Light, teasing. A playful brush of lips as he adjusted that damn cravat of his. You’d leaned in and left a perfectly placed red lipstick mark right under the tied fold, tucked slightly into the side of the pristine white fabric.

He hadn’t noticed. Too busy grumbling about supply routes.

Now here you were, all gathered for a high-level meeting—and Sabo had a bright crimson signature under his collar.

Belo Betty sat across from you, eyeing the spot.

Koala leaned forward, whispering in her ear, trying and failing to suppress her smirk.

Hack was stone-faced… but you noticed the twitch of his fin as he sipped his tea.

Lindbergh was humming faintly, fiddling with his toolkit, eyes darting toward Sabo every few seconds.

You kept your head down, pen moving smoothly, until—

Dragon’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Sabo.”

Sabo glanced up from the map. “Yeah?”

Dragon didn’t even blink. “You have something red on your neck.”

Silence.

Sabo froze. “…What?”

Dragon gestured mildly, eyes back on the war map. “On the left side. Under your scarf. Lipstick, I think.”

Sabo’s hand flew up to his neck like he’d been stabbed.

He touched the edge of the scarf. Paused. Fumbled.

Everyone was watching.

Koala choked on her breath.

Betty outright cackled.

Lindbergh slapped the table.

You buried your face in your notebook, trying to look innocent—and failing miserably.

“I—” Sabo stammered, yanking the scarf free with slightly shaking hands. His eyes found the red smudge instantly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, bright scarlet blooming across his face.

Betty leaned over, voice sweet like poison. “Aw, who left you a souvenir, Chief of Staff?”

Koala was grinning ear to ear. “You said you were reviewing reports this morning.”

“I was!” Sabo snapped, his ears going pink. “I was—”

“Uh-huh,” Lindbergh snorted. “And was that part of the report? A personal… stamp of approval?”

You reached out and tapped your pen on the table, biting your lip. “Well… I did approve him.”

Sabo whipped toward you, scandalized. “You—!”

You blinked, all innocent eyes. “What? I figured you’d notice and wipe it off.”

Dragon cleared his throat. Everyone went quiet.

Then he looked at you with the faintest quirk of a brow. “Efficient marking technique.”

Another wave of laughter echoed through the room.

Sabo groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I cannot believe this…”

Koala giggled, nudging you with her elbow. “Honestly, we should’ve guessed. You’ve had that lipstick all day.”

You shrugged with a smirk. “He looked too good not to. You know how he gets when he ties that scarf.”

“Do not encourage her,” Sabo muttered behind his palms.

Dragon turned back to the map like nothing happened. “Alright. If we’re done discussing Sabo’s love life—”

“We are not,” Betty cut in gleefully.

“—we can return to the South Blue supply chain.”

Sabo gave you a betrayed look as you leaned toward him, whispering with a grin. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh, cheeks still red, and muttered, “You’re dangerous.”

You bumped your knee against his under the table. “That’s why you like me.”

——

The meeting finally adjourned with scattered murmurs and the shuffling of papers. Dragon was already gone, Hack and Lindbergh trailing after him. Koala gave you one last wink before slipping out, and Betty was still laughing to herself as she lit a cigarette in the hallway.

You stayed seated. So did Sabo.

He hadn’t looked at you after that small talk, still pretending to organize his notes even though his ears were visibly red. The scarf lay useless in his lap now, the crimson smear glaring up at him like a crime scene.

You cleared your throat. “You gonna wear that again tomorrow?”

His pen paused mid-line. “Not if you’re going to vandalize it.”

You tilted your head with mock innocence. “Is that what it’s called now?”

He exhaled sharply, finally turning toward you—blue eyes narrowed, cheeks stubbornly flushed. “You think you’re so clever.”

“I don’t think it,” you said, sliding your notebook shut and leaning in, voice low and teasing. “I know it.”

He watched you, still not smiling. But his foot nudged yours lightly under the table. “That was a meeting with Dragon.”

“Yup.”

“And I walked in there like a target with lipstick on my neck.”

“Mmhmm.” You grinned. “You should’ve checked.”

Sabo rolled his eyes, but his voice had softened. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Oh please,” you said, inching closer. “You didn’t even flinch during the briefing on Cipher Pol infiltration. One kiss and suddenly you forget how to speak?”

“You call that one kiss?” he muttered. “That was strategic sabotage.”

You laughed, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “You love it.”

He didn’t deny it. Just stared at you for a moment, then quietly set his papers aside.

“Come with me.”

Your brows rose. “Where?”

“Somewhere without Betty’s commentary,” he said under his breath, already standing and rolling his scarf into his coat pocket. “I need five uninterrupted minutes with you.”

You raised a brow. “To yell at me?”

“To retaliate,” he said simply, and offered you his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

As you followed him down the empty hallway, your fingers laced with his, the mark might’ve faded—but the heat he carried from it definitely hadn’t.

——

Zoro

“Someone’s gonna come looking for you.”

Zoro didn’t move. Just leaned back against the wooden crate behind him, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, watching you like you were the only thing in the world worth tracking.

“They won’t look here.”

Your back pressed to the other crate across from him, just a few feet apart, breath still quick from the last kiss. Straw Hat’s supply storage — tucked behind the galley — was quiet. Safe. Stolen.

“I told you to stop sneaking off mid-training,” you said, not even trying to sound annoyed anymore.

“I told you to stop wearing that lipstick.”

You licked your teeth. “Why?”

He pushed off the crate and closed the distance.

“You know why.”

You tilted your head as he boxed you in. “You gonna complain?”

He didn’t answer — just kissed you again. Rough, hot, a little clumsy in that way he always was when he lost control first.

His hand curled under your jaw. Your palm slipped beneath his open collar. Lips clashed once, twice, then he paused—

You kissed the side of his throat.

Firm. Slow. On purpose.

He froze. “The hell was that?”

You smirked against his skin. “You’ll find out.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“You like it.”

Zoro grunted. “Tch. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps up above — someone stomping across the upper deck.

Zoro tensed.

You stepped back, patting his chest. “Go.”

“You’re the one who—”

“Go before someone asks where your shirt went.”

He muttered something rude under his breath, grabbed his gear from the crate, and disappeared out the side passage.

You waited a beat, adjusted your jacket, checked your lipstick.

Still perfect — aside from the very deliberate red smear now painted just below Zoro’s jaw.

You grinned to yourself.

And walked back up to the galley like nothing happened.

——

“Zoro.”

Sanji’s voice snapped across the deck like a whip.

Zoro didn’t look up. “What.”

“Zoro,” Sanji hissed again, marching over, pointing like he’d found a crime scene. “The hell is that on your neck?”

Zoro blinked. “What’re you talking about.”

Sanji stopped a meter away, planted his hands on his hips, and leaned in.

“That, moss-brain,” he said, stabbing a finger toward the side of Zoro’s neck. “That bright red smear. Looks like a damn kiss.”

Zoro frowned, reaching up. “What the hell—”

“You’re not even gonna deny it?!”

“I didn’t say it was—!”

“Oh my god,” Sanji reeled backward, spinning in a circle. “Who?! Who the hell would be desperate enough to kiss you?!”

“Shut up.”

“I swear, if you laid a finger on Robin-chwan—!”

“I didn’t!”

“Nami-swan?!” Sanji staggered. “I’ll kill you!”

“You’ll try.”

Then Sanji froze, eyes going wide.

“…Y/N?!”

Zoro blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been training with her a lot lately—skipping meals, disappearing after dinner—and now this?! Don’t tell me you corrupted her, you goddamn muscle goblin—!”

Zoro stood up slowly. “You say one more word about her and I’ll slice your tongue off.”

Sanji gawked. “So it was her?!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t deny it!!”

Across the deck, Nami shielded her face with her hand, laughing silently. Robin sipped her tea with amusement.

You leaned against the railing nearby, pretending to watch the clouds.

Usopp leaned over toward you, stage-whispering, “So…was it you?”

You blinked innocently. “Why would I kiss Zoro?”

Usopp raised both brows. “You tell me.”

You sipped your drink. “Maybe the same reason someone hasn’t said a damn thing to stop Sanji yet.”

The swordsman still stood there, scowling as Sanji ranted about honor and lipstick and romantic delusions.

Nami leaned casually against the railing, one hand covering her mouth to hide a grin. “Well, well, looks like someone isn’t as sneaky as they think.”

You shot her a playful glare but smiled. “Maybe I like showing off a little.”

Robin sipped her tea, raising an eyebrow with a knowing look.

Sanji, still visibly steamed, muttered, “I can’t believe I’m the last to know.”

Zoro didn’t say much, just gave you a side glance — the slightest hint of a smirk twitching his lips.

“You really gonna keep doing this?” he asked, voice low.

You stepped closer, brushing your fingers lightly over his wrist.

“Only if you promise to keep noticing.”

Zoro’s eyes flickered to the spot on his neck.

“Damn it, you’re impossible.”

Nami laughed softly. “Honestly, it’s cute.”

Sanji groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up.

“Cute? I’m surrounded by fools.”

Zoro ignored him, pulling you just a little closer.

“Let’s keep this between us. No need to make it a crew thing.”

You nodded, resting your forehead briefly against his.

“Just us.”

Sanji muttered, “Good luck keeping that secret…”

Zoro glanced down at the faint lipstick mark on his neck, then quickly looked away like he wasn’t supposed to have noticed. His voice was quieter than usual, almost shy.

“You… left that there.”

You smiled gently, stepping closer.

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d catch it.”

He cleared his throat, fingers twitching slightly as if unsure what to do next.

“I… I don’t really like showing off.”

You reached out, brushing a stray hair behind his ear.

“I know. That’s why I made it small. For just you.”

Zoro’s jaw clenched, but it wasn’t anger — more like trying to keep his cool.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his side.

“Only if you want me to.”

His hand found yours quietly, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Just… don’t be too obvious next time.”

You looked up, catching the small, almost-hidden smile tugging at his lips.

“Deal.”

And for once, Zoro didn’t say anything else—just pulled you a little closer, and the quiet said everything.

——

Ace

The armory wasn’t where most crewmates snuck off to flirt, but you liked the smell of steel and the thick walls. It was cool inside.

Ace leaned against a stack of crates, sweat glistening at the base of his throat, shirt half undone and clinging to his back. The heat from his body didn’t help the temperature, but you didn’t complain.

“You’re late,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned back against the door.

Ace grinned, slow and sharp. “You said ‘when you’re done with rounds.’ I did my rounds.”

You pushed off the wall and walked toward him, letting your fingers trail over a rack of throwing knives. “Did you? Or did you let Blenheim take your shift again?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, voice dipping.

You stepped into his space, crowding him back against the crates. “Only if you’re trying to get out of putting your hands to use.”

“Oh, I’ll use my hands,” he said, catching your waist with one and tugging you in.

You didn’t resist. You kissed him first — hard, deep, your fingers digging into his belt loops as you bit at his lower lip just enough to draw a low noise from his chest.

Ace responded like he always did: with heat, with hunger, with that slight lack of patience that always gave you the upper hand.

You broke the kiss and let your lips trail down to his jaw. “Stay still,” you whispered.

“What—”

You pressed a slow kiss to the curve of his neck, right under his ear. Intentional. Deliberate.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed — but not suspicious.

“What was that?” he asked, breathless.

“Nothing.”

Ace blinked, confused. “You look smug.”

“I always look smug when I get what I want.”

His eyes narrowed, but he looked too wrecked to question it. “What the hell did you do?”

“Why don’t you go help Haruta with the cargo like you promised,” you said sweetly, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re already late.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“I’m letting you walk away before I keep you here another hour.”

Ace licked his lips, clearly debating it. He smirked finally, tapping your hip. “Fine. But you’re not done with me.”

You leaned in and whispered, “I know.”

And just like that, he walked out — shirt open, cheeks flushed, and a very bright lipstick mark stamped on his neck.

He didn’t feel it.

He didn’t look in a mirror.

And you?

You knew the second someone would notice.

Because you heard Izo’s voice echo across the deck less than a minute later:

“Oi… Ace. You forget to wipe off your girlfriend again?”

Ace froze.

You leaned against the armory door, smile creeping back into place.

Checkmate.

The moment hit the deck like a cannonball.

Ace stood dumbfounded, halfway to the rigging, completely unaware. The wind caught the edge of his shirt — still half open, still clinging to his flushed skin — and revealed the bold, unmistakable stamp of your lipstick on the side of his neck.

Bright. Smudged. Deliberate.

From your spot by the armory, you watched it unfold with delicious satisfaction.

“Yo, Ace,” Thatch called from across the deck, barely masking the amusement in his voice. “You get into a fight with a very small, very specific octopus?”

Ace stopped walking. “The hell does that mean?”

“Little red target on your neck, bro,” Thatch said, biting back a grin. “Kinda hard to miss.”

Izo appeared out of nowhere, sipping tea, his eyes sparkling. “That shade of red is very flattering on you. Subtle as a punch to the face.”

Ace reached up instinctively, rubbing the back of his neck. “What? There’s nothing—”

“You’re rubbing the wrong side, hothead,” Marco muttered as he passed by with a bored look and zero intention of helping.

Ace turned in place, trying to look over his shoulder.

“Is this a prank? What is this?”

“Better question,” Vista added with a raised brow. “Who’s bold enough to claim Fire Fist in broad daylight?”

You watched the scene build from the sidelines, arms folded, head tilted slightly. You didn’t say a word. Not even when Ace turned and locked eyes with you.

He knew. Oh, he knew.

“You,” he called out, striding toward you. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, smiling too wide to be innocent.

“That’s exactly what’s suspicious!” His fingers pointed wildly at the crew. “Everyone’s laughing at me, and you’re just standing there looking—smug!”

“Maybe they’re just admiring your fashion choices.”

“Oh my god, you planned this,” he groaned, one hand dragging down his face. “You—You weaponized your mouth.”

You sauntered toward him. “You didn’t seem to mind my mouth ten minutes ago.”

That shut him up. Briefly.

From behind him, Haruta whispered loudly, “He’s been branded.”

“Like cattle,” Thatch added.

Marco raised his cup lazily. “Official property.”

You stood on your toes, brushing your thumb right under his jaw — not wiping it off, just getting close enough to make his breath hitch.

“Next time,” you murmured, “check the mirror before leaving me.”

Ace stared at you, eyes burning like a slow flame. “Oh. You think this is funny?”

You smirked. “I think it’s adorable how long it took you to notice.”

He stepped in, body heat radiating like a furnace. “You know what happens to brats who play games with fire?”

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “They get burned?”

“No,” he growled, fingers curling at your waist. “They get dragged back into the armory and ruined.”

That got a loud wolf-whistle from Thatch.

“Only if you make it past Marco,” you whispered, grinning.

“Try me.”

——

Later that night, the ship was quiet — a lull after laughter and teasing had finally faded into the gentle creak of the Moby Dick’s hull and the ocean beneath.

You were halfway to your quarters when you felt it.

Heat. Behind you.

A hand caught your wrist, pulled you backward into the shadows between two storage rooms. Warm breath skimmed your neck.

“I owe you one.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t have to.

“I was wondering when you’d come collect.”

Ace pressed you to the wall, chest brushing yours, one arm braced by your head.

“Wanna tell me why I walked around for half the day marked like your territory?”

You tilted your chin. “Because you are.”

He went still.

Just for a second.

Then he grinned — that cocky, dangerous, beautiful grin that always meant trouble.

“You trying to start something, sweetheart?”

“I think I already did.”

He leaned in, slow and close, until his lips nearly brushed your cheek. “You know everyone saw it, right? Half the crew won’t shut up. Marco asked me if I needed help cleaning up.”

You snorted. “You left me desperate and smug in the armory. That was fair play.”

“Oh, no. That was bait.”

He grabbed your jaw gently, made you look up at him. “You wanted me to find out in public.”

You didn’t deny it. You just held his gaze, lips parted slightly. “You looked good in red.”

“I look better when I return the favor,” he murmured.

And before you could shoot back a smart reply, his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Deep. Claiming.

Not rushed — deliberate. Like he was carving the memory of this moment into your skin. Like he wanted you to remember exactly who you belonged to, the same way you’d left your signature on him.

His knee slid between yours, pressing your thigh up against the wall. His hands found your hips, then your waist, then back to your jaw — like he couldn’t decide where he wanted you most.

You barely managed to whisper against his mouth, “Thought you were mad at me.”

“I am,” he growled. “I’m furious.”

“Liar.”

He kissed you again, hard enough to steal breath.

When he finally pulled back, he was panting lightly, his voice hoarse. “You wanna make this a game? Fine. But don’t think you’re the only one who can leave marks.”

You opened your mouth to tease him—try me on your lips—but his fingers trailed under your jaw, brushing your neck like he was already choosing where he’d leave his signature next time.

He didn’t have to.

You were already melting.

“Next time,” he murmured, “I’ll make sure it’s somewhere you can’t hide.”

You smirked. “Big words, fire boy.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours.

Then his tone softened — quiet in a way that made your chest ache.

“But for what it’s worth…” he whispered, voice barely a breath, “I liked it.”

You blinked.

“The mark,” he clarified, fingers lacing with yours. “Didn’t even care when I saw it. Just thought, hell… someone really loves me, huh?”

That hit you harder than anything else had all day.

Your heart stuttered.

So you leaned up and kissed him again — not to tease this time, not to stir him up. Just to say, yeah. I do.

When you pulled back, you whispered against his skin, “Maybe I’ll leave two next time.”

He groaned. “I knew you weren’t done.”

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ the "it" couple

➤ summary: you and Rafe being the hottest couple on the island

➤w/c: 1.3k.

➤ warnings: established relationship, mentions of sex, mentions of nude pictures, Rafe is reader's first everything, you're both lovesick

➤ a/n: my obsession with soft and painfully in love Rafe is not curable at this point. but like could you imagine having him all to yourself?? ughhh the things i'd let him do to me😩

masterlist

Everyone knew that there are couples that, at first glance, give you the impression that they just have really good sex. Like, they are so hot and perfectly complement each other, with a certain vibe oozing out of them, especially when they are together. 

You and Rafe were that couple. 

Before you started dating, no one ever considered that two polar opposites like you might even coexist. You were a kook, but still completely different from Rafe and his little gang. You were pretty but more on the quiet side, never showing off or bothering anybody.

Rafe, on the other hand, was mean and sarcastic to everyone and everything. It was a good thing that you put him in his place the first time he talked to you, making it clear that you are not having his shit. And also making Rafe instantly interested and following you like a puppy.

You were annoyingly teasing and flirting with each other, and everyone tried not to get involved in whatever was going on. It was your first experience with a guy, because before that, nobody was really making their shots, or, at least, you never paid enough attention to notice it, choosing to focus on yourself. But with Rafe, it felt fun and so damn easy. 

Your first kiss set everything in its place because you finally gave in to your hidden emotions. It made sense why you were always arguing and pestering each other—you simply craved attention from one another, and it was the easiest way to get it. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s rough edges softened, especially around you, and he was so affectionate and craved you around him 24/7. Though, knowing that you’ve never been in relationships before, he never pushed you to do anything, just following your pace. 

But after your first time happened in the third month of dating, after the ice melted and your insecurities fully disappeared, Rafe almost got another version of his girlfriend. 

If he thought that you couldn’t be better, then he was wrong. 

He never understood his friends who said that they had to almost beg their girlfriends to have sex, mostly because Rafe had never been in actual relationships before. But it made even less sense for him because you, seemingly, had the same energy and high sex drive as him. 

The first few times may have been slightly awkward with you still learning and trying to understand your own body, but once you got confident, you became unstoppable. 

Whether it was early morning, the middle of the day, or way past your bedtime, you were ready to have sex right away, straddling Rafe's legs or luring him into a kiss while your hands slipped under his pants.  

It was crazy how much you both wanted each other. It was a perfect fucking match to have someone with exactly the same needs. You probably have been bent over every single flat surface in the house, and not a single room was safe from the two of you. He wanted you all to himself, and he could go hours just worshiping your body and fucking you into bliss. 

You were almost glued together, never coming to an event alone. Rafe was so obsessed with the way you looked, with your smell, and with the feeling of your skin on his, so he always had to touch you one way or another. His friends teased him that he was absolutely pussy-whipped for you, and he had never denied it. They also started calling you Mrs. Cameron because you acted like a married couple, and neither of you were against that nickname.

To say more, the idea of that made Rafe so feral for you that he didn’t let you get out of bed the following day. Not that you complained, though.

Rafe loved sneaking out with you. Whenever you two had to visit a gala with your families, he always snatched you from the main room to drag you to the bathroom or another hidden place to have a quickie or to bury his head under your dress because you were too hot to resist. Yeah, maybe other people noticed it, giving you their usual politely awkward smiles, but neither of you care. 

On his birthday, you gave him the best fucking gift, which was a stack of your naked Polaroid pictures. You were really nervous to do that, thinking that Rafe might react differently, but he reminded you once again why he was your perfect match. After looking through the photos several times, he literally attacked you, throwing you back on the bed and giving you the best orgasms of your life. 

Since that day, one of the less explicit pictures of your ass has been placed in his wallet.

You were officially the “it” couple on the island, with everyone either admiring or being jealous of that spark, which never seemed to diminish. Everyone saw the way the Rafe Cameron gave you heart eyes, soft smiles, and gentle kisses. The way he held you close to himself, protecting you, taking care of you, and treating you like a queen.

Some people told you that it was only the excitement of a new relationship, but after a few years of dating, with a promise ring on your finger, it was still there. You still craved each other's touch; you still craved being together whenever it was possible, always going on dates and trips, attending all of Kook’s events, but mostly spending lazy days in your shared house. Sex was even better than before—more passionate, fun, hot, and full of unconditional love.

Despite the gossip on the island, Rafe didn't get “bored” of you. No, over time, he became addicted to you because you felt like home, and there was nothing better than being with you. 

He didn't need any other women. And he still couldn't grasp the idea of cheating. If he had you, then why on earth would he do that? Every time he came home, the best person in the world and the best sex of his life were in that exact location, so he never complained about anything.

You were his aphrodisiac, and whether you were in full glam, in a bikini on the beach, or in his old t-shirt with messy hair, he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself and not kiss the air out of you. 

He liked how you stayed at home, doing whatever you wanted and treating yourself while he worked. You always greeted him with homemade food, but more importantly, you acted as if you had not seen him in months.

You were waiting on the porch or finishing up in the kitchen, but when you saw him, you ran and jumped into his arms and pulled him into a kiss. It always melted Rafe’s worries and bad mood away, as his shoulders sagged in relief from being in your arms again. 

You always ended up in your bedroom, with you on or under him, while your hands were tugging at each other’s clothes. Rafe knew that it would eventually end up with him finally putting a baby in you—something that more and more flooded his mind—but for the foreseeable future, he first had to officially make you his Mrs. Cameron.

And the red box with the big-ass diamond ring, which was currently sitting in the drawer, was just waiting for the perfect moment.  

[inseobts]

Tell Me No Lies

law x fem!reader

you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.

a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it

words count: 3.9k

tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You want me to do what?”

Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.

Penguin holds up his hands, grinning like he’s already imagined you and Law making out in a booth “Not my idea! Bepo came up with it.”

Bepo, ever innocent, blinks “It’s logical. Varrick lies constantly. You can tell when people lie. Captain’s the one meeting him. It’s simple.”

