#abused and assaulted and manipulated against his will

[fandom-eater67]

Is it only me that gets a little upset when people say they miss the old Cas? They miss when he "had aura" and wasn't just "friends with the Winchesters". Like. The whole point is that he becomes human, he strays from heaven for Dean and learns what it means to LOVE. Like, yes, I wish he stayed as powerful as he was at the beginning throughout the show, but later seasons soft Cas that would do anything for the family he FOUND-his real one, not heaven-is everything to me.

[prythiansprincess]

DELIRIUM | a stalker! theo au.

"you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

word count: 5,662.

warnings: please read all trigger warnings before proceeding. dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder, coercion, stalking, assault, manipulation, gaslighting, knife play, blood play, abusive behavior.

author's note: I don't say it lightly when I say that this fic is very dark. I fully understand that the topics and themes discussed are not for everyone, so please be mindful of the warnings before engaging. special thanks to @writingsbychlo for proofreading and encouraging my over all psychophathy.

��� creep - radiohead. nav. stalker! theo.

There was something wrong with Theo Nott. 

Perhaps it was a result of his traumatic upbringing or perhaps it was simply encrypted into his genetic code, but whether nature or nurture was to be blamed, this simple truth was certain: a sick, twisted, and insatiable monster lurked within him and its hunger could be satiated by one thing and one thing only — you. 

In the deepest and darkest depths of his inky black heart, Theo knew that he was completely and utterly fucked up. This thing inside of him — this madness — rendered him incapable of forming healthy relationships. Time and time again, his passions and proclivities hinted towards a more sinister nature. Some called him deranged, delirious, delusional, but Theo simply thought of himself as a hopeless romantic. 

Theo was not the type of man to harbor a crush or entertain a fling or succumb to a fleeting infatuation that eventually faded over time. When he loved, he loved with his entire being. He loved until it became a fixation, a compulsion, an obsession. This has and always will be his fatal flaw. 

From a young age, Theo learned that he was not normal. When he presented Pansy Parkinson with the front teeth of the boy who dared knock her off the swings, that was not normal. When he gifted Daphne Greengrass the rotting carcass of a bird that had kept her up with the incessant tapping of its beak against her bedroom window, that was not normal. When he offered to carve the initials of Mattheo Riddle into his skin to prove his loyalty, that was not normal. 

Theo was bereft when his friends cried and fled from him, feeling distraught and disappointed by their reactions. After all, he had only done those things to make them happy. Why couldn’t they see that?

When his mother found him crying in the Nott Manor gardens, she explained to him that he was a very special boy. That his capacity for love would be misunderstood by those around him because they simply could not feel the way that he did. The intensity of his emotions surpassed their understanding; they didn’t know what it was like to be irrevocably consumed by love. His devotion could be misconstrued, his affection scorned, which is why it became imperative for Theo to shield himself from the world until the right person came along. 

So, he conformed, he adapted, he survived, but Theo knew it was only a matter of time before his carefully constructed mask slipped. 

In the back of a crowded restaurant, Theo swirled the glass of wine in his hand before taking a long sip. The waiter had recommended the red vintage, droning on and on about the quality of the 1978 Barolo Montorfino and the meticulous aging process of the Nebbiolo grapes to produce this particular bottle. Theo fought the urge to roll his eyes. He already knew all of this, given that the wine was produced by his family’s vineyard in the Italian countryside. 

The complex flavor danced on his tongue. On any other occasion, he might have savored the hints of cherry, roses, and truffle peeking through its rich-bodied profile, but Theo tasted nothing but ash in his mouth. Because across the rooftop sat the woman of his dreams, drinking and laughing and dining with another man. Theo gripped the stem of his glass until his knuckles turned white. 

Needless to say, the night was not going as Theo intended it to. It was supposed to be him feeding you little bites of tagliatelle, topping your wine off with a wink, and listening to your melodious voice recount silly anecdotes about yourself. Instead, Adrian fucking Pucey was blattering on like a bloody twat, failing to appreciate the goddess seated across from him. The stupid prick was probably too busy gauging whether or not he was going to get lucky tonight. As if Theo would ever let that happen. 

No, that simply wouldn’t do. 

Sure, he had enjoyed the game of cat and mouse between you over the past few months. Since the day you moved into the house next to his, there had been this constant push and pull between you. The flirtatious banter as he helped you carry your dresser into the foyer after he found you struggling in the yard, the freshly baked goods you presented to him as thanks after the fact, the shy way you smiled at him every time you crossed paths when you departed and arrived back home. 

Something awakened within him the second he laid eyes on you. Something dark, something dangerous, something that he thought was long buried in the depths of his depraved soul. 

It wasn’t all in his head. Hell, you had invited him in on that very first day. You wanted him there. You wanted him near you. You wanted him.

All the darkness that he tried so hard to push down seemed to resurface all at once. Suddenly, Theo found himself falling back into old old habits. Watching you through your bedroom window while you undressed, sneaking into your house while you were away at work, planting cameras in every room without your knowledge, and even going so far as stealing your lingerie. 

But Theo wasn’t stalking you. 

No.

He was merely keeping an eye on you. 

Clearly, you needed someone to look after you if you were putting your trust in a man like Adrian Pucey. You were too soft and sweet and innocent for this world. Theo wanted to protect you. In his eyes, Pucey was a threat to your relationship and there was only one way to deal with a threat — eliminate it. 

The opportunity presented itself after that sordid dinner. After dessert was served, Theo quietly slipped out ahead of the happy couple. Well, the two of you wouldn’t be happy for long. Not if he had anything to do with it. 

Surrounded by silence and darkness, Theo laid in wait until he heard the tell-tale sounds of the front door unlocking. He observed in quiet rage as Adrian kissed his girl. The door snicked shut, but the two of you barely noticed as you stumbled through the foyer, his lips sucking at your neck, his hands roaming underneath your dress, his cock pressing against your core as you mewled for him. Theo couldn’t stomach a second more of this. The sound of Pucey’s name falling from your lips was enough to awaken the monster within him. 

A sickening thud echoed through the house as Pucey dropped to the floor. With wide eyes, you scrambled in the darkness, blinking in disbelief at the sight before you. The silk strap of your dress fell from your shoulders at the abruptness of the attack. Your pupils, which were previously blown from desire, now shifted into fear. 

“T — Theo?” Disbelief colored your expression as you looked up at your neighbor. Dressed in all black, his tall and lithe form blended in with his surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let this prick weasel his way into your bed, did you?” 

You blinked in confusion. On the floor of your living room, Adrian nursed his broken nose, trying and failing to staunch the blood flowing through his fingers. 

“Do you know this asshole, Y/N?” 

“He’s my neighbor,” you answered. Theo’s face twisted in anger at your response. You cowered under his gaze and scooted backwards against the wall. “Theo, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” 

Theo sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, bella?” Your blood ran cold when a flash of silver appeared in his hand. “I know why you went on this date tonight. You wanted me to fight for you, so here I am. I love you and I won’t let anyone keep us apart.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” You cried as he stalked towards you. “I barely know you. We’re neighbors, just neighbors, that’s all.” You pleaded, begging for him to listen to reason. “Please, just stop this. You don’t have to do any of this.” 

“Shh, my sweet Y/N,” Theo cooed as he wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. His blue eyes bore into you with such intensity that it made you shiver. There was something lurking behind that dead eyed stare and you feared for whatever it might unleash. 

Theo caressed your cheek with reverence while you trembled in fear. “You just don’t know any better, cara mia. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how much I love you. I’ll protect you; I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m going to take care of this. He will never come between us again.” 

Before you could protest, Theo had already rounded on Adrian. The brunette threw his hands up as Theo pulled him up by his collar. “I almost feel sorry for you, you know,” Theo taunted. “You probably thought you were so smart, preying on someone as sweet and innocent as Y/N. You never deserved her.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian retorted, crimson staining his dress shirt as he struggled against his captor’s hold. “It was just a few harmless dates.” 

“A few harmless dates?” Theo repeated in a mocking tone. “Christ, you can’t truly be that stupid, can you? You don’t even understand how lucky you are to have gotten the chance to be in her company. She’s a fucking goddess and you — “ Adrian groaned when Theo yanked his hair back to give him a proper view of you. “Well, you’re nothing.” 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just lookin for an easy fuck — “

Fury simmered in Theo’s gaze. The careless words that Adrian spoke cut you deep, but not nearly as deep as the blade that sliced his throat open. The crimson river flowing from Adrian’s neck bathed Theo in blood, covering his face, his hair, and his clothes. 

You screamed as Adrian slumped to the floor, his lifeless body discarded onto your cream rug as his vacant gaze stared at nothing. The gravity of his death sent a surge of adrenaline in your veins. You needed to get the fuck away, The instinct to survive kicked in and you darted for the door, but unfortunately, Theo was quicker. 

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you away from your only form of escape. You struggled in his hold, clawing and kicking and screaming as Theo dragged you through the living room. 

“You killed him!” You screamed while you continued thrashing. “He’s dead, you killed him, oh my god — “

“Don’t be like that, cara mia,” Theo said in a soothing voice. “I thought you would be happy. With our little problem out of the way, we can finally be together.” 

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” 

With a swift kick to the balls, Theo stumbled backwards which gave you time to frantically reach for your purse. The slick blood that coated the wooden floors now sullied your dress, but you pushed the thought away as you recovered your phone. As you tapped on the screen, it came alive with a bright light. With shaking hands, you tried to swipe up to dial emergency services, but the screen buzzed with static before completely dying out. 

“No!” You screamed in frustration as you pressed the dead screen over and over again. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” 

Behind you, Theo sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Crouching down before you, the warmth of his palm felt like a slap to the face as he cradled your jaw.

“You’ve been a bad girl, bella,” Theo purred. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Your eyes widened as he produced a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “No, please, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“Let you go?” Theo repeated in a cold, menacing voice as he clamped the handcuffs over your wrists. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would be capable of just letting you go?” He tutted in disapproval as he tugged you towards the stairs. “You’re all mine now, you’re not going anywhere.” 

The short walk to your bedroom felt like a march towards death. You began to shake violently as Theo guided you towards the bed, instructing you to lie down as he tinkered with the handcuffs. Tears blurred your vision as your heart hammered against your ribcage. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Theo said with a scoff as he rearranged the cuffs and chained you to the bed. “You wouldn’t be any fun if you’re dead.” 

Fear gripped every fiber of your being in a chokehold. Theo leaned back and admired his work. The intensity of his gaze felt like a brand against your skin as he drank in the sight of you spread out for him. The silk of your dress was stained with blood, the fabric nearly see through from how soaked it was. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing all tied up like a present for me, principessa.” 

His blue eyes were nearly black as he gazed at you with unadulterated desire. The pale moonlight streaming through the window casted sinister shadows on his face. 

“If you’re not going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?” 

“I’m so glad you asked,” Theo declared with a deranged smile as he brandished his knife. “I plan on worshipping every inch of your body.” The cold edge of his blade traced the curve of your jaw. “I plan on making you see God with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.” The knife continued its path down the valley of your breasts. “I plan on possessing you, owning you, and ruining you for every other man.” 

“You barely even know me,” you pleaded, shying away from the blade that now rested on the hem of your dress. “I’m not yours, Theo.” 

The air left your lungs all at once as his hand wrapped around your throat. The lack of oxygen made you dizzy and you grew limp against the bed, barely even registering the blade caressing your skin. 

“I’ll carve my name into your thigh if that’s what it takes to get it through your pretty little head that you are mine.” 

You coughed as he released his hold, disoriented by the sudden rush of air into your lungs. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, oh fuck —“ 

Your hips jerked at the sudden cold sensation between your legs. Theo watched in amusement as he pressed the hilt of his blade against your clothed core, drinking in the way you writhed underneath him. 

“What was that, bella?” Theo teased. “I can’t hear you over all that moaning.” 

Your cheeks burned with shame as you continued his ministrations against your clit. It was a purely physical response, but it felt like your own body was betraying you. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. You hated the way you reacted to his touch, his words, his gaze. You hated him. 

“You’re a sick fuck,” you yelled as you tugged at your restraints. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pleasure. “This is vile, this is evil. I hate you. I fucking hate you —“ 

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged your panties to the side and slipped the hilt of his blade through your folds without warning. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?” 

“I’m not!” In all your life, you had never felt more degraded and humiliated. The conflicting emotions warred in your mind, but the truth of the matter was that you had absolutely no control over your own arousal. “I’m not.” 

“You are,” Theo growled as the handle of his blade squelched in your slick. “But by all means, keep lying to yourself. In fact, I quite prefer it if you put up a fight. I like it rough.” 

You groaned, delirious with need as he fucked you with his knife. “When I make you cum, I know that I’ve earned it.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip until blood filled your mouth. The horror of the scene unfolding before you filled you with dread yet you couldn’t stop the moans and whines that escaped past your lips. When you looked up, Theo was transfixed by the sight of your greedy cunt taking his knife.

“That’s it, Y/N,” hummed Theo. “This will be a lot easier if you just stop fighting it. You want this. You want me.” 

“I — I don’t! I don’t want —“ 

“I —I don’t want,” Theo mocked. “How fucking pathetic. You can’t even finish that sentence without moaning.” He pulled out his knife and slid two fingers in without warning. His cruel laugh echoed in the bedroom when the sound of your slick filled the silence. “If you don’t want me, then why are you riding my fingers like this, hm?” 

There was no answer as he plunged the hilt of his knife into you again, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. His thumb rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves in tantalizing circles, pushing you towards the edge of pleasure. 

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an orgasm, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no stopping the intense pleasure that barrelled through your body. As you crested over the finish line, your vision went dark. The depravity of the act filled you with mortification and indignity. Theo, on the other hand, looked euphoric. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered softly. 

You wanted to claw and scratch and hit him for the way he made you feel. Theo presented the knife to you with reverence. The blade was soaked in blood, but the hilt dripped with your cum. His tongue darted out and licked and lapped at your arousal with long, languid strokes as his eyes rolled back in euphoria. The way he moaned when he tasted you was obscene. 

“You taste so sweet,” Theo rasped in a choked groan. “Such a good girl for me.” 

This was beyond fucked up. 

Theo was beyond fucked up. 

You watched in alarm, waiting for disgust to overwhelm your senses, but it never came. Instead, your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight. What the fuck was wrong with you? 

Theo leaned over you, his brown curls brushing against your nose as he smirked. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward for making you feel so good?” 

The absence of pleasure finally made you come to your senses. “Fuck you.” 

The depth of his blue eyes was swallowed by a void that threatened to suffocate you. The man before you transformed into a monster as he growled and held his knife against your throat. “Let me rephrase that,” he hissed as the blade nicked your skin. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.” 

You whimpered as the blade dug deeper into your neck, causing small droplets of blood to stain your sheets. Theo stared at you with malice, his face hovering a few inches from yours as he waited for your next move. His cool breath fanned over your skin while his lips ghosted over yours. 

“Please, Y/N?” Theo pouted as he blinked down at you through his thick, dark lashes. “Just one kiss, please.” 

It was apparent that he wanted you to make the first move. As if it would absolve him from this abhorrent act. As if it would exculpate him despite the threat he made on your life if you refused to comply. In some sick, twisted way, you knew that the second your lips touched his, Theo felt absolutely vindicated. 

The growl that crawled out of his throat was purely animalistic. It spoke of need, of desire, of lust that had simmered underneath the surface for far too long. The taste of you, soft and supple and sweet, was better than anything Theo could have ever imagined. His cock strained against his pants as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping over the seam of your lips to demand entrance. 

A part of you wanted to fight back, to pull away from him, but it was nearly impossible when he harshly grabbed your jaw and forced his way in. You opened for him reluctantly, but that was all he needed. Theo was the type of person to take a mile when given an inch. His hands roamed your body while his tongue massaged yours, moaning, panting, licking the roof of your mouth with unabashed glee. Theo squeezed your tits and gripped your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt like a dog in heat as he rutted himself against your clothed cunt. 

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. 

Dazed and drunk with desire, Theo pulled away, his gaze sweeping over your kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

It was fucking horrible, horrendous, atrocious. You wanted the deepest pits of hell to open up and swallow you whole. Because that kiss had lit a fire in your belly despite your disgust for the man forcing himself on you. 

Before you could think twice, you reared back and spit right into his face. Theo blinked in surprise. You expected anger, but amusement greeted you instead. The motherfucker was enjoying this. 

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” Theo drawled as he unclasped his belt. The sight caused panic to grip you from all sides. “Don’t worry, principessa. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. I will break you until you become the good girl that I know you can be.” 

“Theo please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed and begged. “Don’t do this, please.” 

Theo chuckled darkly. “You’re not sorry,” he said as he cut your dress open with his blade. “But you will be.” 

Exposed and vulnerable, you struggled against your restraints as Theo trailed kisses down your torso. His lips were a searing brand against your skin, sucking and biting and marking your skin as though he was staking his claim on your body. His deft fingers unhooked your bra and his pupils were completely black as he ogled your chest. 

With his lips latched around your nipple, Theo blinked innocently up at you. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured as he flicked his tongue over the stiffened peak. “You make me crazy, Y/N.” 