You stare “You want us to act like a couple.”

“Just for the night!” Shachi chimes in from where he’s stuffing chips in his mouth “The place is a casino-slash-brothel. No one goes in there looking like a business partner. You show up all cold and stiff, he’ll know something’s up.”

Law hasn’t said a word.

He sits at the head of the table, arms folded, expression blank. But you know that face. He’s thinking. Calculating. Fighting something.

Then, flatly “Fine.”

You blink “Fine?”

“You’ll have to stay close,” Law adds, eyes flicking to yours “I can’t talk in code around Varrick, and I doubt we’ll get a second chance if he feels like we’re onto him.”

“So, what, I sit on your lap and play with your hair while you ask about Navy routes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penguin snorts soda through his nose.

Law doesn’t miss a beat “If it gets us the truth.”

You swallow hard. Because that should not have sounded that smooth.

Later, in your room, you stand in front of the mirror, pulling on the final piece of your dress, a deep red number that hugs your waist and legs and dips dangerously low down your back. You smooth it down, checking the slit up your thigh, the way the silk shimmers under the ship lights.

“You don’t have to look like a goddess,” you mutter to your reflection “You just need to catch a liar.”

But damn it, the dress works. And the second you step into the hallway, you hear Shachi’s voice echo from down the corridor “Caaaptaaaain!”

You freeze.

“Don’t be mad when she looks hotter than you, bro!” Penguin adds, loud enough that it bounces off the steel walls.

“Stop yelling” Law says from somewhere out of sight. His voice is tense.

You round the corner and stop dead.

Oh no.

Law... Law is in a black suit, crisp and clean, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair’s slicked back just enough to make your throat go dry. Tattoos peek out at the edge of his collar. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at his den-den mushi, but when he looks up and sees you his fingers still. His eyes trail down, slow. Too slow.

You hear Shachi whisper “damn” under his breath and fist bump Penguin like they just won a bet.

Law clears his throat “You’re… ready.”

You tilt your head, smirking “You look nice too. Didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“It was a gift” he mutters.

You take a step forward “From who? Someone who wanted to see you flustered?”

His jaw ticks “I’m not flustered.”

You do notice the slight red creeping up the back of his neck. Just a little. Enough.

Before either of you can pretend to be normal, the rest of the crew crowds the hallway behind you.

Bepo holds up a little camera “Say cheese.”

“We’re not taking pictures” Law snaps.

“Oh come on,” Penguin grins “Look at you two!”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“Nope.”

Shachi elbows Bepo “Ten bucks says they come back married.”

Bepo nods solemnly “I’ll take that bet.”

Law groans and starts walking past them, ignoring the chaos.

You trail after him, heels clicking on the metal. As you pass the guys, you whisper, “Try not to blow our cover.”

Penguin winks “Go get that intel... and maybe some action.”

You don’t answer but your cheeks are hotter than they should be.

And the second Law opens the hatch to the upper deck, the cold sea air hits you and so does the reality of the night ahead.

The casino is loud. Velvet-lined walls drown out the outside world, while gold lights glint off dice and crystal glasses. Somewhere near the back, a piano plays slow jazz. It’s all soft temptation and sharpened edges.

You walk in beside Law, his arm around your waist. His fingers rest against the small of your back like they belong there, not too tight, not too loose. Just… there.

You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress. You can feel everything.

Stay focused.

Varrick is waiting in a private corner booth, exactly where intel said he’d be. He’s slouched in the plush seat like he owns the place, surrounded by too many drinks and not enough class. Rings clink against his glass as he lifts it.

“Trafalgar Law!” he says, standing with a grin too wide to be real “Wasn’t expecting you to bring arm candy.”

Law’s arm tightens around you. Not protectively. Possessively.

“She’s more than that,” he says, calm as ever “But she doesn’t like to talk much.”

You smile politely at Varrick, then glance at Law from the corner of your eye.

Smart. That gives you the freedom to observe.

You slide into the booth beside Law, close, but with just enough space between you to keep your focus.

Varrick leans forward “So, you wanted info on that Navy ship?”

Law nods “I heard it was seen heading east out of Ivona Port last week.”

Varrick shrugs, swirling his drink lazily “Could be. Could be west. Hard to say.”

You place your hand lightly on Law’s thigh. Barely a touch. Just enough.

Lie.

Law’s eyes don’t move. His posture doesn’t change. But his fingers tap against the glass in front of him once, acknowledging you.

Varrick chuckles “You know, these Navy guys come and go. They don’t tell me everything.”

Your fingers slide up, brushing over the inside of Law’s wrist as you reach for your own drink.

Another lie.

Law hums “Then tell me what you do know.”

“I know they’re not looking for pirates right now,” Varrick says “Some big job further north. Something to do with weapons.”

Your nails gently press into the back of Law’s hand, slow and deliberate.

Lie.

You feel him tense slightly. Like he’s thinking.

“Do you want something in return for this info?” Law asks coolly.

Varrick grins “Only a little favor later. Nothing serious.”

Even now he's lying.

This time you run your fingers slowly down Law’s forearm, letting your touch linger like a lover’s caress. But it’s all code. All signal.

Law shifts beside you. To anyone watching, it just looks like he’s turning toward you, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You nod “Three lies so far.”

“Mm.”

Varrick raises a brow “You two are cute, y’know that? Real cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually into each other.”

Law leans in, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek as he speaks “We are.”

Your heart skips.

You almost miss the way Varrick’s mouth twitches at that. A little wrinkle in the corner of his eyes. Something flickers. Jealousy?

“Lucky guy then...” Varrick mutters.

Law’s arm moves from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. Not fake this time. Not calculated. His hand is warm, firm, fingers curling possessively.

You’re practically in his lap now.

You keep your eyes on Varrick “So what’s the Navy doing near Blue Rock Island?”

He flinches.

Small. Quick. But you see it.

You drag your hand up Law’s chest like you’re playing with his shirt but your fingers dig in slightly at his collarbone.

That’s the truth. That’s the target.

Law tilts his head slightly, voice low and smooth “Blue Rock, huh?”

Varrick blinks, caught off guard.

You glance at Law just for a second and see it.

His eyes are calm. But his pulse at his neck is faster now. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. You’re supposed to be watching the informant, but now you’re catching the way Law’s lips part ever so slightly when you shift in his lap. The way his breath hitches.

He’s too good at hiding. You never have a baseline for him and suddenly, you realize you do now. You’ve been close enough tonight to read him. Feel him.

So when his ears turn red the moment Varrick leaves the table you finally know what his tell is.

“You’re enjoying this” Law mutters as Varrick disappears into the crowd.

You swirl the last sip of wine in your glass “Enjoying not getting stabbed in a double-cross? Sure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You turn your head slowly toward him, lashes low, a smirk threatening at the corner of your mouth “No? Then clarify, Captain.”

His jaw clenches.

You lean in “Or are you upset I figured out your tell?”

Silence.

Got him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. Just sips from his glass like he’s trying not to set it down too hard. You watch his throat bob, slow and tight. He’s flustered. Controlled but clearly struggling to keep that control.

Which is dangerous and tempting.

You reach out, brush something “imaginary” from his collar, letting your fingers drag across the base of his throat. He stiffens just slightly, and you swear under that cool expression, his eyes darken.

“I’m not ready to leave” you say casually, turning away to scan the floor “We did the job. Got the truth. Maybe we deserve a little fun.”

Law doesn’t argue. That alone is suspicious.

So you both stay. You drink. You people-watch. You flirt, just enough to be part of the act. And he plays along, letting his hand rest low on your back, murmuring sarcastic commentary about the drunk nobles and sleazy gamblers, voice low and rough in your ear.

But then Varrick returns.

You’re seated now in a more open lounge, a couch near the roulette tables. Varrick walks up with a drink and a too-easy smile.

“Forgot one little detail,” he says, tone casual “Seems like the Navy isn’t after pirates right now because they’re meeting with one. Some kind of alliance. Dunno who.”

Lie.

You shift against Law and drag your fingers along his inner thigh, too slow to be innocent.

Varrick talks more, and you let your hands wander. One arm over Law’s shoulder, the other toying with the fabric of his jacket. A fingertip gliding along the inked edge of his collarbone. Every time Varrick lies, you punish Law with a new touch.

You want to see how much he can take.

When you trail your hand up to the side of his neck and run your thumb along his jaw, you feel it. That little twitch. A shiver. His hand slides up your waist and grips tight, like a warning.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“He’s lying again.”

Your voice is barely above a breath.

“And you’re pushing it” Law growls, so low only you can hear.

But you just smile and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering “Don’t lose your composure, Captain. Someone might think you’re affected.”

Varrick finally gets bored and excuses himself, clearly thinking he’s dropped enough bait.

The second he’s out of sight, Law stands.

“You come with me. Now.”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just starts walking toward the upstairs hall of the casino. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

Which… you do.

Up the stairs, past the velvet curtain, through the dim corridor lined with private doors. He finds an empty suite with a key card left in the slot—probably reserved for VIPs or those with a winning streak.

He opens it.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then he pins you to the wall. Hands at your side, like blocking you. Eyes burning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice rough “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You pretend to think “Touching my captain in public? Flirting with a man who’s obviously holding back? Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes and back again. His breath is hot against your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You grab his lapel and pull him down.

“I’ll tell you if you lie.”

For a few long seconds, Law doesn’t move.

His fingers flex on your hips, like he’s debating whether to pull you in or push you away. His eyes are on yours, unreadable to anyone else but you can see it now. The cracks in that cold, calculated shell. The tension. The restraint.

You’ve spent months trying to get a baseline on him. To decode his behavior. Now? You are the baseline.

And he’s struggling.

“I should let you go” he mutters, voice low, more to himself than to you.

“But you won’t” you whisper back.

His eyes drop to your lips “No.”

He steps closer. Your back is fully against the wall now, your breath tangled with his. You tilt your chin up, almost daring him.

“What’s holding you back?” you ask.

His mouth twitches “You.”

A beat.

Then “You’re too good at reading people.”

You grin “So are you.”

His hand slips to the back of your thigh, just under the slit of your dress. Not high, but enough to make your pulse skip “You’ve been testing me all night.”

“Guilty.”

“You think it’s funny watching me lose control?”

“I think it’s hot.”

That does it.

He lets out a quiet, sharp breath, like he’s just given up fighting gravity, and leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. His hand stays on your thigh. His other lands on the wall beside your head.

You whisper, “You’re not usually like this.”

“No,” he says “You bring it out.”

You stay like that for a moment, so close, heat radiating between you, neither of you quite touching where it counts. The tension is unbearable in the best way. It’s not just attraction. It’s months of silence, near-misses, unsaid things finally rising to the surface.

Law is still Law, he's collected and composed, but now you know what it costs him. You feel the restraint humming under his skin like electricity.

You reach up and slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers.

“Stay” he says. It’s not a command. It’s almost… a request.

You nod, slow “I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally steps back, not far, just enough to breathe, and moves to the bed. Sits on the edge, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to reset.

You take the moment to look around. The room is warm-toned, elegant. One massive bed in the center. Silk sheets. Balcony window cracked open to let in the sound of crashing waves and soft jazz from below.

You sit beside him, gently bumping his shoulder “So. What now?”

Law doesn’t look at you “Now, we sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’re going to act like none of that happened?”

“I didn’t say that” he replies, voice quiet.

He leans back, hands braced behind him, eyes finally meeting yours “I’m saying we don’t have to rush it.”

Your heart stutters.

He adds, almost awkwardly, “This isn’t just the mission. Not for me.”

You don’t tease him this time. Instead, you smile, warm and soft.

“Not for me either.”

He pulls off his jacket, tosses it over the chair. Starts unbuttoning his cuffs. You stand and go to the bathroom to remove your heels and freshen up, giving him space, and maybe yourself a moment to breathe.

When you come back, Law’s already under the covers, shirt slightly open, tattooed chest half-visible in the low light. He’s facing the wall.

But when you slip in beside him, he immediately turns over and pulls you in, an arm draped over your waist, forehead pressing into your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room is quiet now.

The casino noise is a distant hum through the balcony window, soft music, muffled laughter, the whirl of spinning wheels and shuffled cards. But inside, it’s just the sound of two hearts beating faster than they should.

You’re lying on your side, Law behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, warm and heavy. Not demanding. Just… steady.

The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged. Comfortable, yet not quite safe.

Your voice cuts through it, soft and curious.

“If we’re just gonna sleep… then why here? Why not go back to the ship?”

You feel him pause behind you. Not tense but thoughtful.

He exhales through his nose “Because.”

“Because?”

His voice drops, rough like he hasn’t decided if he wants to answer honestly “Because if I took you back to the ship, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He shifts slowly and pulls you in tighter, chest pressed to your back now. His nose brushes your neck, and his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely manage a whisper “This?”

He hums “Stay close. Let myself… feel something.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you expected.

He continues, quietly “On the ship, I’m your captain. In control. Always thinking. Always five steps ahead.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And here?” you ask.

“Here,” he says, “I get to be a man lying next to someone who makes him forget all of that.”

You don’t answer for a moment.

Then, deliberately, you reach back and trail your fingers down his forearm, slow and gentle.

“Good,” you whisper “Because I like this version of you.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just tucks his face into your neck like he’s finally allowing himself to breathe.

You shift slightly.

Not much. Just enough to test the space between you.

He doesn’t stop you.

So you turn.

You roll slowly to face him, your knees brushing his under the covers, your chest barely touching his. The low golden light from the hallway filters in through the crack under the door, just enough to catch the edge of his face, his jaw, his eyes, that small crease between his brows.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Quietly.

You speak, low and honest “You’re not the only one who forgets how to breathe around the other.”

His expression flickers. Just a second. But enough for you to see hope, doubt, desire. Then gone again.

You lift your hand to his cheek, gentle.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

There’s nothing hesitant in it. No more caution, no more reading cues, no more pretend. Just heat, and months of tension finally snapping. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

Your hands move instinctively, one gripping his shirt, the other slipping around his waist. He shifts, pressing you into the mattress, his knee between yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

When he finally pulls back, just an inch, his forehead rests against yours. Both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

You whisper, “That didn’t feel like something we’ll forget in the morning.”

Law shakes his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“It’s not.”

Another beat.

Then you add, teasing, “So much for just sleeping.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, eyes half-lidded “You started it.”

You laugh soft and warm and tangled in sheets and tension.

And when he pulls you close again, one hand splayed across your lower back, your smile fades into something quieter. Something real.

Because this time, neither of you is pretending.

The next morning, the sun isn’t even fully up when you and Law leave the casino.

No one says anything at first. You walk side by side, close enough that your arms keep brushing, but not close enough to make it obvious.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the second the Polar Tang comes into view, the nerves hit you like a cannonball.

You’re holding your heels in one hand, the other arm looped awkwardly around your waist to keep Law’s massive coat closed over your dress. Your own shoes were giving you blisters, so somewhere between the casino lobby and the harbor, Law, annoyed and muttering, slipped out of his and made you wear them.

Now here you are, flopping around the deck in his too-big shoes while he walks beside you in his socks, lipstick faintly smudged across the corner of his jaw.

You don’t look at each other. You cannot look at each other.

And then just as your foot slips slightly in one of his clunky boots “Well, well, well… Look who finally decided to come back.”

Shachi.

Leaning on the railing with a bowl of cereal and way too much smugness for six in the morning.

You freeze.

Penguin appears from the stairwell, blinking at you both. His gaze travels from your tousled hair to your crooked dress zipper, to Law’s missing shoes, to your very obvious lipstick on his jaw.

He lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle.

“That,” he says, pointing his spoon between the two of you, “was not part of the mission.”

Law doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps walking, face unreadable except for the ears burning red.

You try to look casual. Like you didn’t just sneak off a casino floor at sunrise “We, uh... we stayed for surveillance reasons.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, I bet you were surveilling something.”

You shoot him a glare, still wearing Law’s boots “My heel broke.”

“Sure it did. And your lipstick broke too? All over the captain’s face?”

You reach up automatically to touch your lips, and groan when you realize he’s right.

Law growls under his breath “Enough.”

But Shachi’s having too much fun “Man, I thought you’d at least try to sneak back on like it didn’t happen. This is so much better.”

“Do you want to swim today, Shachi?” Law deadpans.

Bepo pops his head out of the hallway “Did you two share a bed? Was it part of the act or did something actually happen? Because you both look like—”

“Bepo.” Law cuts him off like a gunshot.

You turn to face Law, trying so hard not to laugh because the man looks like he wants to teleport to another planet. His hair’s still a little messy. His collar’s open. And he’s got the exact same expression he had when you kissed him: that barely-holding-it-together calm that only you can see cracking.

You mutter under your breath, “We should’ve never come back.”

Law nods “Agreed.”

Then, just when you’re about to make a break for your quarters, Law stops and turns.

He grabs your hand.

The crew goes dead silent.

He lifts your fingers to his lips in one smooth motion. Kisses them.

Soft. Deliberate.

Then walks off with all the calm dignity of a man in socks who’s still the most dangerous person in the room.

Your brain short-circuits. The crew loses their minds.

Penguin lets out a strangled “WHAT—”

Shachi screams “HE’S IN LOVE!!!”

And you’re just standing there, one hand in the air, heart about to burst out of your chest.

You finally bolt down the hallway toward your room, calling back “I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!!”

Bepo shouts after you, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMOTIONAL MATURITY!”

You slam your door shut, cheeks on fire, heart racing, and a stupid smile you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

[himewonu]

MAGNETIC ౨ৎ seventeen boyfriend texts

౨ৎ bf texts with polar opposite!seventeen

contents seventeen ot13 x gn!reader(s), fluff, comedy, opposites attract, established relationship, suggestive, kinda self indulgent with the introverts (as an enfp🫡)

from rhin, my favourite activity is reheating nachos when it comes to ot13🙏 anyways happy 10 years to my faves <3 i remember stanning them when they js renewed their contract and now theyre already celebrating 10 years since their debut !!

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[carbonfiction]

First bloom

Summary: Frank has a moment of vulnerability as he gifts you flowers for the first time.

Happy valentines Besties!! <33

Warnings?: whole lotta fluff really. nothing much to add other than Frank giving reader flowers for the first time and being a little bashful about it. (M' a sucker for a big, gruff, kinda angry man being a sweetheart to the person he loves alright?) possible horrible writing- a girl be struggling..

Pretty obvious buuut with this im adding frankie to my 'will write for' list bc i am, at my very core and before most fixations i ever had, a frank castle girlie.. With that said my normal Logan stuff will remain!! but i thought I'd get this lil thing out while it feels good in my mind and before i make a million changes- writers block has got my ass again but asks are still open!

Masterlist. Words: 1.1k

Franks feet feel heavy in his boots, each step thudding on the concrete. The streets are quiet, winter air crisp and cool as he digs a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he goes. Keep one hand warm and the other? Well.. That one feels pretty cold and yet, strangely, a little clammy at the same time.

In Franks grasp rests a bunch of colourful flowers; lillies, roses, some little delicate buds he doesnt recall the name of for decoration. 'Oh those? Those are called Babys breath frank!' He hopes you'll tell him with a beam later.

The rose thorns prod at his palm, his grip on the bundle of stems tense, but he finds it doesn't hurt the longer he walks. They just.. Ground him slightly as he treads closer to home. Closer to you.

Theres a peace that settles within him in your presence, he finds; one that seems to dim the darkness that swirls in his heart. You ease the ache that so often sits inside him, Never erasing it, no one ever could but.. You lessen it. Always willing to take the weight from his broad shoulders, if only for a little.

And for that? Frank is greatful.

He knows he can be alot; his grumpiness piled almost as high as his baggage. But you dont ever seem to mind.

You embrace him on the days he needs it but cant find it in himself to ask and keep him at arms length when you see in his eyes that being loved feels stifling; its just how life is with him. Yet you do it all with that soft smile and gentle hand, the polar opposite to his rough lines and jagged edges. Keeping him sane on the days when he believes himself to be anything but.

The hand he dug into his pocket seems clammier now as he pulls out his set of keys, the lock clicking open moments later. Its just flowers castle, pull it together he thinks, stepping back into the warm embrace of your apartment. Given girls flowers before for christ sake.

"sweetheart?" he calls out, gruff voice booming through the hall.

You jump slightly at the sound, placing down the wooden spoon that you had been stirring the fragrant pot on the stove with. Voice calling back "in the kitchen!" with a significantly softer tone.

You wait with your body leaning against the counter, observing how the bulk of him rounds the corner. A large arm behind his back; still in his coat. A suspicious rustle of cellophane filling the kitchen as he shifts on his feet, but still you grin at the sight.

"Got everything you needed" he says, hand digging through his coat pocket with various clinks and russles. In his large hand he pulls out a collection of little packets and jars, placing them on the counter. refills of various spices, salts and even a little box of yeast pouches for bread making sit in a heap; things you were running low on earlier.

you beam that perfect smile at him, murmering softly as you step forward, leaning up on your toes to kiss his stubled cheek. "Perfect, thank you frankie"

He accepts the kiss with a soft hum, dipping his head for you to reach.

But still that arm remains behind his back. He almost hopes you dont notice.. But you do, he can tell.

"Uh Frank?.." you start a little cautiously with that same grin, however this time theres a little glint of confusion added as you step back just slightly. "What are you hiding?"

You stew in his silence for a moment, a crease wedging its way back between his brows. Handsome face suddenly filled with... trepidation?

"Frank.." you start again, a little more seriously as you step closer. By now you're fully expecting something bad; that someones been gunning for him again and hes hurt. That there must be blood soaking through his coat and thats why hes hiding.

But as quick as he paused, he sighs, broad shoulders falling just slightly. that same arm once hidden, now outstretched infront of you. The colourful bouquet at eye level as you take it in, a tiny gasp slipping past your lips.

"Frank castle did.." you begin, hand coming to join his on the delicate stems. Your voice is hushed and a little shakey as your eyes scan up and across his face. "Did you buy me flowers?"

His head moves in a little nod, chest puffing out just slightly as he releases his grip; completly surrendering both the flowers and himself.

"Yeah i, uh.." he gruffs, thinking outloud before he stops; practically looking everywhere but at you. The pot on the stove, the cups on the sink, even his boots. Its then he realises that he's almost afraid to see some semblance of rejection in your gaze; that he's missteped or you dont like them. That this sense of peace you wash over him is about to be swept away; wide eyes and incredulous tone not helping his state.

Frank takes another breath, steeling himself; his walls building back up, before he simply settles on a shake of his head and a huff. "Doesn't matter, 's stupid alright"

"No, no its not stupid." you rush out, remaining close as you eye the flowers in your hand and then him again. "They're beautiful frank.."

"Saw em and they reminded me of you so..." he coughs, a large hand scratching at the back of his neck. "thought I'd get em.."

Frank shifts on his feet, stance widening as you suddenly throwing yourself into his arms and grip him tightly; the Boquet landing on the counter seconds before your impact to his chest. You hold him like that for a few quiet moments before you lean back, resting on your tip toes as you cup a rough cheek.

"Thank you.." you whisper softly, honesty pure in your words. A little bashful grin across your lips as you lean up a little higher. "I love them, really. They're perfect"

Frank gazes down at you gently, a finger of his own brushing over your skin as he leans in, kissing you with such unspoken emotion it could knock you off your feet- if he wasnt already keeping you up.

"Yeah sweetheart? Really think they are all that?" he murmers, forehead against yours, the air of unease beginning to slip from your reaction. Enjoying the endearing heat of your gaze.

Your lips meet his in another tender kiss as you press the words against him; though they hold a hidden, deeper meaning. "Yeah Frank.. I really do"

[sakura-rose12]

Reuniting after the birdcage releases on Dressrosa.

Something something Rosi was under protection until Doffy could be taken down and then joins Law on the Polar Tang, he’s totally alive I don’t know what you mean

Masterlist

[itoshiexx]

when you call them "husband" - part 2

how the blue lock boyfriends react when you call them "husband" - part 2

pairings: itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo x fem!reader (no descriptions tho, just the words "wife" on rin's part) (separate) | warnings: established relationship, fluff, lovesick boys

notes: I'M ALIVE! i cant believe how long it's been since i had time/energy/creativity to write something, ohmy goddddddd. i'm so sorry for all the time it took to post this, but i wanna ty all so much for all the love on part 1 and all the requests for part 2! hopefully this will meet your expectations ♥ as always, i went a lil' overboard with rin's part. enjoy!

part 1 / masterlist

ITOSHI RIN

rin was not a fan of social media. it was clear with the way his instagram only had 8 pictures despite being years since his career started, and even more so by the fact he had no other social media besides that. if he wasn’t so famous, people would say itoshi rin was a ghost or some artificial intelligence invention. 

it was one of the reasons people were very shocked when he started dating you, an influencer with millions of followers on every platform. rin was a private person, and you… well, you shared your life on the internet for everyone to see. to say you were polar opposites was an understatement.

however, you never forced your boyfriend to appear in any of your socials, only recording things for your own fun and memories and posting only what he allowed. rin was glad for that. he didn’t mind doing dumb things with you to see you smile, as long as the rest of the world couldn’t see how whipped he was for you.

also, you were kind of glad the professional athlete was so unaware of social media, because it meant you could do a lot of tiktok trends without the risk of him already knowing what was coming — which made everything more satisfying. 

and the trend you chose that day was especially good.

“hey everyone, it’s y/n here!” you chirped, waving your hands in front of your phone. however, you were actually recording rin, who was at the other side waiting for your sign to appear on the screen.

you continued speaking. “today i have a very special guest, who i’m sure you’re all very familiar with.” you gave the camera a little cheeky wink, and your boyfriend rolled his eyes with all your theatrics. “please welcome itoshi rin, my handsome husband!”

rin gave a step forward to start his way to you, but suddenly, his whole body froze, brows furrowing in what you could only call utmost confusion. silence took over the room for what felt like an eternity, and you had to suppress your laugh seeing the imaginary ‘loading’ wheel on his head.

rin.exe stopped working.

“baby?” you decided to intervene, honestly a little scared of how immobile rin was.

“you— i’m— did you just— did we—”

you could no longer hold your laughter, and rin’s favorite melody echoing through the walls of your shared apartment was probably what snapped him out of his trance. he immediately scowled and crossed his arms, cheeks burning red from his pathetic stutter.

“i am never doing these dumb videos with you again.”

“no, no, i’m sorry!” your giggles kept going, and you approached your pouty boyfriend, squishing his cheeks between your hands. the smooch you gave him was almost enough to make him melt. almost. rin still had some self respect.

he also didn’t want to admit how abnormally fast his stone heart was beating with the mere thought of being referred to as your husband — and, even better, referring to you as his wife. 

fuck. that certainly did make him feel lots of things. those stupid butterflies that were born the minute you met were roaming freely in his stomach, soaring with all the love he had harbored just for you. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” you said again, smiling like you swallowed the sun and all things good in this world. you might as well have. how else could rin explain the way you were his everything? “it was a prank i saw on tiktok.”

he arched his eyebrow, arms uncrossing to put his hands on your waist. “oh? so you don’t want me to be your husband?”

the itoshi was satisfied to see you flushing this time. “i— w-well, you see…”

and then you started rambling, just like you did every time something made you nervous. and rin could only look at you as if nothing else was worth looking at, because really, to him, it wasn’t. 

…well, maybe the sight of you walking down the aisle would get the cake. he might have to find out soon. 

MICHAEL KAISER

once you started dating bastard munchen’s star, michael kaiser, it was natural to have his world collide with yours. everything from football to blue hair dye to weird sleeping habits became a part of you as well, and you nourished every expanse of your world his presence alone was able to give.

your favorite part, besides learning all of him — his little habits, quirks and love languages that seemed to be crafted solely for you — was definitely immersing yourself in his culture. germany always seemed distant and quite detached from your life, and you loved to learn new things from different perspectives. 

food, traditions, language… michael loved teaching you things, giddy and secretly grateful for your excitement. it was his sparkly eyes that prompted you to learn a few things by yourself to surprise him and make him happy. 

the tiktok trend was just a nice coincidence. 

you phone was hidden on the kitchen balcony, camera recording and waiting for the moment your boyfriend would arrive in your shared apartment. luckily, kaiser was very punctual, and you didn’t have to wait much longer.

“liebling, i’m home!” you heard him scream from the front door, and you giggled to yourself, pretending to be busy chopping vegetables for dinner. 

you waited for his footsteps to near where you were, and, as soon as you felt he entered the camera frame, you answered:

“welcome home, ehemann!”

you didn’t have to turn around to see the way kaiser completely froze; arms stopping just before reaching your waist as if your figure was an illusion created by his tired mind. you fought hard to suppress your grin.

“what… did you say…?” his voice was low and uncertain, but there was no annoyance in it; just pure confusion. 

turning your head around to finally look at him, you were pleased to find your mikka with rosy cheeks and a bashful expression, so extremely unusual for a guy like him you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter on your chest. 

you gave him your best innocent look. “huh? isn’t that how you say boyfriend?”

“i-it’s husband, liebe. you called me husband,” his tone was still incredulous, and this time, you couldn’t keep your smile off your face. 

“oh, did i?”

your countenance seemed to finally snap him out of his trance, and michael’s eyebrows shot up, scoffing slightly — albeit still endearingly. his arms circled your waist and he pressed a kiss on the side of your neck. 

“how mean of you, baby. playing with my heart like that.” he trailed more kisses on your neck and jaw, making you squirm. “you tryin’ to kill me or something?”

you giggled again, both from the ticklish kisses he was giving you and the huge amount of love you had harbored just for him. “of course not, baby. i need you alive to make you my husband,” you jested.

“oh, yeah? you wanna make me your husband?”

“yes.” you shifted, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. kaiser hugged you a little tighter, feeling something fuzzy inside his chest. “is that a problem?”

“never,” he answered immediately. because it was true.

boyfriend, fiancé, partner, husband… michael didn’t mind what title would be bestowed to him — as long as he could keep being yours.

MIKAGE REO

being the heir of one of the biggest corporations of the country and a professional football player made your boyfriend’s schedule pretty busy. therefore, thursdays like these, where you and him could have a nice walk around the park under the warm sunlight, hand in hand, were extremely rare — hence why they were so appreciated.

reo knew how much his frenetic agenda was a hard toll on your relationship, affecting both of you with distance, longing and short periods of time together. and, well, everyone knew how much of a goner he was for you, so it wasn’t surprising to see him give in whatever spare time he had in his hands — even going as far as making such time exist if there wasn’t any — to be with you for as long as he possibly could.

how could he deny your pretty little eyes pleading to have a stroll in the park with him ‘just for a few minutes?’

god, you were so selfless. he wanted to give you all of his minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years. and for all that’s worth, reo would never deny you of such a thing — he’d rather shoot himself than make you think you weren’t loved with every fiber of his being.

the weather was nice; a gentle breeze kissing both of your faces and making everything more pleasant. you were both chatting and appreciating the calm environment when you spotted an old lady a few feet ahead, selling different colored roses for the passersby. a smile was etched onto your lips, and you impulsively let go of reo’s hand to run towards her. 

“why hello, dear. would you like to buy a rose?”

your boyfriend watched you beam to the lady and slowly approached you, though still keeping his distance and trying hard not to intervene and buy all the roses for you. 

“yes, please! a red one would be perfect.”

“oh, who will you give it to?” asked the woman, already taking one flower from the bunch to hand it to you. 

your smile became slightly more bashful, “it’s for my husband!”

and fuck, if reo wasn’t already completely in love with you and thoroughly believed you were his soulmate until then, he certainly would after that very moment. he could feel his cheeks burning and his tongue rolling inside his mouth with how speechless he became. his heart soared with your words, excitement coursing through his veins with a love so overwhelming he nearly fell on his knees right there. 

heavens, he loved you so fucking much. and you made him realize it was about time he proved it to you (once again).

his hands easily found his phone in his pocket, and a quick call to the jewelry store was made while you busied yourself with paying for the flower. reo couldn’t stop smiling like a lovesick fool, but he didn’t mind.

“hey, mr. fuji, it’s mikage! you know, i think it’s time for that visit i mentioned a while ago…”

he might not fall to his knees right there, but he would drop at one knee very soon.

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

if you like my writing and would like to support me, you can 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ! any amount is welcomed and very appreciated! ♥

[grugruel]

Blue Eyes

Paurings: young!silco x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: Silco has a crush, and after bumping into her in the mines, you're invited to the last drop.

At the end of the night, you find yourself hand in hand with Silco, leading him to your home.

Wordcount: 3.2

Warnings: pinv sex, mirror sex, fingering, body worship, petnames, creampie, tiny bit of cockwarming, praise, mutual pinging, overstimulation, edging? There might be more.

AN: I want him, It's not a joke anymore. It never was, just hand him over riot.

Thump. "Oph!-" her vision darkened, the helmet suddenly thrust over her eyes. Annoyance bubbled up inside her as she pushed the headgear back with a huff. But then, her vision filled with blue, and everything on her mind trickled out of her.

Frozen, they stared at one other. "Apologies," a striking man mumbled beneath his breath.

"You'll have to excuse him." A big hand gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the sudden touch pulling her back to reality. She looked up only to realise their awkward collision had a witness, a big burly man with a pickaxe slung over his shoulder. "Always in the clouds this one," he chuckled and shook the blue eyed man's shoulder.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile before her gaze fell back to his companion, face stinging.

It was her fault. She'd been reading the report and not paying attention to what was ahead of her, resulting in this poor, unsuspecting man as the object of collision.

He was taller than her, and a few pieces of hair hung loose from his tie-back, framing his dirtied face. Soot and dust covered his sharp features, but amidst it all were two beautiful pale blue eyes. A faint sense of recognition hung over. She she'd seen the men before.

She shook her head prematurely, lips straining to keep up with her thoughts. "No, no. It was my fault. I didn't look where I was going." Her cheeks were heating. She could only imagine the blush staining her face, inconveniencing her further.

Blue eyes exhaled a silent laugh, lips curving into a silly smirk. He seemed to be relieved the girl had not taken offense. "I should've been paying attention."

"It's fine," she mouthed to him and smiled, feeling her face heat further. Hastily, she turned her gaze toward the ground, insitent on avoiding any further embaressment.

"Have we met before?" The bigger man asked. "I recognize you."

"Well," she gestured toward the cramped tunnel that the three found themselves in, deep below the surface. "We seem to be colleagues."

"Aye, that we do," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head in thought. "But that's not-" he began, suddenly interrupted by a nudge from the blue-eyed man. The two exchanged a few looks between them in a rather clear attempt of secret communication.

She looked at them suspiciously. "No, I believe you're right, I've seen you boys somewhere, but not here. That I think I'd remember," she said, noting their polar opposite appearances.

The slim man scoffed playfully, shaking his head as if surprised by the sheer lapse in memory from the both of them. "You're Felicia's friend, aren't you? I've seen you around the Drop."

And so, it clicked. These were her bozos.

A lightbulb turned on above the big man's head as he called her name in sudden recollection. " . . . Of course, how could I forget," he said and gave the slim man a smirk.

The girl imagined the act was supposed to be concealed, but they weren't very subtle men. "That's right, Vander and-"

A slender hand reached out to her. "Silco," he introduced himself.

"Silco," she nodded and shook his hand. It was warm to the touch. Moreover, it was stronger than she expected. Impressions clearly mattered to him. "That's right," she chuckled, the out of place laughter catching the men off guard. "Or was it bozo?"

Vander's eyes widened. "Aye," he tried to repress a laugh, resulting in a hearty cough instead. Silco retracted his hand to rub at his neck, his own face tinging a pale hue of pink beneath all that grime. "She told you about that, eh?"

"Im sure I've only heard her call you by your actual names once or twice," she smiled coyly, gaze flicking back to blue eyes, only to be met by them head on.

Had he ever taken them off her?

There was a something about the smile he gave her then, something fond and safe. Had she not known him for less than five minutes, she'd describe his expression as loving.

Suddenly thoughtful, Vander rubbed his chin, a remnant of laughter still glimmering in his eyes. "That's more than I knew."

"Some things are just for the girls," the girl confirmed. "Although, It was only a matter of time before I figured you out." She subconsciously tapped her nails against the clipboard in her hands, reminding herself that she's still on active duty. "Well, boys. I have to get going." She gestured with the papers to make her point. "It was a pleasure to officially meet you, Vander-" dhe shook his hand. "Silco," she nodded, unable to keep a smile from her lips.

He returned the gesture and recalled her name aloud. " . . . , it was nice to see you."

"That it was," Vander agreed. Taking a step to the side, she allowed them space to move past her. "Hey," the bigger man stopped her. "If you're interested, we're having a small get-together tonight at the Drop if you'd like to stop by, I'm sure Felicia told you about it."

"She has, actually. Thank you," the girl began, eyes twinkling sincerely before her lips fell slanted in apology. "But im not sure I can make it."

"Ah well . . . Should your schedule clear," a well worn smile worked its way onto Vander's lips.

"You'd be very welcome to join us," Silco added and gave her extra space in the narrow tunnel, gesturing 'ladies first'.

It seemed Vander had almost expected the line from Silco, as if practiced or simply insync. "I'll see what I can do . . . See you around, Vander, Blue eyes," she nodded farewell to the duo and made her way past them, but not before she could catch a glimpse of the teasing grin cracking up the usual kindness in Vander's face.

She'd never been a brazen woman, but she felt safe to flirt with the Silco in front of his larger counterpart. They were a handsome pair, there was no question about it. But there was something about him.

And so, they went their separate ways. The men's shapes disappeared into the gloom of the tunnel, their laughs echoing along the uneven walls of the mine as Vander slung an arm around Silco's shoulders.

She smiled to herself. Brothers in arms.

-

Lather that night, the four found themselves as the last occupants in the Last Drop.

"I see why you like her."

Silco tapped the countertop impatiently and looked up at his counterpart. "Im not a good dancer."

As always, the bars lanterns emenated a warm, soft glow throughout the premises. Casting shadows and illuminating the inhabitants with a complimenting glow.

Vander shook his head and sighed, smiling a smile reserved for his little brother alone. "Take her by the hand, and the rest will come naturally."

The slender man rubbed his temples. "You're greatly overestimating my apptitude for dancing, brother."

Vander shrugged. "She's had an eye on you all night."

Just then, the Last Drop filled with music pleasantly vibrating through the open space. Bouncing on the walls and bleeding out into the streets.

"Aye, well . . . You can't back out now," Vander said and nodded toward the jukebox.

Turning around, blue eyes immediately fixed on the beautiful girl. Swaying to the music, the girl friends moved in rhythm with each other.

His gaze followed her every movement. The way her hair caressed her skin with each soft fling of her head, the way her hips and chest curved with every tune of the guitar. The way her face blushed so prettily.

Silcos body all but moved on its own.

-

Hand in hand, they walked along the Lanes, enjoying the mellow bussing of the city. The clacking of their heels and the occasional shared laughter were the only sounds accompanying them on their journey.

Most of it was spent in comfortable silence, heavy eyes wandering further than their feet. He could not take his eyes off her. Smitten would be the right word.

She released his hand to unlock the door. Yet, it found a way to her body. Without exchanging a single word, gentle fingers traced the skin bare to him, drawing patterns along her back and waist.

Once open, they barely got the door closed before crashing into one another. Silco smoothly slid his hand behind her head before pushing her up against a wall and their lips connected.

On collision, she moaned. Simply because of its unexpected nature and the joy she got from it, even more when he grinned against her.

The tips of his fingers slid beneath her shirt, but stopped, eyes connecting to hers. Heavy breathing filled the silent apartment as they spoke through their gazes.

It was not the colour of blue she noticed now, it was the shape of his eyes and the curve of emotion. She saw the blue in terms of calm and faultless reliability. She saw the lust and longing lining his eyelids, weighing them down as he looked upon her.

Patiently, he waited for her approval.

But most of all, she saw the deep dark of his pupils, expanding beyond possibility. In them was the adoration he had for her, the need for her that enlarged them so.

Silco whispered her name, and it fell from his lips like a prayer. His voice was breathless, close to a moan. All from being in her prescence, from feeling the softness of her skin. "Can I see you?" His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, sliding the fabric between his digits, restlessly tugging and releasing.

Nodding heavily, she gave him the go-ahead. "Please take it off," she murmured, and a small appreciative hum escaped him. Fisting the fabric, he stepped back and pulled it over her head. From the strain in his fingers, she realised he'd torn it in half if he'd had her permission.

He was close to a whimper at the sight of her, eyebrows knitting together in pain. "Beautiful," he breathed, in absolute awe of her topless body. Softly, he raised his hand. The tips of his fingers coming down on her collarbone, tracing its length. He slid them lower until their weight began making indents in the hills of her soft flesh.

She manouvered her hand behind his head and hooked a finger through his hair-tie. Pulling it loose, dark brown waves surrounded his face. "Prove it to me." She cupped his cheeks and slid her hands through his hair, catching it in the movement and combing it behind his ears. "Show me," she whispered, entangling strands between the tips of her fingers and lightly tugging, gaging his reaction.

And when the desired hiss left him, she pulled him in for a kiss.

Silcos' hands slid down her ribs, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts in the motion. One weared off behind her back while the other found purchase beneath her thigh. He hoisted her into his embrace with one easy movement, lean arms flexing around her.

"Second floor to the right," she managed between kisses and wrapped her legs around his hips. Suddenly, she felt his bulge grinding against her core.

-

The road to her bedroom was a rough one. He carried her easily, his body strong from toiling in the mines. But struggling through the dark while kissing resulted in a few corners bumped and lean shoulders bruised. But nothing would deter them, curses and laughing handled the hurt.

Entering, he looked around the room. "Mirror," he asked. It wasn't much of a question, but it got the massage across.

"Left," she answered on instinct, driven purely by confusion. "What's-"

"I'll prove it." He set her down and turned her around. His breath caressed her shoulder, warming it up for a kiss while his hands slid down her arms, causing goosebumps to cascade along her skin.

They stopped on her hips, and Silco kneeled, thumbs hooking into her skirt. Their eyes locked through the mirror, and as her hand found his head to softly scratch his scalp, she nodded.

Silco pulled it down, kissing every inch of new skin exposed to him until she could step out of it and kick it to the side. All the while she watched him through the mirror, observing how that adoring man worshipped her, how tenderly he placed each kiss.

Retracing his steps, lips brushed up her side, ocassionaly pecking her calf, thigh, and hip. His hands were already too busy working on his own shirt and pants, resulting in a state of undress by the time his lips reached her shoulderblade.

Her hand shifted, reaching back to nest in the back of his neck.

When done, a lean chest pressed itself against her back and arms wrapped around her torso like hungry snakes, pulling her against him. They skimmed in different directions as he placed his chin on her shoulder, studying her every reaction to his touch.

One travelled upward, brushing fingertips in the valley between her breasts. Grinning, he watched her skin raise goosebumps and nipples harden. "You're perfect," he breathed, hand wrapping around her breast. Humming, she reclined her head against his shoulder, fingers tugging at the hair on his nape.

But silco wasn't done, kissing the throat now available to him. "Keep watching, dove. I want you to see yourself as I do." While massaging her breast, his other hand slid down her abdomen and between her legs. She gasped, head jerking to attention as fingers dipped into her core, wetting themselves before moving up to circle her clit. "Do you trust me?" He asked, breathing hot on her neck, teeth softly sinking into her muscle.

"Yes."

. . .

"Then kneel."

So she did, and so did he. Settling down in his lap, back to chest, she could feel his erection against the curve of her ass. His arm wrapped around her waist and hovered her above his member. "Ready?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on her ribs.

She grabbed his thigh with her free hand, keeping herself steady. "Please yes," she begged, squirming against him, trying to feel ehat little she could of his inches.

Keeping their eyes on each other, Silco lowered her onto his member. A gasp released in unisome, eyes twinkling as he breached her core and filled her perfectly. A pained humming emenated from him as her core put pressure around his inches. "Am I hurting you?" He hissed, squeezing her breast tenderly. Needing to move.

She shook her head, breathlessly thinking of an answer as she watched him through the mirror. There was a desperate, carnal look in his eyes. He was hungry for her. "It's great," she whimpered. "You're great." Her fingers scratched the back of his head soothingly as she tilted her head back to kiss his jaw. "Please, please don't stop, Silco."

His member twitched inside her, and in pure reflex, she squeezed around him. Because inspite of being so desperate to fuck her, to feel and move inside her. He made sure she felt good first. She would give that man everything he wanted and more.

Silco widened his legs and hoisted her up. And just as she was about to complain, whine that she didn't want to lose the connection between their bodies. He thrust into her, smooth and deep, taking advantage of his hold on her to meet the rut with his hips. "Fuck," she cried.

"That feel good, dove?" He breathed, nipping and pecking her shoulder in equal amount. He repeated the motion, setting a steady pace while never once taking his eyes off her rocking body.

"Yes, y-yes . . . "

"Beautiful girl," he groaned, hand brushing up her chest, gently feeling her soft throat beneath his coarse skin. Moving further, his thumb brushed across her lips, tracing the smile that twitched on her lips. The muscles of her face unable to decide between displaying happiness or lust. "Look at you." He cupped her cheek, fingers gently stroking her cheekbone as his lips found her neck.

In the mirror, their bodies were gleaming with sweat as they moved together. Rocking rythmically with each thrust, her breasts bobbing and muscles flexing. Her eyes were hodded with desire as she looked at him, at them.

He was right, she was pretty, pretty as he fucked her.

Meanwhile, Silco looked dishevelled and torn apart. At the point of breaking from the godly woman in his lap. Hair hung over his forehead, and sweat lined his temples. His hands were veiny and strong, feeling her beneath his palms. One arm moved higher, circling her chest so he could massage her breast.

Watching him do this, prioratise her that way . . . It was enough to make her come from that alone.

The wet sounds of thrusting and dull thumping filled her room. In each other's ears, their breathing was strained. Filled with pleasure and effort, pumping one another full of lust.

But she couldn't tear her mind from Silco's state. He looked like he'd been ready to come for quite some time. "Are you, mmh- close?"

Silco released a breathy chuckle as he scraped his teeth along the top of her shoulderblade, attempting to stay sane. "Since I entered you," he admitted, voice close to a whimper. "Too hard not to."

He's been overstimulating himself for her sake. Driving himself to a point of insanity, for her sake. She reclined her head, hand sliding to his face, tilting it to meet hers. "You're too good to me," she whispered and kissed him.