You moaned as he sucked fervently, losing himself in the heat of your skin and the scent of your perfume. Roses and vanilla. Sweet and simple, just like his pretty girl. Theo groaned as he lavished your other nipple the same treatment. 

There was such reverence and awe in the way that he touched you. For a brief moment, you forgot how truly vile he was because the second his fingers slipped inside of you and curved against that sweet spot, every ounce of common sense abandoned you. 

“I bet Adrian would’ve never gotten you this wet, huh?”

Your eyes snapped open at the reminder. Somewhere underneath you, Adrian’s lifeless body was still bleeding out on your wooden floors. “You’re fucking awful — o —oh —“ 

The involuntary whimper that crawled up your throat was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Theo had ripped your panties to shreds and positioned the head of his cock over your folds, teasing and taunting at your entrance as you continued to resist. 

“Theo, Theo, please,” you pleaded as he began to breach your cunt. You kicked your legs in the air and tilted your hips away from him, anything to keep him away from you, but it didn’t work. 

Theo held your hips down, his large hands forming bruises on your skin. “Stay fucking still,” he growled against your neck before biting down hard. 

Shocked, you stopped struggling and cried as the sting broke skin. Theo took the opportunity to push the head of his cock inside of you, making your eyes water from the sheer length of him. He was too big, it didn’t fit, it fucking hurt. But the desperate pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as Theo fully sheathed himself in your warmth. 

“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy, entranced at the way your bodies melded together, watching your cunt clench around nothing before slamming all the way in. Your teeth clattered together from the force. “Dio mio, you feel so fucking good. I want to ruin you.” 

Once more, he pulled out and pushed into your warmth, savoring the way you squeezed around him. The sensation made you dizzy with desire. Try as you might to fight it, every breach of his cock only stretched and filled you even more, the filthy sound of your pussy squelching with every thrust echoing in the room. 

“Wanted this for so long,” Theo grunted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me, cara mia.” His hips snapped against your ass while he drove deeper and deeper, thick cock kissing the tip of your cervix. “But now I finally get to have you all to myself.” 

Your knees buckled, every brush of his cock within your snug walls weakening your resolve as he fucked you into the mattress. His pace was relentless, punishing, and it was all you could do to lose yourself in him completely. 

“Don’t fight it, bella.” Theo murmured as he hiked your legs up over his shoulders. “I could be so good to you.” He punctuated his statement with a slam of his hips. “I know everything about you. Probably better than you know yourself. I’ve watched, I’ve waited, I’ve wanted.” Another slam caused you to writhe and arch your back off the bed. “No one else could ever love you like I do.” 

A breathy moan pushed its way past your lips without your consent. Self-loathing made you flush with embarrassment; your body was betraying you in the worst way as your own slick dripped down your thighs while Theo angled your hips to sink in deeper. He had spoken true about knowing you better than you knew yourself, because he seemed to know how to caress you, how to kiss you, how to command you until you were teetering off the edge once again. 

His long fingers circled your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in the exact same way that he had watched you touch yourself over the past few months. Theo was diligent in every sense of the word; his studious nature pushed him to perfection. The focus in which he devoted into pleasuring you was singular. He was obsessive and possessive; he was determined to make this good for you. His pretty girl deserved nothing but the best. 

“You can’t deny that we’re a perfect fit,” he murmured, dead-eyed gaze drinking in the sight of him slipping in and out of you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Theo gripped your chun and forced you to watch. “Look how well you’re taking me. It’s like we were made for each other, my love.”

Words failed you at the heat of the moment and even if you regained the ability to speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. Theo took your silence for submission, his lips pressed against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip while he pounded into you. 

The instinct to fight dimmed with each urgent thrust, buried deep within the recesses of your mind. All you could do was moan in pleasure and Theo eagerly drank in every gasp and pant and whimper, studying your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

“Please, please,” you panted. You weren’t quite sure whether you were begging him to stop or urging him to continue, but either way, Theo seemed to know exactly what you needed. 

His kisses were open mouthed and filthy, swallowing your protests with the flick of his tongue. You jerked when Theo slapped your pussy, chuckling against your mouth before he kneaded his thumb against your tender nub harder and faster. 

“Theo —“ The realization that your climax was near filled you with both excitement and indignation. 

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/N.” 

You clenched as Theo squeezed your throat in his fist, momentarily robbing you of oxygen. Somehow its absence intensified the sensations. The combination of Theo pushing his cock into you again and again while his thumb stroked your clit harder and harder sent you barreling over the edge. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake and your walls spasm around his cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Theo cursed, his resolve close to breaking. “Just like that, cara mia. Squeezing me so tight, milking my fucking cock dry.” 

Stars burst behind your lids as his balls slapped against your clit, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. Your mind went fuzzy with static. A faint ringing echoed in your ears while you trembled and convulsed. 

“Such a good girl,” Theo grunted as he chased after his own pleasure. You were limp and boneless underneath him, unable to respond save for a pathetic whimper. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, bella. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?” 

You started to shake your head, but Theo paid the action no mind. “Take it, cara mia,” he said forcefully. “Take my cock, take my heart, take all of me.” 

Your tits jiggled as he fucked you through his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled his thick, hot cum inside of you. His eyes rolled back at the thought of filling you and stuffing you full of his seed. It overflowed past your sensitive, puffy folds and dripped down your thighs. Even when he pulled his softening cock out of you, Theo made sure to push it all back in with his fingers. You whimpered at the sensitivity between your legs as he leaned back to admire his work. 

Theo seemed to take pity on you, tutting at the red circles around your wrist. “M’gonna take the cuffs off now, okay, bella?” 

You nodded, trembling slightly when he finally unchained you from the bed. Theo cooed over your raw wrists, kissing and fawning over the sensitive skin. Taking full advantage of the distraction, you snatched the knife Theo had carelessly discarded by his thigh and drove the blade into his shoulder. 

Theo hissed in surprise, his blue eyes widening. “You fucking stabbed me,” he declared incredulously. “You really fucking stabbed me.” 

“Oh my God —“ you sobbed, regret flooding you all at once as your hands shook over the blade. “Theo, I didn’t mean — fuck, are you okay —“ 

The shock caused you to let your guard down, tears streaming down your face as the realization of what you had just done crashed over you. Despite the blade sticking out from his shoulder, Theo seamlessly switched positions so that you were straddling his lap. 

Your right hand was frozen in place, still holding the blade while shaking violently. You expected anger and fear, but Theo only flashed you a lovesick smile as he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist. “Don’t be shy, Y/N,” Theo teased. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” 

You screamed as Theo drove the blade further into his shoulder, the wound splattering a rain of blood all over your face and hair. “Stop, stop it! Don’t. Theo, stop, please —”

Theo tilted his head and examined you with a curious expression. His gaze softened as you sobbed and trembled in his lap. In his silky voice, he whispered soothing words in your ear and stroked your back to calm your growing hysteria. 

“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute, bella.” The timbre of his voice almost sounded proud. “I wouldn’t waste your tears, though. I'll be fine. It’s just a silly little nick. Besides, now that I’ve had you, it won’t be that easy to get rid of me.”

You gasped as his hardness poked against your ass. How could he be fucking hard at a time like this? There was goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder, for fuck’s sake!

“Look at you, crying over me.” His voice was husky with need as he rolled his erection against you. It seemed that not even a murder attempt could faze the man underneath you. If anything, Theo seemed turned on by it. God, he was so fucked up. “It’s a good sign, bella. It means that you care. To think, just moments ago, you said you hated me, but here you are concerned for my well being.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to listen to him speak. It only confused you more. Theo kissed your tears away and caressed your cheek. His violation of you earlier was a direct contradiction of the way he handled you with such gentleness and care, almost like you were something precious to him. You couldn’t reconcile the warring versions of him in your mind. 

“Please, stop,” you murmured as you tried to cover your ears. “You’re confusing me.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Clearly, you care about me. Otherwise, you would have aimed for my heart.” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered in a broken sob. “I just wanted — I wanted —” 

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was all too traumatic and taxing to fully process. Theo pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Shh, hush now, principessa. I told you, I’ll take care of you. You never have to worry about anything ever again. You can trust me, I promise. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries. I love you so fucking much.” 

Theo gently pried your wrists away and kissed your fingertips. “You don’t love me yet,” he admitted in a wistful tone. “But you will, bella.” 

[bingbongsupremacy]

The Soldier's Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities.