Silcos eyebrows knitted together and released an open mouthed whine against her lips. She could feel him twitch and pulse inside her. Her words hadn't made it easier for him. "It's ok, im right behind you." Her thumb brushed his temple, comforting him in his abyss. "It's ok," she whispered again.

A shudder tore through her seat, and he spilt inside her at the validation. Hot seed filled her up and trickled out of her, coating his own member.

No longer moving, he breathed heavily against her, catching his breath. Like this they stayed for a moment or two before their lips found eachother once again and a long slender hand slithered to her clit. She'd spoken the truth, she was not far behind him.

She felt him inside her, behind her and on her. All continuously working for her pleasure alone. In spite of getting his own and already being worn out, he soldiered on. His arm around her torso was more to keep himself upright now than it was to keep her. "Perfect," he slurred. "Dreamt of this since the first time I saw you, . . . ," he whispered her name, fingers quickening their pace.

She could've finished herself of, in truth, she wouldn't have minded after the resilience and performance he'd given her. But she wouldn't, because she could tell bringing her to climax ment a lot to him, and that was all she needed.

With a final moan, pleasure surged through her body and his name fell from her lips. Praising him, thanking him.

In spite of their tiredness, he hoisted her off his member and lifted her up. Body in his arms, she guided him to the bathroom and tenderly cleaned each other off, soft eyes and shy smiles exchanged between them.

-

"They set us up," she whispered, snuggly cradled in his arm after they'd gone to bed.

Silco chuckled, giving the back of her head a kiss. "Im glad they did."

"So am I."

-

[kateschi]

ᯓ★୭˚. RIVALS OR MORE?

જ⁀➴ “what are we?” event masterlist

synopsis: a question lingers between you and bakugou, sharp and biting, much like the competition that keeps pulling you back into each other's orbits.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the rivalry between you and bakugou katsuki was the kind of tale that pro-hero rookies whispered about, an unrelenting contest that started years ago at u.a. high.

from the moment the two of you stepped onto campus, it was as though the universe had aligned you as polar opposites.

bakugou’s explosive temper and fiery quirk were impossible to ignore, while your sharp tongue and precise control made it clear you wouldn’t be overshadowed by anyone—especially not him.

it began in your first year, during basic hero training, when aizawa-sensei had paired the two of you for a sparring match.

bakugou’s smug grin was infuriating as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles.

“don’t cry when i wipe the floor with you,” he sneered, crimson eyes blazing with confidence.

“save the big talk for someone you can actually beat,” you shot back, stepping onto the mat with your head held high.

the match was chaotic. bakugou’s explosions came fast and furious, his relentless offense forcing you to dodge and counter at a breakneck pace.

but you refused to give ground. the air smelled of smoke and scorched fabric by the time aizawa called it a draw, both of you battered and breathless.

bakugou wiped a streak of soot from his face, glaring at you. “next time, I’ll crush you.”

“not if I crush you first,” you retorted, wincing as recovery girl dabbed ointment on a nasty burn.

from that day on, the rivalry became a constant. every training session was a chance to prove who was better.

even the smallest victories turned into battlegrounds.

group projects were a nightmare for anyone unfortunate enough to share the assignment with the two of you; more than one teammate had begged for reassignment just to escape the tension.

things reached a boiling point during the training camp in your second year. paired together for a survival exercise, the friction was immediate.

bakugou stomped through the forest with his usual impatience, barking orders as if he expected you to follow blindly.

“stop lagging behind!” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder to where you were scanning the dense undergrowth.

“I’m not lagging,” you replied coolly, stepping over a fallen log with deliberate ease. “I’m thinking. you should try it sometime.”

“don’t start with me,” he growled.

despite the bickering, the two of you worked with a kind of unspoken rhythm, covering each other’s blind spots without even needing to communicate.

you hated to admit it, but bakugou’s sheer power was impressive, and his instincts in a fight were razor-sharp.

it was during that exercise that the dynamic shifted, if only slightly.

when you stumbled into a hidden trap, a quick snare wrapping around your ankle, bakugou had reacted instantly. his explosions shredded the ropes in a matter of seconds, his glare more intense than usual.

“can’t believe you let yourself get caught like that,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, brushing off dirt as you got back to your feet. “thanks for the save.”

“whatever,” he huffed, looking away, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smirk.

those moments were rare, fleeting, but they stuck with you. even as adults, long after u.a. had become a memory, the rivalry burned just as brightly.

every headline that mentioned bakugou’s latest exploits made your blood boil. every time your name appeared in the rankings above his, you could practically hear him grinding his teeth.

it was a constant, infuriating reminder that he was always just there, always pushing you to be better—even when you hated him for it.

for years, you’d managed to keep your distance, tackling different missions. it was better that way. no distractions, no arguments.

but the pro-hero commission had other plans.

their reasoning was infuriatingly logical: two top-ranking heroes with a proven track record of results, a shared history of success despite—or perhaps because of—your rivalry.

and so, without consultation or warning, your paths were forcibly crossed again.

the moment you’d seen bakugou striding into the meeting room, your stomach had twisted in a knot of irritation and reluctant anticipation.

the years apart had done little to dull the intensity of his presence, nor had they cooled the fire of your rivalry.

bakugou walks to the far end of the table and plops down, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual scowl firmly in place.

his crimson eyes flicker with barely restrained irritation, and the rhythmic tap of his boot against the floor echoes in the silence, each strike a silent drumbeat to his rising impatience.

you sit at the opposite end, your posture mirroring his, arms folded tightly across your chest. your jaw locks, muscles taut as you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the umpteenth time.

“why the hell do I have to work with you?” his voice cuts through the silence, sharp and jagged, carrying with it a heat that isn’t entirely metaphorical.

his glare burns into you, daring you to fight back. so you lean forward, meeting his fire with your own.

“you think I’m thrilled about this, bakugou?” you snap. “this mission is too important to let your ego screw it up.”

his foot stills mid-tap, and for a moment, the room feels unnervingly quiet. then, he scoffs, his lips curling into a sneer as he leans forward, his tone dropping to a dangerous growl.

“my ego?” he bites out, the heat in his voice rising. “you’re the one who’s always trying to prove you’re better than me!”

you can’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. there’s a certain satisfaction in lighting his fuse.

“that’s because I am better than you,” you shoot back, your tone teetering on smugness.

his jaw clenches, veins visibly straining against his neck as his temper flares. his hands twitch as though he’s moments away from letting loose a barrage of explosions just to make his point.

before he can retort, a sharp clearing of a throat slices through the air like a knife.

the tension snaps, both of you glancing toward the commission’s representative.

“enough,” she says, her voice steely and cutting. her gray eyes are cold as they flicker between you and bakugou, clearly unimpressed by your outbursts.

“you two are professionals. act like it. this mission requires complete cooperation, and I don’t care how much you dislike each other.”

the word cooperation feels like a slap in the face. you straighten in your chair, jaw tightening as you cast a sidelong glance at bakugou.

he glares at the holographic display now—typical.

the display flickers to life, illuminating the room with a sharp blue glow as the mission briefing begins. details of a criminal syndicate tied to a dangerous quirk-enhancing drug fill the room.

you nod along, taking in the information, though you’re acutely aware of bakugou’s every shift, every exhaled breath.

as the meeting draws to a close, the representative’s tone grows pointed.

“this mission is high-stakes. your ability to work together effectively will determine its success—or failure.”

bakugou stands abruptly, the screech of his chair against the polished floor startlingly loud. “fine,” he mutters, his voice low and clipped as he stalks toward the door.

you sigh, rising to follow. “try not to blow everything up before we get the intel, okay?”

he shoots a glare over his shoulder, but there’s something almost amused in the way his lips twitch, like he wants to snap back but can’t quite muster the effort. “just stay out of my way, h/n.”

the door shuts behind him with a heavy click, and you let out a long breath.

the mission hasn’t even started yet, and already you feel the weight of it—not just the stakes but the inevitability of clashing with bakugou.

the city below buzzes with its usual hum of activity: flashing neon signs, the occasional honk of a car, and distant murmurs of a world that never quite sleeps.

the syndicate’s hideout looms in the distance, nestled within a secluded section of the city that seems to thrive on the shadows.

the building is plain, but you know better than to judge based on appearances.

you glance at bakugou, who is already adjusting his gauntlets. the metallic clicking of his gear fills the silence between you, his movements sharp and methodical.

“I’ll take the front. you sneak in through the back,” bakugou says, his voice laced with the kind of confidence only someone like him possesses.

he looks at you, his crimson eyes sharp and unyielding. “stay out of my way.”

you raise an eyebrow at his commanding tone.

there’s something about it—something that always gets under your skin. but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing it.

“typical bakugou,” you say with a smirk, shaking your head in exaggerated disbelief. “always going for the flashy entrance. no wonder they call you ‘dynamight.’”

bakugou’s lips twitch into a smirk of his own.

“yeah? and what do they call you? ‘miss perfect’?” his voice drips with the challenge, and you feel the simmering heat of competition between you two.

you raise your chin, your confidence just as unwavering as his.

“‘h/n,’ actually,” you correct, your voice dripping with mock sweetness that masks the genuine pride you feel for the name.

“because I get the job done without leaving a mess behind.”

his lip curls into a scowl, and he mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re pretty sure it’s some variation of “show-off.”

you chuckle as you move into position. his temper is always so easy to provoke, yet it never fails to amuse you.

crouching low, you disappear into the shadows, the familiar rhythm of working alongside bakugou settling in like a second skin.

despite your constant bickering, you have to admit there’s a certain harmony in how you two work together.

as you make your way to the back entrance of the hideout, you hear the distant thrum of bakugou’s footsteps as he moves toward the front.

you know he'll create a commotion, likely to draw attention and give you the perfect opportunity to slip in unnoticed. it’s his style—loud, chaotic, and effective.

you pause for a moment, assessing the situation. the back door is guarded, as you expect, but not too heavily. you’ll have to move quickly, but this is your element.

the guards are predictable, and you can use that to your advantage. with a quiet breath, you step forward, easily dispatching the first guard with a well-placed kick that sends him tumbling silently into a dark corner.

everything is going according to plan, and for a moment, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes with the territory. you aren’t just good at this—you’re damn good at it.

but as you near the main floor, the sound of shouting catches your attention, followed by the unmistakable crackle of bakugou’s explosions.

your heart skips a beat. it’s too early for things to go sideways—he isn’t supposed to be discovered yet. but, knowing bakugou, you don’t doubt he’s already drawn half of the syndicate’s attention.

the man never does know how to be discreet.

you curse under your breath but push forward, pressing yourself against the cold concrete wall as you move deeper into the compound.

every instinct you have screams at you to hurry, but you can’t afford to be sloppy—not now.

as you round a corner, a sharp crack of sound pierces the air—one you immediately recognize as a gunshot.

before you can react, something slams into your side, sending you sprawling across the floor. pain shoots through your ribs, and the world spins in a blur as you fight to stay conscious.

you stagger to your feet, heart racing.

your vision is blurry from the shock of the blow, but you manage to focus. the guards have noticed you—no surprise there—but now you’re outnumbered.

as you prepare to defend yourself, the familiar sound of bakugou’s explosions rings out, closer than before. your mind screams at you to hold on, but the pain is beginning to cloud your thoughts.

the world seems to slow as you brace yourself against the oncoming guards.

blood pounds in your ears, your vision narrows, and every muscle in your body screams for you to move—but you’re frozen.

you can feel the gunshot wound throbbing, hot and raw, in your side. your breaths come in sharp, jagged gasps as you prepare for the worst.

and then, everything explodes.

it’s as if the entire world has been set on fire.

a massive blast of force erupts from the far side of the room, so powerful it shakes the walls and sends debris scattering.

you instinctively throw yourself to the ground to shield yourself from the shockwave, your hands scraping against the cold floor.

when the smoke and dust begin to settle, a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“hey! move, dammit!”

bakugou appears in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the fiery remnants of his explosion. his eyes lock onto you with a terrifying intensity.

you barely have time to process the sight of him before he charges toward you, his powerful form cutting through the remaining guards with ease.

with one swift motion, he sends a group of them flying, his explosions igniting the air with a deafening roar.

the remaining guards scatter, too intimidated by bakugou’s wrath to continue their assault.

“y/n, get up!” he barks, his voice sharp as a whip.

his eyes are on you now, and the anger in them isn’t the same as usual—it’s raw, a mix of frustration, fear, and something else you can’t quite place.

you push yourself to your feet, stumbling slightly, the pain in your side making every movement feel like you’re dragging a weight behind you.

“don’t you ever do something so goddamn stupid again!” bakugou growls, his voice low and thick with rage.

he isn’t even looking at the enemies anymore, but at you—his gaze pinning you in place.

you straighten, ignoring the blood staining your shirt, and shoot him a glare.

“what were you thinking, bakugou?” you snap, your voice rough but defiant. “you think charging in here like that’s any better?”

bakugou’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. the tension between you is palpable. but then, with a sound that almost resembles a growl, bakugou snaps.

“don’t try to turn this on me!” he barks. “you could’ve been killed! you think I’m gonna just let you die in some goddamn back alley like this?”

his voice breaks, cracking just slightly as he glares down at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “what were you thinking?! do you want to die or something?!”

for a moment, you’re struck silent. the anger in his voice is so raw, so unfiltered, that it takes the wind out of you.

but the hurt behind it makes your chest tighten. you have never heard bakugou sound like that before. never seen him this...desperate.

“why do you even care, bakugou?” you ask, your voice softer than intended. you hadn’t meant for it to sound that way, but it’s too late to take it back.

bakugou freezes, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he scowls, looking away as if he hasn’t just heard you.

the silence that stretches between you is suffocating, and you can’t help but feel exposed.

you aren’t sure what possessed you to ask such a question, but the way bakugou is standing there, his posture tight and his fists still trembling, makes you feel the need to.

“I just—do, okay?” bakugou finally mutters, his voice gruff and not nearly as confident as he usually sounds. “now quit acting like you don’t need help for once, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

you stare at him, disbelief gnawing at you. he’s...worried. maybe even scared.

for a moment, the world outside of you falls away, leaving just you and bakugou standing there in the wreckage.

but you don’t want to let him see how much his words affect you.

not now, not while you’re still trying to make sense of everything.

“don’t get all sentimental on me now, bakugou,” you mutter, a weak smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you try to brush off the intensity of the moment. “I’m fine. just need a second.”

but bakugou doesn’t seem convinced. he steps forward, his hand—hesitant but undeniably gentle—hovering near your side as though waiting for your permission to help.

you catch his eyes for a moment, and for the first time in a long while, you see something other than his usual cocky arrogance. something softer.

“don’t push yourself, alright?” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost awkward. “I don’t want to drag your ass out of here next time.”

you swallow the lump in your throat and nod, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest at his words.

for a few moments, everything seems suspended in time.

the world outside is still, the only sound the occasional rush of wind.

you can feel the intensity of his gaze lingering on you, his presence more solid than ever before.

it’s a strange feeling—this unspoken connection, the weight of his concern settling between you like an unvoiced understanding.

despite his usual tough exterior, there’s no mistaking the softness in his actions, the care that has been there all along, hidden beneath layers of pride and deflection.

and for the first time, you can’t ignore it.

the moment passes, though, and as quickly as it comes, you both fall into your familiar roles, quickly finishing up the mission.

the two of you barely speak on the way back, the silence stretching between you as you navigate the now-empty streets.

every once in a while, bakugou glances your way, but he never says anything.

as you both enter the safehouse, the cold interior air does little to ease the pounding headache building in your skull.

bakugou drops his gear by the door, his shoulders stiff with tension. he moves like he’s still on edge, as if the mission hasn’t quite ended for him.

you take a seat on the couch, trying to ignore the throb in your side as you start to peel off your tactical vest.

“you should get that looked at,” bakugou says, his voice still rough with exhaustion. “you’re lucky I didn’t leave your ass behind.”

you shoot him a pointed glare but don’t respond.

instead, you take a breath, looking down at the hand gripping the fabric of your vest before finally speaking, your voice quieter than usual.

“bakugou,” you start, the question from earlier swirling back in your mind. “why do you care so much?”

his back stiffens, and you can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. he turns to look at you, his expression unreadable for a moment.

then, his eyes soften—just barely—but enough to make your heart race in your chest.

“you think i’m gonna let some idiot hero get themselves killed?” his voice is harsher than it needs to be. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

but the words feel like a cover-up.

you see it in the way his hands ball into fists, the slight tremor in his jaw, like he’s trying to push something down.

you tilt your head, an eyebrow raising. “no, seriously. you’ve been acting like a goddamn wrecking ball this whole time, but that’s not really your style, is it?”

bakugou glares at you. “shut up, will you? I did what needed to be done. not everything’s about you.”

but you’re not ready to drop it. there’s a knot in your chest that won’t loosen, and you can feel the words slipping out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“don’t lie, bakugou. you’re acting weird. you’ve never cared this much before. what’s going on?”

there’s a long silence. you watch as bakugou’s eyes flick to the side, his lips pressed. finally, he lets out a breath, long and slow, and walks over to the window.

“I don’t have time for this, alright?” his voice is low. “I just—”

he pauses, like the words are stuck in his throat.

the long, drawn-out silence stretches between you like an unspoken confession. it’s raw, and despite every instinct telling you to back off, you don’t move.

“I just... I just don’t want to lose you, alright?” his voice cracks just slightly as he finally turns to face you, eyes burning with a mix of anger and hesitance.

“you make me—damn it, you make me lose my focus. every damn time, you just keep going and doing stupid shit, and it pisses me off. but I can’t—”

he shakes his head, his fists clenching again as his cheeks flush.

you blink, your heart skipping a beat at the words, unsure if you’ve heard him right. “what are you talking about?”

bakugou’s frustration is palpable, but it’s different now, tangled with something softer. he exhales sharply, as if the very act of saying it is painful.

“I don’t want you to die,” he says, eyes still locked on yours. “I don’t want to keep pulling your ass out of dangerous situations,

but every time, it just...it matters more than it should. and I don’t know why. I just—” and his voice drops into a groan.

your mind races, but all you can do is stare at him, trying to process everything he’s just said. is he...admitting something?

is he actually confessing to you?

you try to respond, your voice shaky but determined. “bakugou, I—”

before you can finish, he huffs, stepping back slightly.

“forget it. this isn’t—this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mutters, visibly trying to shake off the moment. “I didn’t mean to...whatever. you should get some rest.”

“no,” you snap, your heart pounding as you take a step forward.

you’re not about to let him hide from this, not this time. “no, you’re not just going to walk away from this. not like this.”

his scowl deepens, but there’s something in his eyes he can’t quite mask. he crosses his arms, clearly uncomfortable, but his voice is still tight with frustration.

“what the hell do you want me to say, huh? it’s not like I can just...do this shit the ‘right’ way.”

you move even closer, your gaze unwavering, and something inside you surges, something you can’t hold back anymore.

“I don’t need you to do it the ‘right’ way, bakugou,” you say, your voice steady but intense. “I just need you to stop pretending this doesn’t matter.”

his lips part, like he’s about to snap back at you, but he falters, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.

“I don’t know how to...how to deal with this, alright? I don’t—” he clenches his fists at his sides, frustration evident on his face.

“you’re not the only one who feels this way, you know,” you cut in, your words sharper now, tinged with your own frustration and longing.

“you’re not the only one who’s...frustrated.” you swallow, your heart pounding in your chest, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“I care about you, too, bakugou. and I’m not going to sit here pretending like what happened didn’t matter.”

he freezes.

his eyes widen, and you see something—his lighting up just a bit.

“you—” he stops himself, jaw tightening. but his voice is unsteady when he speaks again. “you care? what—”

you nod, your heart in your throat, but now you’re certain. “yeah. I do. a hell of a lot more than I want to admit.”

he shifts on his feet, confusion warring with reluctant relief. “so what the hell do you want from me, huh?” he grumbles, his frustration still biting, but it’s calmer.

you take another step forward, closing the distance between you. “I want you to stop running away from this, bakugou. stop pretending it’s something you can ignore.”

his lips press together in a hard line, but for a brief moment, you think he might dismiss it again.

but then, after a long, measured breath, he looks up at you, and this time, there’s a small smile on his face.

“fine,” he mutters, gaze dropping to the floor, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair. “I guess...I want to be with you too, alright?”

your heart skips a beat at the bluntness of it.

it catches you off guard, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your lips. “so, what, you’re saying you’re into me now, huh?”

bakugou flushes, the scowl returning to his face quickly and the blood rushing to his face as he quickly turns away, clearly embarrassed.

“shut up! don’t make me say it again.”

you laugh softly. “guess I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

bakugou sighs heavily, but then his eyes flick to you for a second. you stare back at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his chest. your eyes widen as you collide against him, and you snap your head up, ready to yell at him.

but you halt as he cocks his head to the side and replies with a smirk, “damn right.”

— you've got a new message!

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[simp-ly-writes]

Say You'll Love Me

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.6)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: From the Arcane fucking with his mind, people he thought to trust turning their backs on him and Piltover looking up to him for salvation... the only thing Jayce wants? you.

─ · · THE FOLLOWING CONTENT IS BETWEEN CONSENTING ADLUTS AND IS NOT MEANT FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF 18. skip the smut once seeing the star! ⭐️ tags under cut

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective!Jayce (low-key possessive in some parts), kissing, depictions of blood, gore, war and death. brief mentions of suicidal thoughts and torture. fluff, hurt/comfort, angst. smut: pinv sex, oral (fem receiving), dom!Jayce, chocking, marking/biting, size kink?, dirty talk, overstim, aftercare.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,585

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: This is my first time EVER writing long-form smut... please be kind I was so embarrassed while writing this lol (hoping its not too shit) 🙈

─────── · ·

─ · · drip... drip... drip... water slowly fell from a corner of the ceiling in your cold cell, you hugged your knees to your chest, chair wobbling as you shivered. The lights were too bright to sleep and with what little food they expected you to work off of, you were scrambling for answers.

─ · · Everyday you tried to explain to the guards that you were only the assistant, could only work with your scientists. The last time you had conducted personal research was when apply to the academy yet nobody believed you, a slap to the face as they told you to work harder. Your hands shook around the barrel of a gun as you twisted on the scope- you looked at the blueprints one last time and then fired it at the wall.

The guards did not budge just listening to the bang echo, blankly watching as you fell backwards form the impact. The burst of magic coming out unstable and crumbling bits of the stone wall... fuck! you muttered underneath your breath. Using the end of the gun like a cane to help pick yourself up before stumbling back to the drawing board.

Hextech was not going to work, there was no metal strong enough to correct the blast... but what if it was not meant to hold... what if it exploded? You shook your head, disturb that you had even thought about it yet a hand shook the bars to your cell, your head whipping over, eyes wide as Ambessa looked down upon you. "Whatever it is that came though your mind, make it and you will be allowed out for a moment. Is that a deal?"

You looked down at your hands, holding them together as you nodded, waiting for her to leave before turning back around. You listened as the elevator doors closed but a new voice stopped your movements. "Please, just follow her words. It'll make everything easier," you gasped seeing the officer you shared a night with emerge from the shadows. His eyes sunken, scar across his cheek.

You winced, his name leaving your mouth as he nodded, "still as beautiful as that night," he said to you and you pulled your sleeves further down your arms. "I mean it," he adds, hands resting on the bars of your cell. "release me," you asked gently, hope bleeding in your wide eyes. He stared at you, mouth opening and closing before shaking his head.

You turned back around, going back to your desk yet he continued to speak even as another guard warned him, "I can't, not unless they find another person with the knowledge you have. They need these weapons for the oncoming war..."

"They don't need weapons," you scoff, pencil snapping in two, "just like we don't need war... people just want the quickest results." No one speaks another word as you disassemble the shotgun, breaking it down into smaller parts as the darkest parts of your mind comes to the surface... I refuse to be the one that places this land in destruction... I refuse.

─────── · ·

─ · · With the rune taking its place within his forearm his tattoo on the other, he was the polar opposites of what Hextech could do... of what it had done to the people he was closest to and loved the most.

─ · · Acting on what was beyond his mortal brain and body, Jayce was felt as if he was falling from the sky, his brain a blur of the horrors he had just seen mixing with reality just as he slammed down on Salo's figure. He staggered and stumbled afterwards, the voices still unpleased, demanding he go to Viktor's sanctuary where Jayce did not even recognizing the familiar faces he saw, he was determined to eliminate Viktor. To shoot him down, to watch as his body hit the floor, to see if he still bled.

─ · · The world went silent as soon as the shot happened as if a sound barrier went through the houses and homes before a thousand cries sounded and all of Viktor's followers fell to the floor, unmoving. Jayce fell forwards, his strength gone, vision clearing as he stared with wide eyes observing Jayce. His mind was still buzzing a voice demanding for him to continue brutalizing the corpse yet he held his arcane hammer. Forcing his muscles to freeze. Viktor still was his partner, a cold bucket of water feels like it spills over his skin, clarity in his mind that immediately goes to you.

─────── · ·

─ · · Piltover is cheering as he emerges from the sewers, he cannot find it in himself to smile or react, simply watching as the crowd parts. The cheers dying into gasps as they observe the scars across his chest, the torn white uniform and his unruly appearance. His hammer groans behind him, the arcane still unsettled as it picks and pries at his memories, trying to regain control yet without seeing you, there was no hope in hell he was allowing any force to come between him and you.

─ · · Jayce only stops once seeing that little girl again hiding behind her fathers legs, she appears so much older now as Jayce presses a hand to his forehead, pulling back his hair- eyes gone wide. Had he been gone that long? Had you already given up on him? Jayce would forgive you, it wouldn't be fair if you hadn't waited for him yet a large part of him prayed so... he wanted nothing more to kiss you, to feel his skin against your skin, to hear you call out his name. Jayce's boots picked up their pace as he was a one-track mind, determined to get to the lab where he last left you.

─ · · His hands gripped his hammer, his eyes hardened as he bursted into the lab, his eyes searching, weapon swinging as his heart dropped... you were not here. Jayce's hammer fell with a thud, cracking the floors as he yelled your name, spinning in circles as he looked towards the ceiling and all the dark corners of the room. Jayce chuckled, shaking his head as he saw blood all over your leftover journals. Your always organized tools sprayed out across Viktor's desk you both promised not to touch, a chair flipped over and then... he looked under his desk and felt sick.

He could see where your nails had dug into the wood, scratching, he could hear you begging and pleading as his fingers brushed over the marks. With a broken sob, Jayce fell to his knees, forcing a fist into his mouth as he choked but no tears fell. His shoulder began to shake, his muscles tensing as he yelled out in frustration, throwing everything off the desk watching it shatter against the floor, "Fuck!"

Jayce took a series of deep breaths before storming to his hammer, allowing it to drag against the floors as sparks followed his footsteps. He felt his side start to bleed again, he would treat himself, he was not that far removed in his anger to endanger you further... no he would prepare and then he would allow himself to enjoy the blood across his face and the weight of you on his chest.

─────── · ·

─ · · "Kiramman!" Jayce shouted, storming into Caitlyn's house. The blue haired woman did not turn, her long blue coat rested upon her shoulders as her gaze while looking at Jinx's face on the board, she had to continue playing her role up until the final moment. "That is general to you," she said turning around before seeing a familiar blue glow and Jayce's hammer charged- the words dying on her lips as she held her palms up calmly, "Jayce," she warned watching as the mans eyes hardened. His face appeared more aged, his clothes form fitting in a deep green button up and black trousers.

A soft glow coming from his forearm had her raising a brow as Jayce chest heaved, "where's my girl, Kiramman?" he spoke coldly, fixing his grip, the leather of his gloves groaning as Caitlyn took a few steps forward. "I have been searching for her as well, Jayce. I have a feeling it has something to do with Mel's mother."

Jayce remembers her stare as you sat in the medical tent together... those events seemed so distant now. Jayce cracks his neck, his arms tensing as Caitlyn slightly flitches, trying to hold her ground. Jayce stares her down, daring her to lie but Cait only spoke the truth. The man nods, powering down his stance before leaning against his hammer, "How far has the search gone? How do you know she's with Ambessa? How can I know to trust you?"

Caitlyn sighs, removing her hat, arms crossing over her chest, shotgun leaning against her desk as she stares at the gemstone within it, rattling around in its cage. Jayce follows her stare, his eyes widening, the voices in his head threatening to rise to the surface. He shakes his head, physically trying to remove them with a growl.

"I am her friend as I am your's Jayce. Had I had known this is what Ambessa was planning... I would have never sided with her. The gemstone has been unstable since (name) has been taken, I assume it has something to do with her playing around with magic to appease the tyrant," Caitlyn explains, picking at her nails before looking up at Jayce, "Now how do I know to trust you with the rest of the information? Are you sure she'll want to see you more animal than man?"

Jayce glares, "I am still a man, perhaps more than I had been in the past-"

"That was not my question, Jayce," the General cuts the Councillor off, "I was asking, are you ready if she does not want you back?"

─────── · ·

─ · · You could hear shouting again and rolled your eyes, assuming the red guard to be training once again yet a part of you swore to hear Jayce's voice roaring, the sound of his mechanical hammer wizzing with magic- you stood up from your chair as did your assigned guards. Maybe it was just imaginative hope...

You could hear their weapons click on as you picked up the last gemstone you hadn't used and hid in a corner of the cell. Whoever was coming was leaving a trail of destruction that you did not want to see nor be a part of.

You listened to the trail of blood and guts becoming closer, bodies thudding to the floor as you closed your eyes, hugging yourself, making yourself smaller as you pleaded for it all to be over. In all honesty, you realized just how safe this cage allowed you to be. It saved you from Ambessa's lashings, saved you from the eyes of the guards when you hid in the shadows... and then you could hear your assigned officer stuttering, metal shattering with a slam, your door being swung open.

You listened, squeezing your eyes shut as laboured breaths echoed in the cold air, heard as their boots walked up to your desk, moving papers gently before picking up your unfinished models, a thoughtful hum sounding before they turned around abruptly. Another slam was heard, blue dimming as you held your breath.

The metal chair you spent so much time on groaned as it was pulled out and away from the table before... nothing, they must have sat down... why? You opened your eyes slowly, trying to squint through the darkness, your breaths shallow- "I can see your boots, sweetheart, come, now," You hear a deep strained voice commands as you feel their stare on your face.

You push your hands against the stone walls, helping yourself to stand as you take a half step into the light, just enough to see whoever is at the other side... Jayce? Jayce! Your eyes see your lover before you as he sits utterly exhausted yet eyes wild; sweat dripping down his forehead, his lips parted as he inhales deeply, tipping his head back. Broad shoulders rising and falling with his shirt as he stares at you, legs spread lazily- one encased in metal.

You blink once... twice... thrice. Your throat dry as you try and comprehend how he is here... you start to look away, eyes catching drops of blood across the concrete floors, you start to follow the trail before Jayce calls for you again, "don't look over there. Come here, please," he adds a bit more softly this time, his palm facing upwards on his thigh, fingers wiggling in leather to entice you.

You take a few steps closer, still unsure if this was your Jayce as you stand just barley within reach. You watch as his hazel eyes drink in your appearance and form, starting from your shoes, up to your waist, chest, and then settles of your features. His eyes caress your face in a loving stare, you can feel the warmth in his gaze hidden underneath his cold exterior, your cheeks warm as you grab your arm.

"Jayce?" you ask timidly, you watch as his eyes darken as you say his name before closing, a small smile appearing as his head hangs low -swaying. "Jayce?" you ask again, a bit of panic in your tone as you rush to stand in front of him. You gasp once feeling him grip the back of your thighs, squeezing gently. He opens his eyes, looking up through his long lashes at you with nothing short of adoration, "I've missed hearing my name between your lips."

Your mouth gapes as your mind goes blank, eyes staring widely into his own- listening to him chuckle as his hands slide up over your butt to your lower back before pushing gently for you to take a seat on his lap. Your hands start to shake, brain exploding by the hundred senses you experience as his thumb draws circles upon your hip, his chin resting on your shoulder, beard scratching at your skin as you squirm by the heat of his breath. He grips your hips, taking a sharp intake of air, he bites his lip, concealing his moan, "Can I kiss you?"

You place your hands on his chest, a palm feeling his heart beating rapidly just like yours before you feel around to his back and grip his shoulders pulling him in for a hug. You close your eyes, sobbing into the crook of his neck and shoulder as he holds you closely, shushing you gently. You squeeze your thighs and arms against him, trying to get closer, to feel that he was not just a dream, "Yes."

─────── · · ⭐️

Jayce being aware of his strength gives you a tight squeeze, listening to you gasp before he slowly lets go and presses a kiss to your shoulder. You lean your head to the side, exposing your neck- feeling as Jayce's fingers comb your hair aside. Next you feel his mouth leave open wet kisses trailing from your shoulder slowly up to just above your collarbone before moving to a place on your neck that has you scratching his back from the sensitivity.

You feel Jayce's smirk against your skin, he bites down playfully hearing you yelp but before you can turn your head to glare, he blows on the spot gently before sucking on the sore skin. Your entire body shakes, "Jayce," you breathily say his name, eyes closing from the thousand tickles that go up to your brain as you collapse against his chest, you tap his back thrice, Jayce pulls away with a satisfied hum, admiring the mark.

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder, hand reaching to pull his shirts collar aside as you quickly kiss up his neck eager to feel his lips against yours. A sudden slap against your butt has you pulling your head back as you see Jayce playfully glaring at you, "eager little thing, aren't you?"

"Jayce," you whine out, shaking your head and pulling away- suddenly feeling embarrassed, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Seeing your shyness, Jayce braces you against his chest with his forearm against your back, your chests pressed up against one another; he knows how eye contact effects you, allowing your eyes to reset as you looked around the room, enjoying his touch.

A few moments pass before you feel his lips by your ear as his other hand plays with your hair, "I want us to enjoy this, we have time, sweetheart." You nod as Jayce moves his hold back to your waist, his head tilting as you press a tentative kiss to a vein, listening to him hum in approval before continuing, slower this time.

You press kisses up his neck, biting just behind his ear to hear him growl. Your thighs clench at the sound, your hands gripping his hair as you feel a large palm place a gentle pressure at the back of your head, keeping you on that one spot before allowing you to pull away with hooded eyes.

Jayce licks his lips, chest heaving, his eyes watching your puffy lips part in a silent ask before he leans forwards, pressing hard as you moan against his lips. Your hands start to unbutton his shirt, feeling his skin against your palms before shrugging off your lab coat. Your brain feels foggy from the lack of air as you start to pull away, feeling as Jayce softly bites down on your lower lip before letting go.

You pause, seeing the scars against his chest, your finger hovering over before you feel leather against your wrist as he pushes your hand over the mark. You don't move, looking to Jayce for clarity, "I'm still the man you knew before, I promise." You can sense an equal truth and pleading to his tone.

"Do they hurt?" you ask softly, Jayce shakes his head, "not anymore. It feels good when you touch me actually." You laugh, shaking your head feeling as Jayce kissing your jaw, "I missed that sound too." Your heart swells as you trace the lines and contours of his chest. "I love you, Jayce."

"I love you too, so please, let me show you." Your eyes go wide, your brain returning to you as you feel as Jayce touch loosens on you his eyes widening too, "I mean we don't have to, I just-" you place a hand on his mouth, eyes shinning with humour. "Jayce, I'm not going to let you fuck me in a cell with corpses on the other side."

Jayce kisses your palm, you remove your touch. "First rude, I thought I taught you not to do that." You roll your eyes, feeling him tap your thigh in warning as you sigh. "Second, what corpses?"

You look over and to your shock, there is not a body in sight, "While I was waiting for you, Caitlyn and her team cleared and cleaned everything up," Jayce explains as you look back at him in shock. "And third," You could not believe the sass was still in him. "I never 'fuck' you, I make love to you." You begin to gag but see that Jayce is completely serious in saying this, "I mean it, (name). I love you and only want to show you that."

You look into his eyes before giving him a kiss, hearing him sigh out in relief. "Is that a yes?" you nod. "I need to hear it from you," Jayce clarifies. You take his face between your palms, "Yes, Jayce. I-I trust you." Jayce tilts his head, kissing your palm. "I might be a bit rough, but you know how to stop me, right?" You look over his dishevelled appearance again. Seeing his long hair sticking to his forehead, the lines across his face and chest, the feeling of leather against your skin.

"Three taps or shout hex." Jayce nods, leaning in to kiss your forehead, "Good girl." You shift in his lap, "That still does it for you, huh?" You don't respond and Jayce takes that as his answer with a smirk before gripping your thighs and standing. You rest your head on his shoulder before he places you on the desk and shoves everything off- clattering to the floor.

You watch as Jayce fully removes his shirt while looking down at you, unable to help himself he kisses you once before pulling away. He places his shirt on the desk before helping you out of your clothes being sure to kiss every patch of new skin he sees.

You feel warm underneath his dark stare as he looks down watching as his hand cups your sex- his thumb nears your clit through the material, resting just above, teasing, feeling as your wetness soaks through the fabric before pulling the material upwards sharply. You gasp from the friction, pressing your legs together with a moan before feeling your thighs become forced open, large hands gripping them apart. Jayce slowly bends down, his eyes focusing on how yours cloud over in pleasure as you feel his breath.

Your hands immediately latch onto his hair at the first feeling of his tongue giving a tentative lick, light yet the texture rough, you tilt your head back with a moan, body buzzing from the pleasure as he kisses your lower lips again and again. "P-please," you beg, locking your ankles over his shoulders and sigh contently once feeling the cloth get pulled aside, his touch amplified as one of his large fingers tease your entrance another circling around your clit- spelling out runes that your foggy mind couldn't even begin to concentrate on.

Jayce groans, he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside, the material of his gloves catching your walls- creating a pleasurable texture against as you clench down yet. He pumps his fingers at a slow pace, in an out, you should be embarrassed be the lewd sounds, by hearing Jayce chuckle. But when you try and move your hips- chasing his touch he pulls away swiftly, your legs falling off his shoulders as you pout at your boyfriend watching as he brings a finger up between his lips with a sigh, "I've missed this taste so much- so sweet."

You moan watching as me brings his fingers back down, your juices soaking through the leather of his gloves, his fingers glistening as he brings them closer to you mouth, taping your lip, signalling you to open, "Taste yourself."

You lower your jaw, feeling his fingers against your tongue before circling around them. Jayce observes you face as your eyes close, hands gripped your thighs in want while listening to Jayce's heavy breathing. You wiggle in your seat as Jayce pushes his fingers in more, teasing at the back of your throat as you gag before pulling out. "Such a good girl," he praises you.

But before you can respond, Jayce teases one large finger, then two. You grip at his wrist, feeling his lips leave lingering wet kisses across your chest before latching onto your nipple, his teeth graze it, you shiver before you feel him start to suck. You feel as a third finger slides in easily, you pulse and moan as his fingers curl to hit just the right spot inside of you. "Jayce," you whine in a high pitched tone.

"Already?" he chuckles picking his head back up. You hum out in pleasure, "Mhmm, I'm almost there Jayce, please," you beg but just before you can reach your peak, Jayce pulls away as you cry out in frustration. Jayce shushes you by gently squeezing your neck and pulling you in for a lingers kiss.

He pulls away, standing back as you grab the edge of the table in wait- watching as he uses his teeth to remove the straps around his wrists, his gloves falling off as he moves his shirt behind you. "Lay back," he says, watching as you lower yourself, slowly to the table.

Jayce unbuckles his pants, stepping out of his boots and kicking everything aside as you tilt your head up to watch him, heart racing as he sends you a wink. You will never get used to the sight of him, the size of him.

Jayce walks slowly up to you, your breath hitching once feeling his bulge rocking against your clit, the sound of your wetness catching on his boxers erotic as it echos in the empty room. Your chest is rising and falling in sort breaths, that peak closer than ever as Jayce teases you, his hands in fists beside your head, caging you in and when you open your eyes to meet his wild ones- you feel nothing but security.

"I love you, I love you so fucking much Jayce," you cry out, nails dragging against the skin of his back as he shakes, you can visibly see how much he is restraining himself in this moment. How pained he looks in his pleasure yet so focused on you, watching as his hips roll into your own, but the friction is not enough, "just loose control, love."

Jayce snaps his head back up, "what?" he says albeit a bit breathlessly. "Let go, I-I just want to feel you, Jayce, want you, need you." Jayce curses underneath his breath, his movements pausing, "are you sure?" you nod your head, "words baby," he kisses your neck. "Yes, please," you croak out and next thing you know, you are being flipped over.

Jayce positions himself, tip just teasing your leaking hole as your legs shake in wait- in want and with one sudden thrust, all the air is knocked from your lungs in a silent scream- your wrists trapped between his larger hand forcing them above your head as you lose yourself to the pleasure.

You listen to Jayce growl, "I've missed you so fucking much." You listen to the sound of skin slapping, filling the room alongside your combined moans- tears stream down your cheeks. "I'm close, Jayce!" you warn, still sensitive from earlier. "Hold on, breathe, sweetheart-"

"I can't Jayce," you sob out, feeling the fire start to form in your gut, spreading out to every vein in your body, a hand comes down on you ass. "You can and you will, baby," Jayce commands, his hips positioning down, reaching deeper than before as you freeze at the sensation starting to rise from your toes, focusing on your breathing.

You mumble blankly, feeling as Jayce kisses your shoulder blade, head becoming lighter than ever. "Good girl," he praises you with one sudden and sharp thrust. You are barley hanging on to reality to your impeding orgasm, trying to wiggle and shift your body away yet Jayce's hips just follow you. "Please, please, please," you beg like a broken record, you swore that if you were looking at yourself in this moment- you would be unrecognizable- withering underneath your boyfriend.

"Come for me. come. for. me," Jayce repeats, feeling as you clench down on his cock, choking it- watching as you bit down on your lip that forces him to release his hands from your wrists to pull it back down. "I want to hear how good I make you feel."

You moan out loudly as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, you claw at the desk, sobbing as your body shakes from the overstimulation tears welling in your eyes as Jayce praises you, "You're taking me so good baby. Your pussy feels so good around my cock, just listen to her. Gonna make you cum again, aren't I-hm?"

Jayce feels as your pussy flutters before gushing around him again with a smirk, he places his body weight atop you as you struggle to comprehend the pleasure you feeling through the endless waves crashing through your body- your blank mind as he fucks you dumb. "Nothing to say, my love? That good?" You nod yes with a sob as Jayce coo's at you, continuing his brutal pace.

"T-too much, Jayce!" you yelp, sensitivity now overwhelming- on the cusp of hurting as you bite down hard on your lip, eyes closing as Jayce hums, "you know what to do love, tell me and I'll stop." Yet you don't move, don't speak, you don't want to stop feeling him, not yet at least, teetering on the line between pain and pleasure.

Jayce picks himself back up, taking your wrists as he positions you to bend off the table. He takes in the side of your tear covered face, his marks across your neck and shoulders, how his hands created indents on your hips as he feels the markings your nails left against his back that push him just over the edge just in time with your final orgasm.

Jayce quickly pulls out, you hear him moan loudly- you feel his seed against your back, warm and dripping down your butt as he slowly helps you rest back on the table. You both are panting- coming down from your highs. Your head lolls to the side, a soft smile coating your features as you feel Jayce brushing the hair out of your face and "you did so good for me baby, so proud."

"Yours, all yours," you say back as you close your eyes, a sudden rush of tiredness rushing over you as you feel Jayce press a kiss to your temple before cleaning you up, allowing you a moment to rest.

─────── · · ⭐️

─ · · Jayce helped to redress you, your legs weak as he picked you up into your arms, your head resting against his chest as you lulled yourself to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat. The only thing left behind in your cell were the pieces of a shattered blue gemstone, pulsing before fading.

─ · · By the time you were awake, you found yourself under Jayce's covers and heard the kettle click off, a record softly playing in the background as Jayce hummed along to it. You joined in, walking over humming, and grasping onto his pants, fingers looping through the empty belt buckles.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Jayce greets you, you smile, pressing your head against his back with a giggle before letting go without a word, watching as Jayce frowns, your heart swelling as you place yourself on the countertop and open your arms, wiggling your fingers as you both laugh. You pull Jayce in by the collar of his shirt- kissing him gently on the lips before moving across his jaw, stopping to cup his cheek as he nuzzles into your palm.

"I love you, Jayce."

"I love you too, always and forever."

"Kiss me?" you ask, eyes pleading, and how could he refuse?

Jayce presses his forehead against yours before capturing your lips. Pulling away, you both are breathless, you look to the side to see only your favourite breakfast items on the menu with a smile- gosh I missed your cooking.

When you look back at Jayce, your eyes go wide seeing him kneeling before you, a box in his hands, blood rushing up to your ears as you jump down from the countertop. "J-jayce? what are you doing?" you stutter through shock, your heat racing at a mile a minute.

"Not going to marry you just yet, through you will be Mrs. Talis in the future," Jayce speaks with such conviction, your heart is beating at a mile a minute. "With this ring I want to promise you that no matter what, I will always put your thoughts and needs first and I will always love you." A goofy love-sick grin is on his face but his eyes are scared yet equally hopeful. You crouch down with him, wrapping your arm around his shoulder as you cry.

Jayce's heart drops, he can't seem to touch you in this moment, can't look to you for comfort. Not feeling him returning the touch, you pull away, seeing his glossy eyes, "Whats wrong?" you ask timidly, listening to the ring drop.

Jayce opens and closes his mouth before falling back, hissing and gripping at his wrist. "Jayce? You're scaring me," you reach out again yet he slides away swearing- looking to be in immense pain, his eyes clouding over and then silence... his body falls before you as you grasp and squeeze his hand, calling back for him.

And then suddenly, he flashes back to life, gripping his head, beads of sweat dripping off his forehead, "fuck, wait, did you say yes?" He completely disregards his pain, forcing on a smile for you as you sit there in shock and horror.

"Of course, Jayce but what the fuck? Are you okay?" you ask again, giving him space this time. Jayce's stares at you, stares through you for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. "I will be after this all is over but I'm better knowing I'll have you forever." You smile at his words, brain still racing with what just happened but Jayce appeared back to his regular self now, helping you to stand and finishing up breakfast.

"Sit, please. Let me take care of you like you've done for me," Jayce asks, turning from the stove with soft eyes, and how could you refuse?