Summary: Y/N, a former HYDRA captive, taken at 18, escapes with her young daughter-born not by choice but through HYDRA's experimentation using The Winter Soldier's genetic material. Traumatized and wary, Y/N is brought to the Avengers compound for safety and recovery. It's there she discovers that the father of her child, a man she had only seen in passing, was alive and nearby. Bucky, who has no memory of what HYDRA did to him and has never met Y/N, is blindsided when he learns he has a daughter. Will the two be able to work past this difficult situation to become the parents their little girl deserves? Will they find love along the way?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The metal of the chair was cold against your skin, the sterile lab lights buzzing faintly overhead. You try not to shiver, though you are in nothing but a thin gown, one size too small, clinging to you uncomfortably in all the places they like to mock.

"Subject Nine," a voice crackles from above. "Remain still. This will be quick."

You don’t move. Not because you are obeying, but because your limbs are too heavy. Too tired. Too defeated. The restraints around your wrists dig into your flesh, but you barely notice anymore.

Dr. Johns, the lead scientist, enters the room with his usual haughty gait and bitter aftershave that made your stomach churn. He doesn’t look at you. He rarely does. You aren’t a person to them. Just a project.

"You should be honored," he says, flipping through a clipboard. "You’ve been chosen for something… special."

You don’t speak.

He looks up then, eyes sharp and smiling in a way that feels wrong. “We’re calling it Project Genesis. Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

Still, you say nothing. You’d learned silence was the only control you had left. But you can’t stop your stomach from sinking, can’t stop the coil of dread tightening in your chest. What are they going to do to me?

“We’ve selected the optimal pairing. Your mind—remarkably resilient to manipulation and incredible intelligence—and his… well. You’ll see.”

You frown. “His?”

He finally smiles. “Yes. We’re combining your DNA with one of our finest specimens. You’ll be carrying a child.”

Your heart stops.

“What?” you croak. It was the first time you’ve spoken in weeks.

"A hybrid. The perfect balance of power and adaptability," he says matter-of-factly. “Your body will serve as the host. We’ll be implanting within the next week.”

“No,” you whisper, eyes wide. “You can’t—please. I don’t want—”

Dr. Johns leans in closer. “Want?” he echoes. “You don’t get to want. This isn’t about you.”

Here, nothing is ever about what I want. It's about what they can take and use.

The following week was hell.

You screamed. You cried. You begged. But the drugs were stronger than your resistance, and they didn’t even look at you while they did it. Just hands and needles and cold words behind masks.

Then it was over.

And you were left in a cell, aching, hollow, and furious.

For days, you lay curled on the thin cot, hands cradling your soft belly protectively, as if the new life inside you could already hear your sobbing. You didn't want this. Not like this. Not here.

But slowly—slowly—something inside you shifts.

The first time you feel the flutter, you are on your knees, scrubbing the concrete with shaking hands after they'd ordered you to "make yourself useful." Your palm pauses mid-swipe. A soft thump, deep in your stomach.

Your breath catches.

Was that…?

It comes again. A whisper from within. Not pain. Not control.

Just… life.

Tears fill your eyes as you drop the rag. You wrap your arms around yourself, hands shaking.

“Hi,” you whisper to the silence. “I’m your mom.”

This is not the life you want for your child. All you can do was love it and hope there was a way out.

Every time it kicks, your love for it grows stronger. The little baby underneath your heart. She is the only thing you have for yourself. The only thing that would love you back.

They try to stop you from talking to her. They say affection would ruin the experiment. But you don’t care anymore.

You name it in secret—just a name between you and it. A name you never speak out loud, but repeat every night in your thoughts. My baby. My child. My everything.

Sometimes you envision a different life with your baby. A life where it would be born into a safe, loving home-not a facility. A life where you can give it everything it could ever want or need.

They still taunt you.

“You’re barely holding together,” a guard snorteds. “Fat girl and a freak baby. What a combo. It's incredible they chose you as the surrogate. Clearly, there are better options.”

You stare straight ahead, your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach. Say what you want about me, you think. But don’t you dare touch my baby.

Time passes slowly. Days bleed into weeks. Your belly grows, and with it, a fragile hope.

You don’t know who the father is—not truly. They never say anything, and you know not to ask. You wonder if the father knows he's going to be a dad. If he is a victim like you, someone they forced into the same predicament.

That was likely the case.

Would your baby ever get to meet its father? Would it be safe for the baby to know him? All these questions yet no answers.

What kind of life will it have?

You try to escape numerous times. You try to get yourself and your baby out of the place you know as hell. It never works. They know you are too smart for digital locks. You can crack them within minutes. They settle for old-fashioned chain lock and cuffs. The more restricted you are, the less likely you would be able to find a way to get out of the situation.

-------

They make you give birth on a table. No warmth. No hand to hold. Just cold hands and barking orders.

You remember screaming. You remember crying. You remember the sharp pains wracking your body due to the lack of drugs to soothe them.

You remember the silence after her first wail.

"Let me see her!" you cry, body shaking. “Please—let me hold her—just once—please—!”

But they are already gone. The door slams. The silence returns.

And you bleed alone on the table, heartbroken. You knew this would happen. There was no way they'd let you keep her. You just wish that small sliver of hope buried deep in your chest had been correct.

You don’t move for days.

They threaten you. Drug you. Torture you mentally. But you stay silent, numb.

Then, one day, they come with a new offer.

“You’ll get to see her,” Dr. Johns says smoothly, “once a week. But only if you behave.”

You want to spit in his face. But the thought of your baby—of her eyes, her breath, her smile—shatters your resolve.

“…Okay,” you say. At least you can check if she was okay.

-----

She is beautiful. Everything you imagine and more. With beautiful brown eyes and tuffs of brown hair. There are a few features you recognize in yourself. Your pout, your lashes. And there are features you don't recognize, like birthmarks or the shape of her nose. Those must be from her father-whoever he is.

Even through the glass, even under guard supervision, she is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And one day, you find the file.

It's stupid. Someone left it open. Maybe a test. Maybe a trap.

But you can’t help it. You have to know.

Subject: Project Genesis Maternal Donor: Subject Nine Paternal Donor: WS-13 (Winter Soldier)

You nearly drop it.

Him.

That man. The one with the metal arm. The one who never speaks.

Your heart breaks—not for yourself, but for him. He doesn’t know. There is no way he does. I've seen them wipe his mind hundreds of times. If he knew, they would immediately wipe him. That's the kind of people they were. He doesn’t know she exists.

You close the file, tuck it back carefully, and say nothing.

You don’t tell anyone. You don't tell him, even though you sometimes see him in the halls on his way to the next mission. His stoic eyes and rough demeanor scare you. He isn't here to mess around. He has a mission, and that is his only focus.

Who knows what he would do if he found out he had a child? A man like him, so badly tortured. He's a killing machine. There's no telling if he was even capable of caring for anyone. He could become a risk to her. He could cause her harm. He could hurt me, too.

Sometimes your mind would wander. What if he does know? What if he knows he has a child and but doesn't care? On the other hand, what if he found out and he did care? Would he try to protect the baby?

The what-ifs plague your mind. In the end, you decide it is too much of a risk. You have no idea how he will react, and that scares you. It's better safe than sorry.

Because if you die—there will be no one left to protect her. You are her only shot.

----

The guards give you one hour. That was the rule.

One hour, once a week. Under supervision. In a sterile white room with a single metal chair and your baby sitting behind reinforced glass, until they allow you to hold her.

They never say her name—never call her anything but the subject or the specimen. But you say her name in your head a thousand times a day. It is the only thing that feels like yours.

When they first let you hold her, she is so small. Lighter than you imagined. Warm, wiggling in your arms like she knows you.

You sit down and don’t move the entire hour, too scared they'll take her early if you do anything wrong.

“I missed you,” you whisper, brushing your nose against her tiny head. “Did they treat you okay? Did they… Did you eat enough?”

She cooes softly, hand brushing against the thin hospital gown you are wearing. Your heart breaks into a thousand glass pieces.

“You’re safe with me,” you promise, even though it is a lie. You really can't do much to protect her. You have no leverage to use against them. You also aren't a trained supersoldier, like her father. They are more focused on your mental abilities than your physical strength, so they never bother to train you. “Just for now. You’re safe.”

The guard coughs behind you, clearly bored.

You glare down at your arms. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

------

Weeks pass.

Your arms grow stronger from carrying her. Your body, tired and aching, moves faster in the cell training they force on you. You do everything they ask. Not because you want to—but because it keeps her safe.

She starts recognizing you.

She babbles when she sees you. Wriggle excitedly when you come into the room. One visit, she reaches her chubby arms out and gives the smallest, gummiest smile.

You cry so hard you can barely breathe.

When she falls asleep against your chest—her tiny hand wrapped around your finger—you pray time will freeze.

“Sleep, baby,” you whisper. “Please… dream of trees, and blue skies, and things I can’t give you.”

Most days are like that. Peaceful between the two of you. However, there are times when things get difficult.

There is one day, she is quiet.