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: running away and hiding now! I hope that all was at least readable/skippable... 😬

─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff @kiromiix @todorokishoe24 @w2momo @m-arj-1 @reid490 @kaminocasey @chickenlvr123

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

[starmapz]

what you know - ch1: fallen angel || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.1k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

You make a point of not judging a book by its cover. So, when paired with the college’s resident bad boy for the literal most important project of the year, you just nod to yourself. Of course, you’re aware of his very poor attendance record among other things you’ve heard about him. At the end of the day, the rest is all hearsay, so you’ll treat him the same as you would any other group project partner.

Searching around the lecture hall until your gaze lands on him, you shoot him a kind smile. You don’t expect him to return it, he practically always sports a disinterested or aloof expression and now is one of those times, it would seem. He’s wearing his usual oversized but fairly stylish shirt, baggy cargo pants and a leather jacket, even though it’s quite warm inside. One airpod sits in his ear, only half paying attention.

The two of you are practically polar opposites. You, who shows up to class ten minutes early, jots down every note you possibly can, and turns in projects a week early, not to mention your fairly preppy style, makes the two of you about as different as it gets. On top of that, there were moments where Sukuna would dip into a room late and you would wonder why he bothers paying for college at all. Does he even want to be here?

Turning back to your laptop, you decide you’ll set up some documents for your project to get ahead of everything and stop worrying about someone else’s life. You’ll just have to make the most of the project. Besides, Sukuna could be the best project partner you’ll ever work with.

Upon dismissal, you wait a moment for the room to clear before slinging your pale pink bag over your shoulder, holding your books to your chest and making your way up the lecture hall to where Sukuna’s seated.

“Hey, nice to meet you, I’m-”

“I know who you are,” he sighs. “I’m Sukuna.”

Rude. “Right,” you swallow, blinking twice as you attempt to clear your mind of the less than ideal first impression. “So, I was thinking since we need to analyze three paintings, I can choose one, you can choose one and we can do the work separately and then work together on the last one-”

“Sure, whatever.”

You purse your lips. That was easy. Or does he just not care? Brushing off the thought, you nod slowly. “Okay. Great,” you mumble somewhat nervously, unsure if the reason your voice is wavering is out of fear that you’re doomed from the project, or the fact that Sukuna is hardly giving you the time of day and it’s somewhat imposing.

Finding the nerve to meet his gaze, you find that it seems he’s barely paying attention. His deep near-crimson eyes accented by tattoos are trained off to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other is fiddling with an unlit cigarette. You have half a mind to wonder if he’s heard a damn thing you’ve said given the airpod still hanging from his pierced lobe.

“Do you, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth as you mentally reset to stop yourself from stammering. “Do you want to go over anything before we do our parts?”

“Nah.”

Nah? Oh my god, you’re doomed. 

“Okay. No problem. Um, why don’t we just meet after class next Friday?”

Sukuna balances the unlit cigarette between his lips, shuffling to pull out his phone and open his calendar. “Sure,” he agrees, his words muffled by the cigarette.

“Great! I think we’ll want to start working on the third piece next week so I’ll choose the first painting and get started on it and then we can choose the last painting next week,” you say, putting the date in your calendar as well. “Oh! And we should exchange numbers.”

He hums in agreement, not even giving you the time for words now but he does give you his number. Realizing you aren’t about to get anywhere else with him, you shoot him a wry smile and make your way out the door.

Oh Shoko is so gonna hear about this.

–

Before you know it, next Friday comes around and when you turn your gaze to where Sukuna usually sits, you realize he just isn’t there.

Well that’s… lovely.

Leaning forward on your elbows, you groan with your face in your hands. This project was sure to be a nightmare at this rate. You could already see yourself going to talk to the professor about how Sukuna hadn’t done an ounce of work and it was all done by you.

Opening your laptop, you stare at the document you’d put together for Persistence of Memory, which may be an obvious choice but you love the painting too much to choose a different one.

Maybe you should just choose the third one on your own.

Maybe you should just choose the second one on your own…

Fuck.

You sigh, glancing back at Sukuna’s empty seat once more, and to your surprise just as you begin to give up hope upon seeing his seat empty, he ambles through the door in an oversized hoodie and sweats as though the lecture didn’t end fifteen minutes ago.

His gaze meets yours and he tilts his chin upwards at you, a silent message for you to take a seat near him.

Gathering your belongings, you take your laptop over to him, setting it on the table beside him in the mostly-empty lecture hall.

“Hey,” you greet him, receiving a grunt in response. “I was starting to think you were gonna flake out on me,” you joke with a somewhat nervous laugh when you meet his striking gaze. His disinterested eyes bore into you as he examines your nervous expression, and it’s then that you notice that- “are you okay?”

He sighs, heavy with exasperation, running a hand over his sharp features. His hair is still damp, not spiked up as usual as it hangs over his forehead, he has dark circles that make him look like he hasn’t slept in years, and his leg is shaking up and down like he’s got somewhere else to be.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, unimpressed that you’ve noticed how horribly disheveled he looks, but he brushes it off. “You got somethin’ to show me?”

“I, um-” you pause, casting him one last uncertain glance at the fact that oh my god, he looks sick? “Yeah, so I chose a Salvador Dalì piece,” you tell him, nudging your laptop towards him so that he can see your analysis.

He casts a glance at it, and it’s then that you realize that he doesn’t seem to have a laptop on him. Hm.

He seems to have noticed your confusion as he pulls out his phone, fiddling with it for a moment or two before setting it in front of you. “Had to do something before our meeting, so I don’t have my computer right now, but here’s what I’ve got so far.”

You flash him a curious glance before staring at his phone screen, reading through his notes quietly. The Fallen Angel painted by Alexandre Cabanel. You can’t say you’re shocked, but it’s a good choice. His analysis is short and needs more detail, but it’s a good start and fairly insightful. Sukuna lacks elegance with his words, but this is just the research phase anyway. Okay, not a bad start.

Maybe this won’t be so bad.

To your surprise, although he’s mostly quiet, he gives you some input on your analysis and hums in agreement when you ask him to write a bit more in certain areas to match your research. He doesn’t even seem that bothered by it, only mildly inconvenienced. You would almost argue that he was agreeable if you couldn’t feel the side-eye you were receiving from him.

When you finally settle on C. Allan Gilbert’s All is Vanity for your final piece, Sukuna excuses himself quite quickly and makes his way out, grunting in agreement when you ask him to meet you at the same time next week. You had hoped to get some research done with him but this would have to do, and hopefully you would have more time next week.

Only… when next week comes, he doesn’t show. You lean over the desk where Sukuna usually sits, figuring maybe he’s just late again, but as the clock rolls past the thirty minute mark, you begin to lose hope. Tapping your fingers rhythmically over the desk as you stare at the clock, you resign to texting him.

3:39 PM || You: hey! just wondering if youre on your way

Another twenty minutes of staring at the sent text does you no good and you can’t really get much done without Sukuna’s portion, so with a sigh, you push yourself up and call Shoko to go out with you. At least now you can make the most of your Friday night, even if it’s a bit earlier than intended.

–

“He just completely no-showed, huh?”

“Not even a text,” you confirm with a groan, keeping your attention on the road as you make your way to the bar by Shoko’s house. The afternoon sun glints on the windshield of your car, warming the interior of the vehicle rather comfortably for the early autumn day.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Shoko hums at the thought.

“I really wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean honestly his research wasn’t too bad,” you sigh, casting a glance at your best friend.

“Could still be salvageable. Maybe try asking him what works for him?” She suggests with a shrug, leaning back in her seat as she stares blankly out the windshield.

“I don’t know. I think if I leave things up to him, he just won’t do it.”

“Oh, because he’s been so good at showing up when you organize things?” She chides with a raised brow.

You suppose you can’t really argue with that, so you groan in response. “At least he has a good taste in art.”

“Yeah?”

“A little edgy, but yeah. He chose The Fallen Angel, you know the one that-” you pause, moving your arm over your face to mimic the famous painting while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel.

“Oh yeah, I think I know the one,” she agrees with a chuckle at your description. “I think I’ve seen-” she pauses as your car comes to a slow halt at a stop light. You shoot her a questioning glance when she remains quiet. “Speak of the devil. Isn’t that him?”

“Sukuna?” You question, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever Shoko’s looking at.

Sure enough, the pink-haired man in question is on the sidewalk along with two young kids. He seems frustrated, his hand flying in the air in obvious exasperation and you wonder what his relation to them is. Your first thought is that they could be his, but the older of the two kids is just a bit too old to make that assumption.

Still, you didn’t take Sukuna as someone enthusiastic at the thought of being a babysitter.

“Shit, that is him,” Shoko confirms for herself. When the light turns green, the car jolts forward as you pull through a lane abruptly to turn and grab street parking very suddenly. “Woah, what are you-? You can’t be serious.”

“I-” your words die in your throat. Are you serious? What are you doing? It’s not like you’re friends. Are you here to confront him about not showing up? No, you aren’t really even mad, just frustrated at most. Your mind flashes back to how he’d looked the week before, like he could pass out at any moment, and you wonder if you’re here out of concern. “I don’t know,” you mumble, parking your car and hopping out.

“You are serious,” she mutters more to herself than you as she watches you leave the car with a sigh, following a short distance behind you.

The day is relatively warm for the early fall, the sun shining high overhead and providing a comfortable escape from the brisk breeze. Leaves are losing their vibrant green colors overhead, replaced with beautiful hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, and the sound of them rustling in the breeze is refreshing.

From around the corner, you can just barely make out Sukuna’s words. You were right to assume he was frustrated.

“Give it back to your brother,” he instructs, his voice a near-growl, but as the younger of the two kids whines in complaint, you can tell neither kid seems all that intimidated even by the almost seven-foot-tall man made of pure muscle who towers over them.

“No!”

“C’mon brat, I don’t have time for this,” he hisses out, voice rife with irritation. As you round the corner, lightly jogging up to Sukuna, you watch his gaze slowly turn to land on you and Shoko, his eyes widening for a moment as his expression shifts to surprise. For a moment you even think you see horror flash through his eyes, but he masks it all with his usual disinterested expression before you have time to think much about it.

“Sukuna?”

“That’s me,” he grumbles, running a hand through his tousled hair in exasperation.

“Hi! I’m Yuji!” The younger of the two boys bounds up to you, blatantly ignoring Sukuna as he waves to Shoko behind you.

You grin at him, kneeling down to his height as you greet him with your name. His eyes are filled with delight and as you get back to your feet, you put the pieces together. These must be Sukuna’s little brothers. Although the older of the two doesn’t particularly look like him, the youngest is a near carbon copy of Sukuna, only lacking his tattoos, piercings, and his signature attitude.

“What a cutie,” you coo at the little boy, who can’t be any older than five. The older of the two boys doesn’t resemble Sukuna in the same way Yuji does, with sunken eyes and unkempt long brown hair, he looks to be about eleven… and he also looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

“Don’t feed his ego,” Sukuna huffs, watching you interact with Yuji with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Look! Look!” Yuji excitedly holds his hands out to you. You recognize an old GameBoy in his hands, something you’re sure you have hidden away somewhere in your own apartment from your childhood.

“I had one of those when I was young,” you tell him, glancing up at Sukuna whose left brow slowly raises.

“Really? Do you like Pokemon?”

“Yuji, that’s enough. Leave her alone and give it back to your brother,” Sukuna instructs, his frustration laced within his words.

“No! Choso’s playing it wrong,” he argues.

Sukuna looks like he’s about to burst. If he were a balloon, he’d be floating dangerously close to a pin, and it’s in that moment that you finally get a good look at him. If you thought he looked sickly last week, he looks like he’s about to collapse now.

His eyes are sunken, skin pale, and although he’s making an effort to mask it, his focus seems as though it’s drifting while he simply stands there. His hair is disheveled in a way that doesn’t look intentional and there’s a stain on the abdomen of his shirt. Which, to your surprise, is also a uniform for a local food distribution warehouse. He’s wearing cargo pants, steel-toed boots, and a blue polo shirt. It’s a strange look for him, but you’re more concerned about the fact that he seems to be swaying, he’s so tired.

“I wasn’t playing it wrong!” Choso argues back, leaping at his brother as they get into a scuffle, and it’s barely a split second before Yuji is in tears alongside Choso.

“Fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off, taking a step forward.

Instinctively, you step in before Sukuna needs to. “Hey, hey!” You coo softly, leaning back down to them. “Why don’t you both play together?” Yuji’s sobs don’t stop at your suggestion, although Choso backs away from the younger boy, listening to what you have to say with a heartbreakingly sad expression over something so simple. Life was so much easier at their age.

“How?” Yuji asks through sobs.

“Why don’t you take turns? It’s Pokemon, right?” You ask, earning a nod from Yuji as he sniffles and wipes his face, his sleeve absolutely covered in tears and snot already. “Why don’t you pass it over between each battle?”

Yuji stares at you skeptically, as though the little boy cannot possibly fathom sharing. Choso quietly waits for his brother to come to a conclusion as his sniffles subside, all the while Sukuna just watches the entire scene unfold with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Yuji finally agrees in a small voice. “But I go first!”

To your surprise, Choso seems fine with this as they both crowd around the game.

When you stand back up, you’re happy to find that Sukuna looks absolutely relieved.

“Fuck, thought I’d never hear the end of that,” he mumbles, making you wonder if that’s his begrudging way of thanking you.

You chuckle quietly, crossing your arms over your chest with a small shrug. “I’m good with kids,” you tell him. He eyes you for a moment, humming, but doesn’t say anything. After a brief silence, you glance back up at him to find the tall man’s tired gaze still boring into you.

“Ask,” he instructs.

Your brow raises. “Ask?”

“You wanna ask where I was today, right?”

That obvious, huh? “I did wait for an hour.”

A hint of a smirk graces his lips as he snidely comments, “y’know, I’m sure I’ve had other women wait longer.” You aren’t sure how he expects you to react, but the way you raise a brow and don’t entertain his lewd implications clearly doesn’t encourage him to continue. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he clicks his tongue and turns his head away from you. “Had to pick up a shift at work. Was gonna text but the little brat broke my phone yesterday.”

“Sorry, Kuna,” Yuji’s voice is small as you realize he’s been listening the whole time now that Choso is holding the GameBoy. His cheeks are puffy and red still from crying, but god he sure is a mini Sukuna.

“Kunaaaa?” You coo teasingly at the absolutely adorable nickname.

“He can’t say my name,” Sukuna grumbles, suppressing his irritation as best as he can, given that you did save him from further arguments with his brothers and he did already test his limits with you anyway. Still, his nose wrinkles in distaste at the nickname as he stares at the ground with a huff.

“That’s so cute!” You practically squeal, eyes bright as you grin at the hulking mass of anger and maybe even embarrassment as his cheeks heat up before your eyes.

“Shut up,” he hisses, still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s alright, by the way. We can figure out another time to meet.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll text-” he cuts himself off, blinking at the realization that he has no phone. “I’ll email you or some shit.”

“Email. Right,” you sarcastically tease with a tilt of your head. A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw visibly twitches and he huffs.

“Take it or leave it.”

You raise your hands in the air defensively, unable to help your amused smile. As silence falls over the both of you, interrupted only by Choso’s quiet commentary to Yuji about their game, you let your expression morph to one of concern again. Your lips part to ask if Sukuna’s alright, but he beats you to it.

“I’m fine.” His voice is low and strained and you both know you don’t believe him.

“You look it,” you challenge him sarcastically.

Sukuna’s jaw tenses as he stares you down as if daring you to challenge him again. Luckily for him, you’re willing to let it go.

“Do you guys need a ride somewhere?” You ask, glancing back in the direction of your car. Shoko is probably itching to get to the bar, though surely she won’t mind your offer given that the man in front of you looks like he could melt into a puddle if it only meant he could sleep.

“No.”

“Yeah!”

Sukuna and Yuji stare at one another as they both respond at the same time.

“No. We’re fine,” Sukuna growls, narrowing his eyes at the young boy.

“I don’t wanna walk anymooooore,” Yuji complains, shooting Choso a pleading look. Catching on, Choso shoots Sukuna a pair of puppy dog eyes. God the two of them are just adorable.

“No, both of you. Cut it out. Now.” Sukuna’s voice drops an octave as he hisses the last word.

“I really don’t mind,” you say quietly, leaning closer to him in an attempt to keep your words between the two of you.

“I don’t need your help,” Sukuna protests, taking a step towards you with massive muscular arms folding over his chest as his polo shirt is pulled taut from the movement.

“So if I give you a little push, you won’t fall over and pass out?”

“No.” He scowls defensively as he stares back at his two brothers, not noticing the way you slowly reach your hand out before shoving him lightly. He sways backwards slightly, catching himself before he actually does fall over as he swats at your hand. “Fucking- What the fuck is wrong with you?” He grouses, voice dripping with irritation and anger, although it doesn’t reach his eyes. He just looks tired.

“Let me drive you where you need to go and I’ll stop,” you taunt, moving your hand forward to shove him again.

Now paying attention, he grabs your wrist before you can push him. “Christ, you’re almost as much of a brat as my brothers,” he huffs, fiery eyes hyper-focused on your cheerful demeanor in spite of the fact that he’s been nothing short of snappy with you since you first showed up. “You’ll stop because I said so, not because I’m agreeing, got that?”

You shrug, shooting him a smile that says you won. “Whatever you say, Sukuna.”

He drops your wrist with a dramatic sigh before ushering his brothers after you as you turn to make your way back to your car.

“Can’t say I know what just happened,” Shoko whispers in your ear as she walks alongside you to your car. “But I’m surprised he agreed.”

“I’m not. He’s barely awake,” you tell her as you both cast a glance back at him. He doesn’t seem to notice as he bickers with his brothers, telling them to keep up if they want a ride from you.

“Yeah, he looks like shit,” she chuckles with a shake of her head. Never one to beat around the bush, but she is right.

Unlocking your car, you open the back door as Sukuna lifts his youngest brother into the backseat, grumbling about the two boys needing to behave before he climbs in himself, completely blocking your view through your rearview mirror.

He huffs and puffs as he gives you his address, choosing not to say a word throughout the ride as he listens to you chat with Shoko, muttering only the occasional “cut it out” or “stop that, brat” to one of his brothers.

Rolling up to what you assume is his apartment, you put the car in park and turn your attention back to the boys, putting on your best radio voice.

“Thank you for riding, please exit to your left and have a greeeeeat day!” You earn a sweet laugh from Yuji and a calm smile from Choso for your antics. You can practically feel Sukuna’s exasperation as it comes off of him in waves, clearly done with the world for the day, but you don’t miss the silent relief gleaming in his eyes.

“What do you say?” Sukuna gruffs, nudging the youngest of his brothers who you’re obviously putting on the show for.

“Thank you, miss!” He grins brightly as Sukuna opens the door and lowers him to the ground. He hands Choso a pair of keys, nudging them along to the door of the run-down building. To your surprise, he shuts the door and comes around to your side, knocking on the window.

You tilt your head as you roll down the window.

“Thanks…” he trails off as though the word is sour on his tongue, shooting a glance at Shoko in a silent gesture of thank you to her as well.

“No problem. Go get some sleep,” you tell him softly. Frustration flashes through his eyes as you tell him what to do but he’s not about to lash out at the person responsible for his grade who also gave him a ride home. Even he’s not that much of an asshole.

He sets a hand on your hood, pausing for a moment before he runs a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up more than it already was. “Do me a favor and don’t mention this to anyone, yeah?”

You tilt your head, exchanging a glance with Shoko as he looks between the two of you. “Yeah. No problem.”

His hand slides off your car as he rounds the vehicle to follow after his brothers. He pauses to cast a glance at you, before pushing into the front lobby of his apartment building and out of sight.

Silence falls over both you and Shoko as you watch the tattooed man disappear into the building when Choso holds the door open for him.

“That was fucking weird,” Shoko comments.

“Hm?” You hum as you pull out of the apartment, unsure of what she means. Of course Sukuna would have a life Shoko had never thought about, it’s not like they were close, you aren’t sure what she was expecting.

“He wasn’t a complete dick.”

Shooting Shoko a confused glance, you purse your lips. “Is he known for that? I thought he was just a bit of a delinquent.”

“Yeah, that too, but he’s pretty well-known for being snappy with people and snarky to profs.”

“Oh,” you blink twice in thought, keeping your eyes on the road. “I don’t know. He’s pretty quiet in Art History, this project is the first time I’ve ever talked to him. I figured I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Huh,” Shoko shrugs, “guess you’re on his good side, then.” She sighs, leaning back in her seat once again. “Oh well, you have blackmail on him anyway, so there’s no way he’s bailing on you now,” she grins with a teasing smirk.

Your eyes widen and you move your elbow to nudge her. “Absolutely not, and don’t you think about it either!”

Shoko chuckles, though you know she wouldn’t anyway. Much like you, she’s too kind to spill Sukuna’s secrets to the school, regardless of her opinions or thoughts on him.

–

As you return home from the bar late that night with a comfortable buzz that had left you needing to keep your car at the bar overnight, you pour yourself a glass of water and open your laptop on your bed, letting it boot up while you change into an oversized cozy beige hoodie with little bows adorning the sleeves.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie down over your hands and throwing on a pair of shorts, you run a hand through your hair and log into your laptop, pulling it onto your lap to browse social media, when something catches your eye.

You don’t pay much attention to your email inbox most of the time. Maybe you should, after all the college sends you a fair amount of emails and you’ve missed some in the past, but what catches your eye is certainly not from the faculty.

It’s a response to the document you sent Sukuna via email last week.

Oh shit, he was serious about sending you an email.

Maybe it’s because you're drunk, or maybe it’s because the idea of the nearly seven foot tall tattooed man who you’d watched leave class once just to smoke sending you an email of all things is a truly funny thought, but you snicker to yourself as you open it.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 1:17 AM hey. you around this weekend

Your snicker turns to a full laugh as you read the message. You can’t decide if the message feels like a sad attempt at a booty call, an old man attempting to text via email, or an embarrassing attempt to save his bruised ego since he can’t text you.

You’d learned from Shoko at the bar earlier that Sukuna has quite the reputation. Supposedly he’s known for bringing a woman home at every party, for being able to smooth talk his way into the bedroom in spite of his usually grumpy and ill-mannered demeanor, and for being able to always get what he wants even though he has a reputation for being an asshole. So it’s hard not to laugh when that same man is the one who just sent you the most awkward email. At one in the morning. On a Saturday.

Oh my god.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:12 AM Hey Sukuna! I’m around tomorrow afternoon and all day Sunday. Did you have time to work on the project?

You hit send and shut your laptop, deciding to brush your teeth and begin getting ready to get some rest. Taking off your makeup and brushing your hair, you finish up your nighttime routine and decide on a whim to see if your project partner has responded to you.

Getting under the covers and leaning against the headboard of your bed, you open your laptop again. To your surprise, your inbox has gone up by one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:19 AM cool. come by mine tomorrow whenever

You snicker to yourself as you read the message again. He’s certainly not fighting either the sad booty call or old man texting via email allegations.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:23 AM Had to leave my car at the bar, did you wanna come by my place?

To your surprise, it’s only a couple of minutes later when he replies.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:25 AM uhhh i gotta watch over the brats

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM Bring them!! They’re so cute :)

You can practically feel his irritated grumbles through the screen when not even a minute later he responds.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Saturday, 2:26 AM fine. address and time

With a satisfied smile, you let him know to drop by at two in the afternoon and send him your address before shutting your laptop.

As you lay down in bed, you can’t help but wonder what a strange little world you’ve somehow managed to squeeze your way into. Sukuna’s world. Maybe it’s because he’s easy to tease, maybe it’s the undeniable fact that he’s a good looking guy, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s actually surprised you more than once now and you’re somewhat enjoying the project more than you initially thought you would, but you can’t help but find yourself fascinated by him.

Come to think of it, you wonder if maybe Shoko’s comment has something to do with it. You think back to the way that she mentioned that he was oddly agreeable and, well, not a dick, and you wonder if it’s a curiosity to get to know this side of Sukuna that no one seems to know that compels you to be laying in bed at two in the morning thinking about the situation.

Regardless, you fall asleep with a calm little smile.

–

Glancing at the clock, you have half a mind to wonder if Sukuna will actually show up. Sure, he was the one who reached out, but maybe you should have just bussed to your car rather than waiting on Shoko to drive you to it and gone to his place on your own given that you can’t text him to ask where he is and it’s almost two thirty in the afternoon.

You could email him.

No… no. You aren’t about to email him.

You almost laugh to yourself at the thought.

Returning to your coffee, you keep at your work, refining your notes until you have something you think you can confidently write a full thesis about, when finally there’s a buzz at your door.

Speak of the devil. You buzz him up and there's a knock at your apartment door a few moments later.

“Cut that out,” Sukuna hisses practically the moment you open the door. You raise a brow at him and he sighs. “The brat, not you,” he clarifies, nudging Yuji.

You shoot him a sweet smile, suppressing a chuckle. Sukuna is dressed in a leather jacket, a white V-Neck and a pair of ripped jeans. In comparison to his usual baggy cargo pants and hoodie, he almost seems like he’s dressed up a bit and you can’t help but smile at the thought. More importantly though, the dark circles beneath his eyes are just a bit faded in comparison to when you had spotted him yesterday and you can tell he was able to get a bit of rest.

Yuji is excitedly looking up at you and attempting to tug on Sukuna’s hand while Choso stands behind his brother silently, his expression neutral.

“Hey guys, c’mon in.” You grin as you open the door for them, watching Yuji bound in ahead of his older brothers. He begins looking around with wide eyes, so full of wonder and excitement that you can’t help but smile.

“Such sweet kids,” you comment as Sukuna stands beside you, sighing as both brothers practically run to the sofa, looking around your little apartment excitedly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You giggle at Sukuna, nudging him playfully. The glare he shoots you as he grunts seems to lack the usual malice his expressions hold and he runs a hand through his well-groomed hair, motioning for you to lead the way.

You show him to your little desk at the back of the apartment, pulling up a kitchen chair for yourself as you give him your office chair. He silently obliges, sitting down with his legs spread.

“One moment,” you mumble, heading into your room briefly before reappearing with none other than your old GameBoy, complete with a copy of Pokemon Ruby. Sukuna’s gaze is tethered to you and although his expression doesn’t change, you see surprise flash across his crimson irises as you walk up to the boys, kneeling in front of them.

“Choso, do you want to use my old GameBoy?” You ask the brown-haired young man, holding it out to him. His eyes are wide with surprise as Yuji’s jaw drops open. Choso nods, not saying a word as he flips the device and eyes the game. If it’s even possible, his eyes widen further and he smiles shyly.

“Are you sure?”

“More than sure. I bet there’s some neat Pokemon on that file,” you tell him.

The two boys exchange a grin and Choso thanks you profusely as he turns on the system.

“No problem. There’s a TV in my room, why don’t you two hang out in there and you don’t need to listen to your brother and I talk about boring art, hm?”

Yuji nods excitedly, bounding to his feet and grabbing your hand. Your heart swells at the action as you lead him and Choso to your room and hand them the remote. It takes all of a moment for both of them to begin bickering about what to watch, though you notice their arguments are fairly one-sided, with Choso being much quieter than his younger brother.

Leaving the two of them to their own devices, you make your way back out to Sukuna, who’s set his laptop on your desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair. He’s wearing a white band tee with a deep V-neck for a metal band you aren’t familiar with, though the sleeves are torn off. With arms crossed over his chest and tattooed muscular arms on display, it’s undeniable just how attractive he is.

The real surprise is when he turns his head to look at you and his sharp eyes are, strangely, filled with… well you aren’t quite sure. Uncertainty? Confusion?

You subtly tilt your head when you take a seat on the kitchen chair beside him. His chair spins to face you as he examines you.

“Is something wrong?”

Sukuna’s adam's apple bobs as he swallows, before shaking his head. “Nah. Let’s just get this shit over with,” he grumbles, opening his laptop and turning his research document towards you. He’s clearly taken a look at yours, because his notes are in a similar format and he has about as much written as you, not to mention he’s put some work into research on the third painting you two had chosen.

Your brows raise as you read through it. “Wow, this is really good.”

He scoffs. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

You chuckle in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to come off that way, I just-” you pause, leaning back in your chair. Aside from the subtle sounds of Pokemon and the TV in the background, the only sound that breaks the silence as you pause is the squeaking of your chair. “I don’t know. When you were late and then you just didn’t show up, I…” you trail off, not wanting to accuse him of something that clearly isn’t true.

“You assumed the worst.”

Your mouth opens but any words you had in your defense die on your tongue, casting your glance to the side as you search for something, anything, to explain your thought process. No matter what way you try to word it, you’re definitely the bad guy here.

“It’s fine. Everyone does.”

Your brow furrows but before you can ask what he means, Choso is surprising you as he taps on your arm. You turn your attention to the young boy, who’s looking up at you with gleaming eyes.

“You have Rayquaza,” he states, arms outstretched to show you a serpentine creature on the GameBoy.

Your curiosity twists to easy mirth as you smile at him. “I guess I do, huh?”

Choso’s arms fall back down in front of him as he stares down at the Pokemon. His eyes flicker up to you briefly, then back down. “You have Groudon too.”

You can’t help your amused laugh. He’s such a sweet and shy little boy, but he talks just like Sukuna. Straight to the point, blunt, and rather short. He may not look like Sukuna like Yuji does, but his speech is just like his older brother’s.

“Leave her alone,” Sukuna mumbles gruffly from beside you. Choso smiles up at him before bounding back to your room. You can hear the two of them gearing up to play the games together from across the apartment, the game’s music heard in mismatched double as they both turn up the volume.

Turning back to Sukuna, your trail of thought is completely gone. “What was I saying?”

“You got any music? The brat’s game’s been drivin’ me crazy,” Sukuna mutters. “Yuji broke my laptop’s speakers,” he sighs.

“He’s on a hot streak for breaking things, huh?” You giggle.

“Don’t get me started.”

You turn in your seat, pointing towards the wall where a table sits with a fairly nice record player on it, and a shelf of records. They’re organized by artist and their sleeves range from new-looking to clearly well-loved.

Getting to his feet, Sukuna follows to where you point, curiously staring at the spines of the records. He’s not exactly shocked by most of the choices, but a few of them do stand out to him, and you’re thankful when you hear him sliding something off the shelf and putting it on the player.

You recognize the melody in the air instantly, and grin when Sukuna sits down beside you again. “The Eagles?”

Sukuna doesn’t move as his eyes slowly trail to you. He hums after a moment. “It’s a good album. You have… alright taste.”

In truth, he doesn’t mind your taste in music. Sure, he may not be fond of all of your choices, many in fact, but it would seem the two of you are making a habit out of surprising one another as he has his next album choice in mind already.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you chuckle at his dry attempt at being nice. The corner of Sukuna’s lips twitches up into a hint of a smile. It suits him.

As Hotel California blankets the air in warm strings and simple drum beats, the two of you are able to get a good amount of work done, putting your research together into one well-written and coherent thesis, one to be proud of.

Of course, you still need to put together an actual visual presentation to go with the thesis to be presented, but at least the bulk of the work is over with and you can feel confident in your project without concern anymore.

You have half a mind to get started on the visual portion now as well to get it all finished, but one glance at Sukuna tells you he’s tapped out, and either way you’ve gone through three records at this point as the final track on a Pink Floyd album comes to a close.

As silence falls over your project group, Sukuna lets out a sigh. It’s fairly dark in the room too as the sun sets, and when you check the clock to find it’s already six, you realize that’s likely why your stomach’s been making noises for the last twenty minutes.

“Why don’t you guys all stay for dinner?” You suggest, mostly out of politeness, but you can’t help but feel as though you’re drawn to him. You want to get to know him, know why he’s late so often, why he stays in school just to not show up for classes when it’s his money being blown. After all, it can’t just be his brothers or work, he likely only takes care of them while his parents are at work, surely.

Sukuna wearily glances between you and the door where his little brothers are, before shaking his head. “Nah, I can just make us somethin’ when we get back.”

“I insist,” you grin at him, watching the way a muscle twitches in jaw. “There are some great places nearby, we can just grab takeout while they play games, we’ll only be gone for a moment.”

He remains silent, arms crossed disdainfully over his chest before grimacing, giving in to your overly kind grin.

You settle on a curry restaurant just down the block and grab the boys’ orders, letting them know you’ll be right back. You’re sure you can trust Choso to look after his younger brother for twenty minutes.

As the chilly evening air hits your face, you let out a content hum, peering curiously back to see Sukuna falling into step with you. The two of you are a sight to behold, your appearance preppy and sweet decorated with autumnal colors fitting for the season, while he’s clad in leather and punk attire, the tones of his clothing purely grayscale.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his mild gaze locked in front of him.

“How old are they, your brothers?”

“Five and twelve,” Sukuna replies, fighting off a yawn and failing.

Amused, you smile up at him. “I’m glad you got some rest last night. I was worried about you.”

His brow twitches as he meets your kind smile. “Worried? About me?” He shoots you an incredulous look, scoffing. When you pout at him, he’s unable to hold back a smirk. It’s the first time you’ve seen him truly at ease and now that you’re alone with him, you notice that he actually seems to be somewhat relaxed.

“Yeah, maybe I was. Shoot me,” you shrug, playfully rolling your eyes.

He snorts, entertained, growing silent although the air that settles over you is comfortable now. Sukuna’s presence is surprisingly calming now that he isn’t constantly regarding you with disinterested gazes and irritated huffs. His expressions remain mild, but his brooding is more infrequent and the tension in his gruff voice has dulled. You would almost think he likes being around you.

As you come up to the curry restaurant, you lean into Sukuna with a point of your finger, silently telling him to enter the restaurant to your right. He pulls the door open for you, trailing closely behind. The atmosphere of the restaurant is busy, the employees behind the counter moving quickly to fulfill orders. Sukuna can only imagine how good the food must be given the line waiting to order, though you assure him it won’t take long.

He casts a glance up at the menu and frowns as he takes in the prices. He can afford to pay for himself, Yuji, and Choso, but not you. He has half a mind to say something, but his pride causes him to choke on the words. He inconspicuously pulls out his phone to take a look at his bank app to see if he can swing anything, but catches a glimpse of an employee not paying attention as he moves quickly towards you, all the while you’re not paying attention either, idly staring at the menu.

The employee about to barrel into you is holding a massive steel bucket and while Sukuna can’t see what’s inside, he doesn’t love the idea of you covered in water or worse.

With an annoyed click of his tongue, he lowers himself slightly, locking a strong arm around your middle and lifting you off the ground. You yelp in surprise, eyes wide as you latch onto his arm for purchase, head whipping around in confusion until you find the employee now walking past the exact spot you were in with boiling hot oil in a bucket.

Your lips purse, a shiver running from the base of your spine up to your nape just as Sukuna drops you to the ground unceremoniously in front of him. Your heels land with a clack on the ground as you catch your balance, your eyes still trailing after the employee that hadn’t been able to see you over the jug of hot oil they carried.

“Pay attention,” he scolds you with a frown.

“Oh my god,” you mutter mostly to yourself, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally look up at your savior. Your eyes flicker down to his arms. Even covered in leather, the way his muscles ripple beneath the fabric with each movement he makes doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Thank you, S’kuna.”

He shoves his hands in his pocket, nodding. The way you abbreviate his name is painfully close to the nickname he avoids as much as he can, but he can’t bring himself to correct you and in all honesty, he’s not sure why. He lets it slide, clearing his throat as he clears his mind of the way the name seems to shake him.

“Don’t make a habit of it.”

His words feel like they should be scolding, but his tone doesn’t hold the same meaning. As he stares back up at the menu with a stitch in his horribly handsome brow, you can’t help but find yourself confused by the meaning of his words.

You don’t have much time to think about it as your turn to order comes and you find yourself at the counter, giving the employee your order before glancing back at Sukuna. His mouth parts and he hesitates.

“I- uh-”

You’ve never seen him dither in such a way and you tilt your head, blinking in confusion.

“I can’t-”

Frustration flashes through his eyes and you can see his jaw clench as he trips over his words. Flustered isn’t the right word, but his pride is certainly hurt as he finally manages to force out the explanation you need.

“I can’t afford to- uh-”

Again he pauses, his expression burning with irritation as his cheeks heat up, the admission coming at the cost of his ego.

Your face softens in understanding and your soft fingers wrap around his tattooed wrist, pulling him up to the counter.

“I’ve got it. I invited you to stay, it’s on me.” You hold your card out with a kind smile, but Sukuna doesn’t share your sentiment, anger flashing across the crimson of his eyes as he grits his teeth at you.

“I don’t need help,” he hisses, eyes narrowed as his walls go back up right before you.

“That’s not-” your eyes widen as you try to salvage the situation when Sukuna recoils suddenly. You hadn’t intended for him to take your words so personally, you’d just felt it was the right thing to do given that you had invited not only him, but both of his brothers over as well, and suggested the place to begin with. “You can get the next one,” you tell him in hopes of mending the bridge between you.

He examines your expression, finding no traces of malice or ill-will in your features. Frowning, he huffs as he turns to give his order to the poor employee who’d had the displeasure of witnessing Sukuna’s outburst. In his silence, you order for his little brothers as well.

With a dour sigh, the tattooed man moves along to the side to wait for the order, the fact that you paid leaving a sour taste in his mouth. You make your way over to him, leaving a small distance between you.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.”

“Really, I- I-” you stumble over your words as he glares at you. You suppose Shoko had warned you that Sukuna was notoriously an ass, but you hadn’t witnessed it first hand until now. Still, you can’t help but feel like what you’re witnessing isn’t that. At the end of the day he isn’t lashing out for no reason, it’s clear you struck a nerve and you can’t blame him for being hurt by it, even if it’s not what you intended and you don’t fully understand where he’s coming from.

“Drop it,” Sukuna growls, though his anger has subsided somewhat, his gaze cast to the wall.

You blink up at him, hating the way the world seems to hold its breath around you.

You can’t deny that the man who towers over you, covered in tattoos and piercings is intimidating. Between his gruff voice, his mild mannerisms and his disinterested demeanor, he’s tough to read and you really can’t afford to let a rift come between you when you still have to work on your project.

Your lips part to say something but one striking glance from those crimson eyes has the words dying in your throat. Your mouth goes dry as you wrack your brain for anything to stay, but draw a blank.

Sukuna’s brow knits together at the sight of your anxious expression and he shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing.

It takes him a moment to fully cool off and collect his thoughts, but he can see in your eyes that you genuinely meant no harm and he supposes it’s the right thing to do to give you a break for that. You’re just naturally kind and he finds that he needs to remind himself of that.

“It’s… fine,” he murmurs in a strained voice, nudging you with his elbow. You crack a smile at him, thankful when his body language seems to relax somewhat again.

You don’t dare say anything as you wait for your food, fiddling with your phone in your hands as you contemplate his reaction. You obviously hurt his pride unintentionally by offering to pay, but between skipping school for work and the fact that this restaurant isn’t by any means expensive, you have a guess as to why he might have been so affected, one that makes Sukuna’s entire demeanor and his exhaustion click into place like a puzzle.

Before you have a chance to ask him, unsure if you even want to, your name is called and Sukuna is grabbing your order. You reach out to grab one of the bags but Sukuna swiftly holds it overhead with a smirk that doesn’t quite meet his eyes as you pout playfully. He continues to hold the food overhead as he leads the way outside. Watching you trail closely behind him, standing up on your tiptoes in an attempt to reach the bags, he raises a brow.

“Walk, brat.”

You shoot him a look, brow furrowed, before giving in and falling into step alongside him. He brings his arms down, holding the bags on his arms opposite you.

With your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sukuna’s earlier outburst, you bring your lower lip between your teeth, mindlessly chewing on it as you stare at the sidewalk beneath your feet.

Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals, taking note of the way you’re deep in thought. “Just fucking ask your question.”

Much like yesterday, Sukuna easily notices the way you glance at him uncertainly, the question on the tip of your tongue. It catches you off-guard how easily he reads you and you fall out of step with him, taking longer strides to catch up after you falter.

“I- um- do you-” you hesitate, casting a glance at his aloof expression. He seems at ease again and you don’t want to burn the bridge you’ve only just managed to mend, out of fear that another fire wouldn’t be put out so easily.

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks, blinking in surprise with pursed lips. Sukuna raises a brow at you, only a short distance ahead as he stops too, turning to face you. You can’t read his expression as it remains mild, his questioning brow the only sign that gives away any hint of his thoughts. In a few short strides, you’re back at his side.

“You’re… their guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Sukuna chews on his tongue piercing mindlessly as he watches the gears turn in your mind, putting together the pieces of the puzzle that had been laid out for you.

Of course Sukuna’s tired if he’s taking care of two young boys, going to college, working, cooking, cleaning, god the list can only go on. You wonder if the reason he seems so at ease right now, so quick to forgive you, is because he’s thankful for the break. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s had time to himself.

“That’s why you missed yesterday.”

He shrugs. “You knew that already.”

“I guess, yeah.” Your turn to shrug. “I just thought it was a temporary thing.”

Sukuna lets out a humorless laugh. “Well it’s not.”

You’re not really sure how to react, in all honesty. You don’t want him to think you pity him, you can’t offer sympathy, you certainly can’t offer help. In your uncertainty, you find yourself continuing to fiddle with your phone, avoiding his gaze.

Sukuna quite simply… turns to leave, deciding to spare you of your discomfort, and him of any more blows to his pride. You jog after him, falling into step again. There are questions left unanswered and sympathies you want to extend, but you can’t bear the thought of hurting him again, even if it’s unintentional, so you bite your tongue.

The sounds of the city surround you, filling the silence. Sirens blare in the distance, trees rustle above you, and casual chatter comes and goes as you pass other groups of people on the way to your apartment. It’s all a welcome distraction as you continue to fiddle with your phone, the air between you two neither tense nor comfortable. It lies somewhere in between and you don’t dare tip the scales out of fear of making your counterpart uncomfortable.

“You play a lot of Pokemon growin’ up?”

Your eyes light up as Sukuna starts a conversation, finally tipping the scales back towards being comfortable.

“My best friend growing up really liked it, we played a lot of Ruby and Sapphire.”

“Same as the brats.” He scoffs playfully.

“Are you gonna pretend that isn’t your old GameBoy?”

He tilts his head in your direction, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And if it is?”

“Dunno, I might think you’re a bit of a nerd,” you tease, mindlessly chewing on your lip.

Sukuna’s eyes flicker down to your lips. He catches himself immediately, averting his gaze. “Tch.”

You giggle when he doesn’t refute your claim. He shoves his hands back into his pockets, your takeout bags dangling from his forearm.

As you arrive back at your apartment, Sukuna lets you unlock the door before grabbing and holding it open for you. His eyes trace your figure as you tread ahead of him with a skip in your step. When you turn back to him, realizing he hasn’t followed you yet, he blinks in surprise as he realizes exactly what he’s doing, shaking his head to clear it.

Why in the hell was he checking you out anyway? He doesn’t make a habit of hooking up with people who know him beyond face value. He mutters a ‘sorry’, relieved when you don’t seem to notice the way he’d so shamelessly checked you out.

Closing the door behind him, he sets the food on the table, tossing his jacket aside as you call his brothers, setting up a little dinner around your coffee table. Sukuna groans as he slips down onto the floor to eat, remaining quiet as he simply watches the way you cheerfully entertain both of his brothers’ antics.

Shoveling rice into his mouth, Sukuna stares down at his curry, contemplating the strange sense of warmth blooming in his chest. The feeling is so unfamiliar to him that he can’t place it. He has half a mind to drown the emotion in nicotine and the need to smoke grows quickly.

He’s so preoccupied in his thoughts, Sukuna doesn’t realize his little brothers have both run off back to your room, leaving the two of you alone.

“S’kuna?”

Striking pupils suddenly meet yours. He straightens from where he sits across from you on the couch, taking notice of the fact that you’ve already finished your dinner.

“Are you alright?”

Sukuna nods. “‘M fine.” Yet he can’t help but to drink in the sight of you, the way you look at him with so much care and he can’t understand why, the way your lips move so softly when you speak. The way your figure and curves would feel under his hands, the way you keep biting your lip… Sukuna shakes his head suddenly, getting to his feet as he chalks it up to lust. He’ll get over it at the next party he goes to. “Balcony?” He asks suddenly, pointing at the door at the back of your apartment.

You nod, watching in confusion as he rises suddenly and rushes out the door, pulling out a box of cigarettes. You hum to yourself, deciding to give him a moment. You’re not sure exactly what came over him, he seemed flustered even if only for a moment, but there was something else you noticed in his eyes, something darker you couldn’t identify.

Pushing that aside, you put the lid back over his food to keep it warm and check your phone to find Shoko’s been trying to reach you to go pick up your car. You let her know you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow since you’re with Sukuna as you wait for him to finish smoking.

After a few messages back and forth, you glance back outside at Sukuna. The way the muscles along his back ripple just from the act of breathing is eye-catching enough, but when he stubs out his cigarette and leans over the railing of your little balcony, your eyes trail to his shoulder blades protruding from the white material of his shirt.

Catching yourself holding your breath, you take a step forward and decide to check on him, closing the balcony door in your stead as you slip onto the small overlook behind him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you even as you lean beside him, his tired expression fixated on the street below. You rest a hand on his bicep as you tilt your head quizzically. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Ever aloof, you aren’t able to tell what he’s thinking as he turns to look at you. You, completely unaware that your touch has set his skin alight. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes have darkened a shade as his pupils dilate at your touch. Unsure what’s come over him, he simply hums affirmatively as an answer to your question.

Your brow knits together but you accept his response. He wonders if you know that you’re rubbing circles into the skin of his bicep and it’s driving him crazy. What the hell is it about you that’s got him horny like it’s his first year of college again? It frustrates him beyond belief, but maybe it’s just been too long since he’s slept with someone. That has to be it. It’s just lust. He swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the action when you finally bring your attention out to the road in front of you both, removing your hand from him.

“Hey, um, what do you do at the supermarket?” You ask in an effort to create conversation with him.

“Stock,” he replies shortly, his tone as stoic as his expression.

“That’s not too bad,” you murmur thoughtfully, giggling to yourself suddenly. Sukuna’s brow raises. “Sorry, I just can’t imagine you as, like, a cashier or something.”

“Why not?” He sneers, standing up straight and facing you, offended.