Too quiet.

You feel the panic rising in your throat the moment you step into the room. She isn’t smiling. She isn’t moving.

“Is she sick?” you ask the guards, voice rising. “What did you do?!”

“No questions,” says the same monotone response. “One hour. No more.”

You clutch her tightly, holding her against your chest, rocking her gently.

Her little head lifts. She lets out a tired breath. Her eyes—a beautiful shimmering brown—blink up at you.

Relief hits like a tidal wave. You cradle her even tighter.

“You scared Mommy,” you whisper into her soft curls. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

Your voice cracks.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

You have no idea what they are doing to your child. It kills you to think they are hurting her. You have no control. All you can do is try to bring some comfort in the short time you have with her.

-----

Life stays like that for two years. You spend the time you can with her. You teach her how to talk and walk. Even though the situation is difficult, she is a resilient baby. She is smart. She learns quickly. She definitely develops skills faster than other babies do. That makes you proud.

Then the visits stop.

No explanation. No announcement. Just… silence.

Days pass. Then weeks.

You scream. You fight. You are drugged.

And when you come to—bleary, arms strapped down in your cot—you know something is wrong.

The halls are quieter. Fewer footsteps. Fewer voices. Then none.

The next time someone opens your door, it isn’t a guard.

It was no one.

A soft creak. A hiss of released air.

You wait.

No commands. No threats.

You pull the restraints free with little effort, too easily. The power has been cut. The systems are breaking down.

You stumble into the hallway, barefoot and filled with panic.

Lights flicker.

No soldiers.

No scientists.

Just the dead hum of a forgotten place.

And then—

A sound.

A baby crying.

Your baby crying.

Her.

You run harder than you ever have in your life.

Your legs burn, your body still weak from weeks of starvation and isolation, punishments for your lack of cooperation, but you run.

The lab is a maze. But your instincts—your love—cut through the fog.

You find her in a room filled with overturned equipment. She is crying, face red, fists curled. She is still in her tiny containment crib. But no one is watching her anymore.

You throw open the gate and collapse to your knees, cradling her against your chest.

“I’m here,” you sob, rocking her. “I’m here. I got you. I got you.”

She stops crying instantly, face pressed into your neck.

You clutch her so tight, your arms ache.

And then you find a room with a door that locks from the inside. It used to be a cell. Now, it's your only sanctuary.

You ration food. You keep her warm. You sing songs in a hoarse voice, trying to drown out your own fear.

You don’t know how long you can last. But as long as she is breathing, you’d try.

You know, at some point, you will have to leave the building. You will need more food and water.

The thought terrifies you. You haven't been outside in years. You haven't seen the sun or the outside in so long. The world is different. It has to be. While you were stuck in a building that never seemed to change, you know the outside is different. There is no one for you to trust outside. You will be so exposed and vulnerable out there.

At least you know what you are working with in the confines of the building. You can keep her safe here for now. You will figure out the rest later.

You scavenge the building for as many resources as you can find. It is enough to keep you both okay for a few months. Definitely not enough to last longer than 8 months.

---

Three months passed. Winter was coming. You know you need to leave soon. You will both freeze to death if you stay here much longer.

You are thinner. Paler. You know your body is getting weaker, but you do your best to be there for your baby and plan your next steps.

Then one day—it all shattered.

You hear footsteps.

Not like before. Heavier. Measured. Careful.

Voices. English. Not Russian.

You scoop her up. Her body is heavier now, growing. You run down the halls, bare feet slapping against concrete. The lights died long ago, and all you have is your memory of the maze.

She starts crying.

Too loud.

You hush her frantically. “Please, baby, shh—don’t cry, don’t cry, they’ll hear you—”

Too late.

Footsteps speed up.

Voices bark orders.

Then you turn a corner—and freeze.

A woman stands at the end of the hall.

Red hair.

Black suit.

Eyes wide.

She doesn’t raise a weapon.

“Hey,” she says, holding up both hands. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You back away, toddler clutched tight. “No! Don’t touch her! Don’t take her!”

Others come. Bigger. Bulkier. You see a glowing chest light in the dark—hear a metal suit hiss.

You turn. You run.

But another figure appears behind you, this one carrying arrows.

You are surrounded.

The baby is sobbing now, screaming into your neck. She can sense your fear and desperation.

“Don’t kill her!” you cry, collapsing to your knees. “Please—I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt her—please—!”

The redhead approaches slowly. “We’re not here to hurt her,” she says gently. “Or you.”

You shake your head, body trembling. “Liar. You’re all liars—she’s just a project to you. She’s all I have. Don’t take her.”

“We’re the Avengers, we just want to help you. We are not a part of HYDRA,” she says. “You’re safe now.”

You cling tighter to your baby.

“Please,” you whisper, chest heaving. You don't believe their words. “Just let me keep her.”

The redhead crouches beside you.

“You will.”

------

The Quinjet is too loud.

You sit stiffly in a corner seat, clutching your daughter like she might vanish if you blink. She's curled up against your chest, worn out from crying and the chaos, her tiny hands fists in your torn clothes.

Your arms are shaking.

Everything feels like too much.

Too bright. Too fast. Too real.

You stare at the dark floor panels, heart pounding like a war drum. The whirring of the engines, the humming of voices you don’t trust—none of it felt safe. You don’t feel safe.

No one tries to take her from you. Not yet. That was the only reason you haven't fought.

She shifts in your arms, pressing her flushed cheek to your collarbone. Your hand automatically rubs gentle circles into her back, your mother’s instincts stronger than the trauma clawing at your brain.

“She won’t let go,” Natasha murmurs to Bruce, standing just far enough not to crowd you. “Even when she’s asleep.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” Bruce says softly. “Not after what she’s been through.”

They don’t think you can hear them.

But you did.

You heard everything.

They bring you to a room with soft lighting and gentle walls. It smells clean—but not like chemicals. Not like HYDRA.

Bruce Banner stands in the corner, hands folded, speaking in a voice like wind brushing over still water.

“I’m just going to take a look at you,” he says gently. “Both of you. I promise I won’t touch her unless you say it’s okay.”

You don’t move.

Your baby is wide awake again, sitting in your lap, staring with wide eyes at the stranger in the white coat.

You pull her tighter against you.

“She’s mine,” you say. Your voice cracks. “No one touches her.”

Bruce gives a small nod. “Of course. I just want to help.”

You don’t believe that.

But he doesn’t push. Instead, he pulls out a scanner and crouches—to your eye level.

“May I scan you from here?”

You hesitate… then give a tiny nod.

The scan was quiet. No pain. No poking. No restraint.

“She’s malnourished but stable,” Bruce says, looking at your daughter. “You’ve been feeding her from rations?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

He nods again, with genuine warmth. “You did an incredible job.”

Your throat closes up. You tried.

You look down at your baby, who's pressing her forehead into your chest. She's calmer here. Calmer with you.

You’ve done something right.

“You’ve been through serious mental trauma,” Bruce continues. “I think your system’s still fighting the effects of long-term neurological exposure. We’ll give you space, but if you ever want help—therapy, or medication, or even just rest—we’ll be here.”

You don’t answer.

You are still waiting for the moment they take her away.

But no one moves.

They are waiting for you.

Later, they bring you to a different hospital room that was too nice to be real. Real bed. Blankets. A large mirror on the other side of the room. A window with sunlight. You can see the world. It was very different than what you remembered.

When you were taken, you were freshly 18. A time that was supposed to be exciting and full of new adventures was quickly robbed from you. All your dreams of finally getting to go to Harvard were crushed. You were from a smaller town, one that didn't have these massive buildings that surrounded you. You were used to fields and animals. Nothing like that was outside. It was a shock.

You don’t know how to sleep in a bed anymore. But your baby is finally dozing in the crook of your arm.

You sit, awake, staring at the door.

And then it knocks.

“Hey. It’s me. Natasha,” comes the voice from the other side. “Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything.

The door opens gently.

She enters slowly, hands empty. She sits across from you, not too close.

“I just want to ask you a few questions,” she says quietly. “Is that okay?”

You look at her for a long moment… then give the smallest nod.

“What’s your name?”

You lick your dry lips. “Y/N.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

Her expression softens. “And how long were you in that facility?”

You look down at your baby. “Since I turned 18.”

A beat of silence.

Natasha’s jaw tightens—just a bit. “That’s a long time.”

You don’t respond.

She nods to your baby, who is sound asleep now.

“What’s her name?”

You hesitate—but just for a moment. You are too proud to stay silent.

“Daisy.”

You always loved Daisies. Naming her that reminded you of the beautiful world outside of the building. A world you hoped you would get to show her.

Natasha smiles gently. “That’s beautiful.”

You nod slowly, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair. "I thought so too."