“Come on,” you giggle, “you’re not very talkative.”

“I can be,” he insists, taking a step towards you.

“Is that your way of proving it?” You provoke him with a grin.

He scoffs. “I just don’t have anythin’ to say,” he grumbles with a tense jaw, staring down at you. “‘Sides, I work with customers at my other job.”

Another job? You frown at his admission. How the hell is he managing this? How hasn’t he flunked out? “What other job?”

“Mechanic,” he states blandly.

“Really? Are you a big car guy?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Sukuna’s somewhat taken aback by the way you lean in, your full attention directed towards him. You seem to take such a genuine interest in him and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

A smirk plays at the corners of his lips as he decides to mess with you, loving the idea of keeping you on your toes and pushing your buttons. “Nah. ‘M just good with my hands,” he drawls as you present him the perfect opportunity to tease you back given how much of a hard time you’ve been giving him.

Your eyes widen at his euphemism, cheeks heating up as you grip the balcony railing harder. You avert your gaze in an attempt to save face, willing your heart to slow down to no avail.

You clear your throat. “I-I um, th-that makes sense,” you stammer, mentally facepalming at just how nervous your words come out. He has no right to be this hot.

“Not so talkative now, are ya?” He chuckles lowly, sliding from his position leaning on the railing beside you to rest his opposite hand on your other side, effectively trapping you.

You flip over to face him, leaning back against the railing with pursed lips. Sukuna grins at your mousey behavior, thrilling in the way you squirm trapped between him and the railing. “Sukuna?”

His heart pounds in his chest at the sound of his name coming from your lips and his smirk falters. Why the hell is his heart beating so fast? He forces his smirk again, moving his face down to your level in an effort to push away the strange feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, woman?”

Focusing on anything other than the man in front of you, you can only manage to mumble out a few ‘um’s and ‘uh’s. Sukuna chuckles at just how flustered you are, freeing you from the cage of his arms as he rests against the railing beside you again.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore your spiraling thoughts. And boy are they ever spiraling as you stare out at the street beneath you, attempting to focus on the passing cars and not your pounding heart. “Why are you in Art History?”

Sukuna’s lit another cigarette in the time that you’ve used to recover your thoughts. He looks calmer once again as smoke spirals from the glowing embers. “Required class.”

“R-Right.” You swallow, moving past your stammer. “What do you want to do?”

He pauses for a moment, taking a languid drag from the cigarette. A puff of smoke leaves his lips before he replies. “Dunno. I’m a history major.”

You wouldn’t have imagined the college’s resident bad boy to be a history major, if you’re being honest with yourself, but you remind yourself not to judge a book by its cover.

He runs a hand through his hair as you contemplate the idea of Sukuna as a history major and what he might do with that major given that you can’t envision him as a historian or a museum curator, and certainly not as a teacher.

“I’m thinking of swapping majors,” he admits. You examine his expression as he taps the edge of the cigarette with a finger. He shrugs, shifting his gaze to stare at the sidewalk beneath the both of you. “Starting to think history doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Sukuna?”

He casts you a glance, examining your attentive face. You’re so wholly invested in his words that it causes a pang in his chest. He subconsciously brings a hand up to his chest, scratching at it as if to cast the strange feeling away.

Setting the feeling aside, he finds himself scowling in thought. When he was considerably younger he’d wanted to pursue graphic design but he hadn’t had the luxury of thinking about his future for a while now. In truth, he’s not even sure why he’s in history right now. It interests him enough to keep him attentive but the career options are… few and far between and he can’t exactly afford to fuck around and swap majors constantly.

His minor in business makes more sense, at least he can do something with it, but… in truth, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s another page filed under ‘uncertainties’ in the book that is Sukuna.

You take his silence as an answer and shoot him a wry smile. “You don’t have to answer, I’m sorry to pry.”

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I just dunno that either.”

Admitting to it feels shameful, almost, and frankly, Sukuna thinks he’s had enough of making a fool of himself in front of you today. Stubbing out his cigarette, he stands up and makes his way back inside. You follow after him, blinking as he begins packing up.

“I should go,” he mumbles, shutting his laptop and tossing it into his bag. He picks up his keys from your desk, shoving them in his pocket as he zips up his backpack. “Oh,” he stops his movements, hesitating for a moment. “I… Appreciate dinner.”

Your expression softens and you smile wholeheartedly. “No problem. You can take your leftovers, too. They’re still on the table,” you point over to the box you’d set the cover over. He nods, shutting it and tucking it in his bag as well.

With a tired sigh, he gathers his brothers, ushering them towards the doorway.

“Got anything to say?” Sukuna utters, staring down at both kids expectantly.

“Thank you!”

“Thank you, miss!”

You grin at both kids, kneeling down. “I hope you two had fun. You know, maybe you can convince your brother to come over again and I’ll pull out my old GameCube.”

With the expressions of jaw-dropping awe you’re getting right now, you would think you’d revealed to them the secret to happiness or something. Yuji leaps into your arms immediately, nearly toppling you over as he shoots a pleading stare at Sukuna.

Sukuna’s expression shifts to one of irritation as Yuji pleads with him, “Kuna! Pleeeease pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” that has you giggling at the way a vein in his forehead seems to pulse.

“Brat. Brat! Shut up, I’ll think about it, alright?”

Yuji nods cheerfully, counting straight to Sukuna’s leg to hug him, and the clear irritation on your classmate’s face immediately falters. Maybe he’s a bit of a softie after all.

Sukuna sighs heavily, reaching a long arm down to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Yeah, alright, kid. If she invites us.”

His voice is tired, albeit strangely soft. It’s almost like he’s a different person, and suddenly you can see why it is that he’s pulling such a terrible schedule. Despite the clear stress being a twenty two year old parent to two young kids is, he clearly loves them.

But this is Sukuna we’re talking about, so he doesn’t always know how to express that.

It’s sweet, really, and your heart melts at the sight.

“Go wait outside, you two.” Both kids run down the hall to the elevator as they excitedly ponder what games you might have, leaving you and Sukuna alone as he leans on the doorframe.

“You free next Saturday?” You ask once his attention returns to you.

“I can let you know. Depends on the auto shop’s schedule.”

“We can always do another day, whatever works best for you, Kuna.” Your voice holds a teasing lilt as you mimic Yuji’s entirely too adorable name for him.

“Don’t start with that,” he snarls, mumbling something about the name being annoying. Before turning to walk away, he decides to pay you back for all of your teasing with a jab of his own. “Don’t make a habit of getting oil dumped on you, yeah?”

What Sukuna isn’t expecting is for you to be able to match his teasing without a second thought. “What, I can’t email you for help?”

He snorts, smirking at the ground as he pushes himself off of the doorframe and begins to turn away. “See you around,” he says, raising a hand in farewell as he follows after his two brothers. Your eyes trail curiously after him until he’s out of sight, shutting and locking the door quietly.

In truth, you don’t expect to hear from him until maybe next Friday if you’re lucky, but to your surprise when you check your email later that night, your inbox has a new email from Sukuna. It’s still funny, to think that you’re communicating via email, but at least you aren’t giggling to yourself as you open this one.

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:04 AM brat stole your gameboy. meet at the fountain at noon monday

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:23 AM That’s alright!! He can keep it :)

sukuna.r@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:27 AM no he needs to learn. noon at the fountain

With a sigh, you realize he isn’t about to relent and give in.

englishlitstudies@gmail.com - Sunday, 12:28 AM Okay I’ll see you then Kuna lol

And oh if you could see the way Sukuna is guffawing and huffing at his screen, slamming his laptop shut as you call him the nickname he doesn’t want anyone to know. Yet here you are, barging into his life on all fronts and learning more about him than he wants.

The way his heart stutters, it actually stutters when he sees his inbox go up by a notification because he just knows it’s you and fuck why is it actually cute when you use that nickname?

Sukuna rubs a hand over his face and pulls his comforter up over his shoulder, sinking into the plush of his mattress as he tries to get some rest before his shift the next morning. He’ll deal with his other issues later.

main masterlist || series masterlist || next chapter

❦ a/n ; hello!! thank you so much for reading i've been having an absolute blast with this. i've been working on this for a long time and it was initially intended to be about 25k, but after working on it for a month straight it hit that pretty quickly and i'm nowhere near done. aaaanyways, thanks for all the love and support and as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are super appreciated <3

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @rinachains @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @creamflix @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune.

[arkaiveofurown]

kiss me, he’s watching

Pairings: Law x Reader & Ace x Reader

You feel like you’re being watched, so you ask him for help. After all, it’s just a simple kiss, right?

Word Count: ~2,000 words

tag: fluff, being stalked reader

my masterlist here ♡

——

Law

It started back in that small town—a feeling that couldn’t be ignored. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew. Someone was following you.

Everywhere you went, you could sense eyes on you. The feeling crawled under your skin, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it, it lingered.

When you saw him again, you froze. Your ex. The one who always used to say,

You’ll never get over me. You’ll always come back to me.

Do you think someone can love you like I do? No one.

Leave all you want, but I know you’ll crawl back to me.

You couldn’t believe he was here. How had he found you? You tried to push it down, but the thought gnawed at you like a dull ache. Should you tell the crew? You weren’t sure. How could you explain this? You hadn’t even fully processed it yourself.

The next few days were tense, your every move shadowed by the unease that settled in your chest.

You walked into the Polar Tang’s infirmary, needing a moment to breathe. Law was sitting at the desk, flipping through medical files, when he noticed you. His gaze was sharp, scanning you in a way that felt both familiar and unsettling.

“You need something?” he asked, his voice calm, but with a trace of concern.

You hesitated, the weight of everything still on your mind. “Just… needed a quiet place.”

Law studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a little. “You don’t lie well,” he noted, setting the file down.

You wanted to brush it off, but his gaze was too intense. “I’ll be fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Law leaned back, folding his arms. His expression didn’t shift, but his tone softened. “That’s not what it looks like.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, forcing a smile. “Really, Law. I just need some space.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but the way he looked at you—intense, piercing—made you feel like he wasn’t buying it. Still, he didn’t push. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate,” he said quietly.

You nodded, your heart beating a little faster, and quickly left the room. But even as you stepped away, you could feel his eyes on your back, sharp and unrelenting. He knew something was off, but he hadn’t pried. Yet.

——

The feeling came first—a prickle along your spine.

He was here.

Somewhere along the outer corridor of the Polar Tang, hidden just out of sight. You didn’t see your ex, but you didn’t need to. You felt it. Just like in the town. The presence clinging to the air like damp fog. Watching. Waiting.

And every time, the same fear clawed at your throat—that one day, he wouldn’t just watch. He’d step forward. Say your name. Reach for you. Take you back.

Because in his mind, you were still his.

You tried to push it away, but the fear lingered. You had to talk to someone.

You found Law up on the observation deck, overlooking the sea. He was alone, arms crossed, the wind ruffling his coat as he stared out at the waves—calm and steady, like always.

“You alright?” he asked, voice steady, but his eyes sharp.

You hesitated before answering, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I don’t know how to explain it, but someone’s watching me. He followed me. From that town… onto the ship. I don’t know how, but I can feel him. My ex. He’s here.”

Law’s gaze hardened, the calm expression replaced by something more intense. “Your ex? Here?”

You nodded. “I don’t know how he found me, but I can feel him. Everywhere I go, it’s like he’s watching.”

He stood up abruptly, his posture tense, a mix of anger and protectiveness radiating from him. “Where is he?” His voice was firm, and there was no hesitation in his steps.

Your hand shot out to grab his arm, stopping him mid-step. “No. I don’t want you going after him.”

Law turned to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What? You think I’ll let him—”

“I think,” you said quickly, stepping just a little closer, “you can help in another way.”

Law gave you a cautious look. “How?”

You lowered your voice. “He’s watching. Right now. So… kiss me.”

He froze. “What?”

“If he thinks I’m with someone—if he sees you—maybe he’ll back off. Just pretend.”

Law stared at you for a beat, then muttered, “…Only because I’m your captain.”

He leaned in, quick and stiff. His lips brushed yours for half a second—barely a kiss at all—before he stepped back like he touched fire. His ears were pink, hands trembling, eyes everywhere but on you.

“Duty,” he coughed, awkward. “Crew protection.”

“That was very professional of you, Captain.” You stared at him, unimpressed. “But that was it?”

He frowned. “What?”

You whispered, “That wasn’t convincing. At all. No one would believe we’re a couple with a kiss like that.”

Law blinked. “It was fine.”

You raised a brow. “You basically tapped me with your mouth.”

He looked away fast, adjusting his hat. “It’s not a performance.”

“It kinda is,” you whispered, stepping closer again. “He’s still watching, you know.”

Law glanced sideways, clearly flustered. You could see the tips of his fingers twitch before he shoved them in his pockets.

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But only to make it believable.”

You smiled. “You’re very dedicated to your duties, Captain.”

He groaned under his breath, then kissed you again—this time deeper, longer, moving his lips against yours. His hand steadied at your back, the warmth of it lingering longer than the kiss.

When he pulled away, he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Satisfied?”

You grinned. “Getting there.”

He exhaled hard, muttering, “I hate this mission.”

And from the shadows behind the corridor’s curve, you felt that presence waver—like a thread pulled too tight. Then it was gone. For now.

And even if he came back, you knew your captain would do his duties to protect you.

——

Ace

You sipped your drink, trying to enjoy the lively atmosphere of the bar, but your gaze kept darting to the man standing in the corner. He wasn’t subtle, watching you with a hungry stare, his eyes never leaving you.

You glanced around the table, trying to act casual, but the unease was creeping up your spine. Ace caught your eye from across the room.

“Everything alright?” he asked, leaning in, his voice low enough only you could hear.

You nodded quickly, trying to smile. “Yeah, just a little… off.”

Ace raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, his gaze scanning the room, but when he didn’t see anything unusual, he shrugged it off. “Alright, well, let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded, but the discomfort lingered.

——

It wasn’t a one-time thing. The man showed up again. Lurking, always just out of sight.

One afternoon, you spotted him in the hallway again. You couldn’t keep ignoring it.

You found Ace in the galley, casually sipping from a mug. He raised an eyebrow when he saw your tense expression.

You leaned in close, your hand slipping around his waist as you whispered, “Ace, someone’s been following me. He first saw me at the bar—looked at me like he was starving—and he’s been trailing me ever since.”

He froze for a second, then turned to you, brows furrowing. “What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You glanced around, lowering your voice. “I thought I was imagining it at first. But… I just saw him again.”

Ace set his mug down, his playful grin fading. “Where is he now?”

You sighed. “I just saw him in the hallway.”

His jaw tightening. “He wants you, huh? That bastard.”

“I don’t want him,” you muttered. “He creeps me out. I’m scared.”

Ace stepped in closer, voice dropping, eyes sharp but teasing. “Wanna make him jealous?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you nodded quickly. “Please. Just kiss me, Ace. He’s watching.”

Ace smirked, leaning in, his voice low and playful. “You want me to kiss you just like that?”

You nodded, biting your lip nervously.

Before you could protest, Ace’s lips were on yours—soft at first, then firmer as he tugged you closer, heat curling between you. When he pulled back, his grin was smug. “That oughta mess with his head.”

You blinked, breathless. “Think it worked?”

Ace winked. “Probably not. But I’m sure he’s regretting not moving faster.”

You smiled, feeling the tension melt away. “Thanks, Ace.”

“Anytime. Just don’t let me catch him looking at you again.” He smirked and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “But… I did just help you out. I think I deserve some payment in return.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “Payment?”

Ace’s smirk turned mischievous. “Yeah. A second kiss for good measure.”

Before you could answer, he leaned in and kissed you again—warmer this time, slower. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours. “That should do for now.”

You laughed, your heart fluttering. “You’re impossible.”

Ace winked. “Maybe. But I think you like it. And that should keep him in his place.”

The hallway was quiet now. No more shadows at the edge of your vision. Maybe the stalker finally got the message—or maybe it was just easier to breathe with Ace so close.

Either way, you weren’t afraid anymore. Not with him there.

——

a/n: law’s such a flustered shy guy while ace is a smug little flirt eitherway i want them both 😮‍💨

[sh4nksslvt]

Surgeon’s Strategy

Law explains a battle plan, his hand brushing yours as he leans close, his smirk carrying a dangerously playful edge.

Law x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, teasing a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1.8k masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang’s map room was a sanctuary of sorts, a quiet corner of the submarine where the hum of machinery faded into a distant murmur, and the world outside seemed to pause. The walls were lined with charts and maps, some pinned haphazardly, others meticulously organized, reflecting the duality of Trafalgar Law’s mind—chaotic genius wrapped in calculated precision. A single overhead lamp cast a warm, amber glow over the large wooden table at the center, strewn with papers, compasses, and a half-empty mug of coffee that smelled faintly of roasted beans. You stood there, leaning over the table, studying a map of the next island on the Heart Pirates’ route, your fingers tracing the coastline as you tried to make sense of the scribbled notes in Law’s angular handwriting.

“You’re holding it upside down,” came a low, amused voice from behind you.

You froze, glancing over your shoulder to find Law leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, his signature spotted hat tilted slightly to one side. His golden eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else—something that made your pulse quicken. He was dressed in his usual polo shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the inked patterns on his forearms, and his sword, Kikoku, rested against the wall nearby, a silent reminder of his ever-present vigilance.

“I am not,” you retorted, though you quickly double-checked the map, heat creeping up your neck when you realized he was right. You flipped it with a huff, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe your handwriting is just terrible.”

Law’s lips curved into a smirk as he pushed off the doorframe and sauntered toward you, his boots clicking softly against the metal floor. “My handwriting is impeccable,” he said, stopping just beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You’re just distracted.”

“Distracted?” You raised an eyebrow, turning to face him, your hands planted on your hips. “By what, exactly?”

His smirk widened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the table next to yours. “You tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl. “You’ve been staring at that map for ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t read a single word.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat as his hand brushed against yours, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through you. It was deliberate, you were sure of it—Law never did anything by accident. His fingers lingered just long enough to make your skin tingle before he pulled back, picking up a pencil to annotate the map.

“Let’s focus,” he said, though the playful edge in his tone betrayed his attempt at seriousness. “We’re docking at this island tomorrow, and I need you to understand the plan.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. “Right. The plan. Go ahead, Captain, enlighten me.”

Law shot you a sidelong glance, his eyes narrowing slightly at the playful lilt in your voice. “Don’t get cheeky,” he warned, but there was no real heat in his words. He tapped the map with the pencil, pointing to a cluster of buildings marked near the island’s port. “This is the main town. Intel says there’s a Marine outpost here, small but well-guarded. We need supplies, so we’re avoiding direct confrontation.”

You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing against his as you studied the map. “So, stealth mission?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. His face was close—too close—and you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his eyes flicked briefly to your lips before returning to the map.

“Exactly,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension crackling between you. “You’ll be with me, scouting the market for medical supplies while the others handle food and ship repairs.”

“Me?” You blinked, surprised. “You usually take Bepo for scouting.”

Law’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Bepo’s great, but he’s not exactly subtle. You, on the other hand…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering just a moment too long. “You blend in. Plus, I trust you to keep up.”

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, though you tried to play it cool. “High praise from the Surgeon of Death,” you teased, nudging his arm lightly. “Careful, you might make me think you like me.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did nothing to calm your nerves. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, but his hand brushed yours again as he reached for a marker, and this time, his fingers lingered, curling slightly around yours before he pulled away. “Pay attention.”

You tried—really, you did—but Law’s presence was distracting. He explained the layout of the town, pointing out entry points, escape routes, and potential hazards, his voice calm and authoritative. But every time his arm brushed against yours or his fingers grazed the back of your hand as he adjusted the map, your focus wavered. He was doing it on purpose, you were certain, and the smug little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth only confirmed it.

“—and if we get separated,” he was saying, “you head to this rendezvous point.” He tapped a spot on the map, then glanced at you, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m listening!” you protested, crossing your arms. “Rendezvous point, got it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Repeat it back to me.”

You hesitated, racking your brain for the details you’d only half-absorbed. “Uh… head to the… north side of the town square?”

Law sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Wrong. It’s the old lighthouse on the eastern cliffs.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “If you get lost, I’m not coming to find you.”

“Liar,” you shot back, grinning. “You’d tear the island apart looking for me.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the playful banter faded, replaced by something heavier, more intense. “Maybe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But let’s not test that theory.”

Your breath caught, and the air between you seemed to thicken. Law was close now, his hand resting on the table just inches from yours, his body angled toward you. The map room felt smaller, the walls closing in as the tension grew. You could smell the faint scent of antiseptic and sea salt on him, a combination that was uniquely Law, and it made your head spin.

“Law,” you said, your voice quieter now, “are you trying to distract me?”

He tilted his head, his smirk returning, though there was a heat in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “If I were trying to distract you,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “you’d know it.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, stepping closer, your chest almost brushing against his. “Because it feels like you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, replaced by a flicker of surprise, but he recovered quickly, leaning in until his face was mere inches from yours. “Careful,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your heart was pounding now, but you refused to back down. “Maybe I like dangerous,” you whispered, your eyes locked on his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you taut like a drawn bowstring. Then, slowly, deliberately, Law reached out, his fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up slightly. His touch was light, almost tentative, but it sent a wave of heat through you, making your breath hitch.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something that sounded almost like affection. “You know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the one who keeps touching me.”

His thumb grazed your lower lip, and his eyes darkened, his smirk replaced by something more intense. “You’re not complaining,” he pointed out, his voice low and husky.

“Maybe I’m just being polite,” you teased, though your voice trembled slightly, betraying the effect he was having on you.

Law chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Polite, huh?” He leaned closer, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath. “You don’t strike me as the polite type.”

Before you could respond, a loud clang echoed from somewhere in the submarine, followed by the unmistakable sound of Penguin and Shachi arguing over who broke what. Law’s hand dropped, and he stepped back, the spell broken. His smirk returned, though there was a lingering heat in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Saved by the idiots,” he muttered, turning back to the map. “Let’s finish this before they burn the ship down.”

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to steady your racing heart. “Right. The plan.”

Law resumed explaining, his voice returning to its usual calm, authoritative tone, but the air between you remained charged. Every time his hand brushed yours or his shoulder bumped against yours, you felt it—a spark, a promise of something more. He was focused now, pointing out the finer details of the mission, but you caught the occasional glance, the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking.

As he wrapped up, he leaned back against the table, crossing his arms. “Any questions?”

You shook your head, still trying to process the last few minutes. “Nope. Crystal clear.”

“Good,” he said, but he didn’t move, his eyes studying you with that same intensity that made your skin prickle. “You’re with me tomorrow, so don’t screw it up.”

“I won’t,” you promised, then added with a grin, “As long as you don’t get distracted.”

His lips twitched, and he stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll see who’s distracted tomorrow.”

You laughed, pushing him lightly on the chest. “Focus, Captain. You’ve got a mission to lead.”

He caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you closer again. But instead, he released you, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’ll need it.”

You nodded, turning to leave, but you paused at the door, glancing back at him. “Law?”

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging my question earlier,” you said, grinning. “You totally like me.”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Get out of here,” he said, but there was no hiding the amusement—or the warmth—in his eyes.

As you left the map room, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but smile. Tomorrow’s mission was going to be interesting, and you had a feeling Law’s teasing was only the beginning.