Natasha leans forward just a little. “Can I ask about her father?”

Your whole body tenses.

Your eyes drop to Daisy’s face again. So small. So innocent.

You swallow thickly. “I don’t… I don’t know him,” you admit. “I never met him. Not really.” You had only ever seen him in passing.

Natasha’s gaze flickers, and you see it—just the briefest flash of concern. Worry.

“It wasn’t like that,” you say quickly. “No one… touched me. I mean, not—not that way.”

She relaxes. Just slightly.

You toke a shaky breath.

“They called it Project Genesis. They told me they wanted to create a weapon with the perfect balance. My mind. His body. His strength.” You brush your fingers across Daisy’s head. “I didn’t even know whose DNA they used. Not at first.”

“You found out?”

You nod slowly. “They left a file out once. I don’t think they meant to. I saw his name.”

Natasha doesn’t speak.

“They called him… the Winter Soldier.”

You wonder what happened to him. You stopped seeing him about a month before they stopped showing you Daisy. Had he gotten away? Was he a free man, living his life as normally as he could? Sometimes you wonder if you should have told him. He did have a right to know. If he had gotten away, would he have taken Daisy with him if he knew? Would he have kept her safe?

The room goes so quiet, you could hear your heartbeat.

“I didn’t tell him,” you whisper. “I was scared. I thought maybe he’d take her. Maybe he’d hurt her. Or… maybe he didn’t know. I couldn’t risk it. I had to protect her.”

You looked up at Natasha, terrified.

“I swear I’m telling the truth.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her face said everything.

----3rd POV----

Outside, behind a one-way mirror, the rest of the team watched in stunned silence.

Steve stood stiff, fists clenched. His heart hurt for the woman. She had been forced into a situation no one should ever have to be. And he felt bad for his friend. Bucky had no idea. If Bucky knew he had a child, he would've told Steve. He also would've done everything in his power to save it from the horrors the baby undoubtedly experienced.

Sam glanced at Clint. “Is this even possible? Bucky's never mentioned having a kid before. Could she be lying? Trying to get something from him or us?”

Tony frowned. “HYDRA did a lot of things that shouldn’t have been possible. It's not out of the realm to think they would go this far. They were selectively breeding.”

“She doesn’t know he’s here. What's there to gain from lying about him?” Bruce said quietly. “I don't think she’s lying.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I think she's telling the truth. I mean look at that kid. I knew she looked familiar. It makes sense now. She's got Buck's eyes and hair. We can also do a DNA test, right, Bruce?” he said, voice rough.

Bruce nods. “If he wants one done, I can try to convince Y/N to let us take some blood from the baby.” He observes the baby through the glass. "She does look a lot like Bucky."

“We have to tell him.” Clint looks around at the group of men.

“Who’s going to do it?” Sam asked.

“I will.” Steve volunteers. "It'll be better coming from me.

----- 3rd POV -----

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the training room.

Sweat dripped from Bucky’s brow, soaking into the collar of his shirt. His knuckles—flesh and metal—were raw from the relentless assault. The gym was quiet, empty except for the sound of effort. That’s how he liked it.

Alone. Focused. Empty.

This was the only place where the memories didn’t claw so loudly at the back of his skull.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw faces—bloodied, terrified, dying. Faces he couldn’t name. Faces he’d hurt. Even now, even free, the weight of what he’d done pressed against his chest like a boulder he could never move.

So he hit the bag.

Over and over.

Like he could punch his past into silence.

His metal arm whirred with each movement—controlled and brutal. He wasn’t training to stay in shape. He was trying to feel something. Anything that wasn’t guilt.

But then he heard it.

“Buck.”

Steve’s voice.

He didn’t stop punching. Didn’t look.

“I need to talk to you.”

Still, he didn’t stop. Not until Steve stepped into his line of sight.

Bucky dropped his fists, breathing heavy, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. “What is it?”

Steve hesitated.

And that… that was never a good sign.

Steve's voice was low, careful. Like he was trying not to spook a wild animal.

“There’s a woman here. She was rescued from a HYDRA facility.”

Bucky blinked, wiping his face with a towel. “Okay…”

“She was part of an experiment. One of the worst ones. Mental manipulation. Long-term isolation. She’s been in there since she was eighteen.”

Bucky stiffened.

“I… I wouldn’t be telling you this if it wasn’t important.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, voice a warning. “What are you not saying?” Steve needs to stop beating around the bush.

Steve’s throat bobbed.

“She has a daughter.”

Bucky frowned. “Okay? So?”

Steve took a step closer. “We're... We're pretty sure she's yours. She looks a lot like you did as a kid. The mother says they used your DNA, Buck.”

The words hit him like a bullet to the chest.

“What?”

“She didn’t know at first. She found out later. The girl—her name’s Daisy—is about two years old. HYDRA created her. They used you.”

Bucky staggered back, as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“No.” His voice cracked. “No, that’s not—That can’t be—”

“I know it’s a lot,” Steve said quickly. “I know. She didn’t lie. She didn’t even know you were here. She wasn’t trying to manipulate anyone. All she’s done is try to protect that little girl. If you want more confirmation, we can try to get a DNA test from Daisy. It might take some time to convince her mom to allow us to get close to her, but we can try if you want.”

Bucky stared down at his hands.

His right hand—flesh and bone—trembled. His left hand—metal, inhuman—hung limp at his side.

“A kid?” he whispered. “My kid?”

His vision blurred. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Steve gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t even know,” Bucky rasped. “I didn’t even know what they were doing. They took it from me. They used me again.”

“I know, Buck.”

He turned away, eyes wild. “I don’t—What if I’m just like them? What if Daisy's like me? What if—”

“She’s not,” Steve said, voice firm. “She’s sweet. Gentle. She looks at her mother like she’s the whole damn world. She's a great kid, Buck.”

Bucky’s throat closed.

And then the question clawed its way out:

“Does she know I'm here now? The mother… does she hate me?”

“No,” Steve said quietly. “She doesn’t even blame you. She said she thinks you didn’t know. That maybe you were just a name to them. She didn’t tell anyone because she was scared. She’s just trying to keep her daughter safe.”

Bucky sank to the floor.

He didn’t speak. Just pressed his face into his hands, breaths coming short and fast. Should I get a DNA test? That might put both the mother and the kid through a lot of trauma. Steve said Daisy looked like me. How could she look like me if she's not somehow related to me? I don't have any family left alive. It couldn't be a niece or something.

A kid.

A real one.

A little girl who existed in this world, who shouldn’t, because of him.

And he didn’t know if he had the right to see her.

-----

The compound garden was quiet except for the rustle of wind against tree branches and the distant hum of city life beyond the security walls. It didn’t feel real, not after the concrete and cold metal of the facility. You still flinch every time someone closes a door too hard.

You sit on a bench near the far edge of the garden, your daughter cradled against your side, her tiny hands sticky with banana. The blanket around her small frame is a borrowed one—soft and blue with tiny stars stitched into the corners. It was Natasha’s idea, something comforting and warm to help your daughter adjust.

Your own comfort? That was a different story.

You're still in borrowed clothes. Still tense. Still not sure when someone is going to pull the rug out from under you again.

Daisy's humming a little tune, off-key but sweet. Your hand moves in her hair, soothing her even though she doesn’t need it. Maybe you do.

Then came the sound of slow, hesitant footsteps on the gravel path.

You don't move right away. You are used to the sounds of people coming. You’d learned that reacting too quickly made them think you were unstable.

But something about these steps made your body tense. Heavy. Measured.

You turned—and your breath caught.

It was him.

The man from the file. The man from the hallway glimpses when you’d been escorted for testing. The man who made your head race with a million questions.

The Winter Soldier.

No—Bucky Barnes. That's what Natasha calls him.

He looks like a shadow from the past given breath. His long hair is tied back in a loose band, strands escaping around his jaw. He's wearing a hoodie too big for him and boots that look scuffed from use. His vibranium arm shines in the filtered sunlight, catching faint reflections of the world around him.

His face—oh, his face.

He isn’t the weapon you remember. He's a man. And he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He stops several feet away, eyes locked on you, then flickers to the child on your lap. His eyes stay on Daisy as he takes her in, like he's trying to memorize her.

He looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how.

You sit up straighter, your arms instinctively wrapping more protectively around Daisy. She shifts, sensing your tension.

Bucky notices.

“I—” he starts, voice rough like gravel. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You don’t answer.

“I shouldn’t’ve come,” he murmurs. His hands hover at his sides, uncertain. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just…”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking to Daisy again.

“She’s mine?” he asks quietly.

You nod, slow and cautious. “Yes.”

His jaw clenches. He looks like he might collapse under the weight of that one word.

“I didn’t know. They didn't tell me,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He looks so different then how you'd seen him in the past. His face, which was usually stoic and emotionless, is filled with conflicting feelings. This has to be a lot for him to take in.

His eyes—startlingly blue, filled with pain—finally meet yours.

He takes one step forward and then pauses again. And then, hesitantly, in a voice that barely held together: “Did I—did I hurt you when she… when she was…” He trails off, the words choking in his throat. His eyes drop to the ground. “I hoped I wasn’t capable of shit like that but… I don’t know. I never know what they made me do. Not really.”

You stare at him, breath caught in your chest.

You know what he meant. He wants to know if they made him rape you. It was too hard for him to say.

That has to be a horrible feeling to experience. Knowing your mind and body could have been potentially used to so horribly violate another person. HYDRA controlled his actions, but in the end, he was the one having to live with the consequences.

“No,” you say softly. “You weren’t even in the room.”

His head jerks up to look at you. He's confused.

“It was in vitro,” you clarify. You tear your gaze away from his face, embarrassed by your vulnerable experience. I wish I could've protected myself. Stopped what they did to me. I couldn't, which makes me feel so weak. You continue. "When I was first brought into the facility, they took some of my eggs. They fertilized the egg with your sperm in a lab and then put it back in me. You were never physically involved in it." You try to reassure the man. "They never let me see who the donor was. I didn’t know until about a year after Daisy was born.”

You push yourself to look at his face.

Relief crashes across his features—brief, raw, and almost too painful to look at. He nods, a quiet breath escaping him, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Then sympathy and regret take over his face as your words settle in his head.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that...I can't imagine what that must've been like. Living in a place like that, in those conditions while pregnant...it's hard enough to survive without a baby." Bucky apologizes like it's his fault. Like he had put you through that situation. "If I had known...I would've tried to get you both out or helped you. It's not fair that you had to do that alone." He speaks genuinely.

"It's not your fault. They used you like they used me. There's nothing you could've done. They would have killed you or sent you away." I don't hold a grudge against him.

"Still, I'm very sorry."

You look at him again—really looked at him—and realize something that unsettles you.

He's just as scared as you are.

And just as broken.

There was silence between you. Heavy, aching silence. You both had experienced so much at the hands of the same people. While your journeys were different, you were both left with trauma and nightmares. You both missed time with your daughter.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." It's your turn to apologize. "About her. I-I didn't know what you were going to do or react. If you would even care. I didn't know if it was safe to tell you. I couldn't risk being hurt and getting killed or losing the time they allowed me to see her." You nervously continue. "I had seen you a few times in the halls. You always looked angry and emotionless. Like a cold weapon. I was nervous to talk to you."

Bucky face is stiff. His eyes, however, hold sadness. " I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. They killed my personality and feelings. You did what you had to. She comes first. I'll never be angry for you putting her well-being first."

He isn't how you expected. Well, you didn't really know what to expect. It makes you sad he didn't get to spend time with her at all. At least you saw her once a week. This is the first time he's met her. While you missed a few milestones, he had missed them all. That's time he could never get back.

Then Daisy stirs.

She blinks up at the stranger, her small brows furrowing. “Mama?” she whispers.

You smooth a hand over her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Bucky slowly crouches down, still not closing the distance.

He looks at Daisy with a softness that shocks you. His metal hand flexes on his knee, uncertain.

“She’s… beautiful,” he says, voice cracking.

Your throat tightens. “She is.”

“How old?”

“Almost two and a half.”

He nods slowly, trying to work the math in his head. “God…”

You see him glance toward her again.

He wants to reach out. You can tell.

But he doesn’t.

And that matters more than anything else—he doesn't assume he has a right to her. He respects you. He's willing to go at your pace.

“Do you… do you want to sit?” you ask hesitantly.

He looks up, shocked. Then nods, barely breathing.

“I’ll stay back here,” he promises, lowering himself to the far end of the bench. “Just wanted to see her. That’s all.”

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as Daisy nibbles on the banana again, still watching him with curiosity. She giggles and waves at him with a wide grin.

Bucky's lips curl into a pained smile. He waves back.

“He good guy?” she asks, glancing at you.

You pause.

You look at Bucky again.

The sorrow on his face. The weight on his shoulders.

“I think he’s trying to be,” you said quietly.

----- 3rd POV -----

Bucky didn’t remember walking back into the compound.

He remembered standing up from the bench with a nod and a faint, careful thank you to Y/N. He remembered Daisy waving her banana at him in a tiny, sticky goodbye. He remembered the ache in his chest when he looked at them one last time.

But after that, it was a blur.

Now he was back in the gym, his hoodie on the floor, fists slamming into the punching bag like it had personally ruined his life. Sweat clung to his skin, hair stuck to his forehead, and the fabric of his shirt felt suffocating. The leather wrap on his right hand had already started to fray.

Wham.

Wham.

WHAM.

"You're gonna break the damn wall if you keep that up."

Bucky didn’t stop punching, but his jaw tensed. "Maybe it deserves it."

Steve stepped into view, hands in the pockets of his jeans. His voice was steady, but soft. “You went to see her?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose and gave the bag one last blow before stepping back. His chest heaved. “Yeah.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just waited.

Bucky ripped off the wraps on his hands, tossing them onto the floor. “Y/N, she’s scared of me.”

“She’s been through hell,” Steve said quietly.

“I know that,” Bucky snapped, more at himself than Steve. “I saw it. I saw it all over her face. Every time I moved too fast, every time I even looked at her wrong, she flinched like I was going to—”

He broke off, dragging a hand over his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare her.”

Steve walked closer. “You didn’t mean to have a kid, either.”

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. “No, I didn’t. Hydra made that choice for both of us. Took what they wanted, like they always did. Used me to make a baby and used her to carry it. That shit is cruel. All those procedures Y/N had to endure...going through pregnancy in a place like that. A time that was supposed to be happy for most must've been a nightmare for her. Yeah, they took sperm from me, but that was the end of my job. They made her carry Daisy and suffer alone. The fear she must've felt, Steve. The pain. And she had no one there to support her.” Bucky was pissed and guilty.

He had wanted kids when he was younger. Before the war, he wanted a family. He wanted to be there for his wife, whoever she was, when the time came for them to have kids. He wanted to help her and be there to get everything she needed or wanted. He felt like it was the responsiblity of the father to be there to support the mother of their child. He hadn't known, so he wasn't able to be there. That hurt. Besides that, he missed so many milestones. Daisy's first laugh, first word. And so many more.

He rubbed at the back of his neck, pacing a few steps away. “You know what’s messed up? For a second—I was terrified I’d hurt her. That they made me violate her...” He swallowed the bile crawling up his throat at the thought. “But she said it was in vitro. That I wasn’t even there. And I was relieved. Relieved I didn’t hurt her.”

“That’s not messed up,” Steve said. “That’s human. It'd be messed up if you didn't care what had happened to her.”

Bucky slumped onto a bench, metal hand resting on his thigh. “She said she’d seen me before. That I looked cold. Like a weapon.”

Steve sat beside him, not too close. “You were being used as one.”

“It doesn’t matter. That face still haunts her. Still haunts me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “She was trying so hard to be brave. Holding that little girl like her life depended on it. Maybe it does.”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Did you look at her?”

Bucky glanced sideways. “The baby?”

Steve nodded.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s perfect, Steve. Big eyes. Wild hair. She’s got this laugh—she laughed at me. Me. Can you believe that?” His lips pulled into a soft, disbelieving smile. Then it faded.

“I don’t know what to do. She’s scared of me. Rightfully so. I don’t even know what I am to that little girl. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a dad. I've never had a responsibility like that. I didn’t choose any of this.”

“No,” Steve agreed. “But you’re here now. You're going to be a great dad, Bucky. You're just going to need to learn a little bit. There's nothing wrong with that. Y/N is still learning too.”

Bucky closed his eyes, the weight of it all pressing into his spine. “What if I mess this up?”

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder, firm and sure. “Then you keep trying. You show up and try again. You don't give up on your kid. And you let them set the pace.”

------

You watch Daisy sleep from across the room, arms wrapped around your knees, curled into yourself like you used to in your cell.

The compound was too quiet sometimes. Not the same kind of terrifying quiet like HYDRA, but… too peaceful. Like silence, you hadn’t earned.

You could still feel the warmth of the bench under your body. Still see the careful way Bucky had kept his distance. The way he’d crouched like he wasn’t sure if he should even breathe too close to your daughter.

Our daughter.

This isn't how you had planned to have a family. As a young girl, you had always wanted to have a family someday. You wanted a lot of things. You want to graduate from Harvard with honors and get into a great graduate program. You wanted an amazing career in an industry where you could make a difference with the help of your intelligence. You wanted to find a man who loved you completely, no matter how much you weighed or what you looked like. You wanted to get married and have children in a beautiful home you worked hard for. You wanted your husband to be there when you gave birth to your babies, to be able to share the moment with you. You wanted your husband to be able to share your baby's beautiful moments and milestones with you. You wanted to throw birthday parties and show your baby off. You wanted so much.

And you got none of it.

You didn't get to graduate or get married. You didn't get to fall and love and have support through your pregnancy. You were forced through hundreds of tests, surgeries, and experiments until your bubbly, confident self was turned into a shell of who you were. You were forced to experience the heartbreak of being forcibly impregnated by a stranger, growing a bond with your baby, delivering her in a traumatic setting, and then getting her taken away.

You shiver at the thought.

You had seen his face in so many nightmares. Those glimpses in the hallway, the times he’d walked by in black gear with no emotion behind his eyes. The Winter Soldier. A ghost of war, of death, of silence.

Now that face had looked at you with fear. Guilt.

And tenderness.

He had looked at Daisy like she was made of stardust. Like she was the one good thing in a world full of pain.

Your heart twisted.

You wanted to hate him. To blame him. That would be easier than trying to navigate this next stage in life.

But he hadn’t been in the room. He hadn’t made the choice. He hadn't known.

Neither had you.

You reach up and touch your side, remembering the cold, sterile ache of the implantation procedure. The way they drugged you and stole pieces of you before violating your body and forcing you to take those changed pieces back. Remembering the nurse who whispered, “You should be honored. He’s the pinnacle of perfection. Your child will be a masterpiece.”

You blink hard, pressing your forehead to your knees. Rage and shame twist in your stomach.

You hadn’t even known his name when Daisy started to grow inside her. Just a number. A file. A myth.

And now he was real.

So painfully real.

You weren't ready. You wanted to be—but you weren't. Not yet.

But the way he’d looked at Daisy…

It made something shift in you.

A glimmer of hope.

A flicker of trust.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next. Didn’t know if you could ever let him in completely. But maybe—just maybe—Daisy could have the chance at something better.

Maybe they all could.

------

It was late afternoon when the hallway outside the common room falls quiet again, the golden sunlight slants across the polished floors. The Avengers Compound always seems to hum with a soft, underlying rhythm—doors closing gently, distant voices, the faint clinking of cups or laughter echoing down corridors.

You sit on the floor with Daisy again, this time carefully braiding your daughter’s hair—short, wavy strands that refuse to stay in the little plaits. Daisy keeps giggling and squirming, half-playing, half-patient. A picture book lies forgotten on the rug, open to a page about rainbows.

It feels… almost normal. A warmth in your chest you don’t dare name yet.

You don’t hear him at first.

“Um… hi.” The voice was gravel-soft. Low. Hesitant.

You look up slowly, hands still tangled in your daughter’s hair.

Bucky stands a few feet away, not moving any closer, shoulders drawn in like he's trying to make himself smaller. He's wearing a dark sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up just enough to show the glint of his metal arm. His eyes, usually so guarded, are careful now—open in a quiet way, like he's trying not to spook you.

You stiffen slightly, but don’t pull Daisy into your lap the way you might’ve just a few days ago.

He notices.

“I—I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says quickly, raising one hand in a peaceable gesture. “I just… I was wondering if I could… if I could talk to her. To Daisy. Just for a little bit.”

His voice cracks slightly on the name.

You blink. Daisy keeps playing with her plush porcupine, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two adults hovering above her.

“I wouldn’t—” Bucky looks down at his boots, then up at you again, almost painfully slow. “I wouldn’t touch her. Or scare her. I’d just… like to sit nearby. Maybe say hi. If that’s okay.”

There's a long silence. The kind where you can hear every breath.

You look at him—really look at him. He isn’t trying to loom or press. If anything, he looks like he's bracing for you to flinch. For you to say no. For you to shut him down completely.

And yet… he's still here.

Still trying.

“Yeah sure. She’s just playing,” You say, finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can sit. If you want.”

The relief that passes through Bucky’s body isn't loud—but you feel it, somehow. Like something in the air softened.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

He steps over slowly and settles on the floor, leaving a comfortable space between them. He sits cross-legged, not facing Daisy directly—just angled enough to be part of the circle, but not too close. He doesn't speak right away. Just watches.

Daisy looks up from her toy and blinks at the new face.

She tilts her head.

Then offers him her porcupine.

Bucky lets out a breath of laughter, barely audible, as he reaches forward with a hand that trembles just slightly.

“That for me?” he asks softly.

Daisy nodded solemnly. “His name’s Pokey.”

He takes the plush in his large, careful hands and holds it like it is something delicate. “Pokey, huh? That’s a good name.”

You watch them both. Your hands drop from your daughter’s hair as you sit back against the couch, unsure of what to feel. Your heart is beating a little too fast.

Daisy begins stacking plastic cups again. Her porcupine now rests between her and Bucky, like a silent peace offering.

“She likes you,” You say after a beat. “I can tell.”

“She’s brave,” Bucky says, watching her. “She’s got your smile.”

The compliment stirs something warm in your chest, though you don't show it.

You two sat like that for a while. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. A fragile beginning.

And Bucky doesn't push. He just stays.

Careful. Quiet.

Present.

----3rd POV----

Bucky sat alone on the balcony connected to his room, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his mouth. The sky was slipping into dusk, streaked in lilac and orange, and the air carried that subtle shift toward nighttime—the kind of cool that made you breathe a little deeper.

He hadn’t moved for nearly an hour.

The image of Daisy—stacking plastic cups with gentle concentration, her nose scrunched, her little fingers brushing his when she passed him the porcupine—played on repeat in his mind.

She didn’t know who he was.

And still, she smiled.

Still, she trusted him—instinctively, openly, like no one ever had without reason.

It was unbearable in the best and worst way.

The door behind him opened softly.

He didn’t look back.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Steve said, stepping onto the balcony with two mugs in hand.

Bucky took one without a word. It was warm—chamomile or something equally Steve-like.

They sat in silence for a few long beats. The kind of silence only decades of friendship could make comfortable.

Steve finally spoke.

“How’d it go?”

Bucky let out a breath through his nose.

“She let me sit,” he said. “That’s more than I expected.”

“She trust you?” Steve asked gently.

“No. Not yet,” Bucky murmured. “But she didn’t flinch when I talked. She didn’t grab Daisy and run.”

Steve nodded. “That’s progress.”

“She looked scared of me,” Bucky said finally, softly. “Even though she was trying not to be. I know that look.”

Steve tilted his head, studying his best friend.

“And Daisy?” he asked.

“She gave me a damn stuffed animal,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Called it Pokey. Just… handed it to me like she already knew I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get this,” Bucky said, almost too quietly. “A kid. Even just… knowing there’s someone out there who’s part of me.”

Steve set his mug down carefully on the railing.

“You didn’t get this, Buck. It was taken from you. From both of you.”

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the darkening horizon. His hands clenched around the mug.

“I want to know her,” he said. “But I don’t wanna push Y/N. I don’t wanna be that guy who comes in and messes it all up just because I showed up too late.”

Steve looked at him, steady and kind.

“You being cautious already tells me you’re not gonna mess it up. You care. You’re trying. That counts.”

Bucky exhaled deeply.

“I just hate that HYDRA used us both like that,” he said. “Violated her. Used my DNA like it meant nothing. I feel like I’m walking into a house made of glass. One wrong word and it all shatters.”

Steve nodded again, silent in understanding.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “She’ll see it.”

Bucky didn’t answer. Just stared at the horizon, holding the warmth of the tea in his hands like an anchor.

----

The compound was quiet again.

You stand at the crib beside your bed, your fingers brushing softly over Daisy’s soft hair. The toddler was fast asleep—tucked up tight, one arm around Pokey, the other sprawled across her blanket.

She looked so small like that. Fragile. But she wasn’t, not really. Daisy had known nothing but chaos and confinement, and yet she still smiled. Still trusted.

Still shared her toys.

You turn away and sit down on the bed, your knees pulled up toward your chest. The sheets were soft. Clean. The scent of lavender drifted from the pillow.

It was all so different from the concrete cell.

From the cold, sterile walls of the lab.

And yet you couldn’t stop the way your heart pounded anytime you saw someone unexpected in the hallway. Couldn’t stop the way your body tensed when someone spoke too loudly. Couldn’t stop glancing at the exits.

One of the moments with Bucky played in your head over and over.

His voice, low and cautious. The way he sat across from you, like he didn’t want to breathe too loudly.

“Did I… did I hurt you…”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening again.

He’d been so careful. So afraid that he had done something monstrous without knowing. And when you told him he hadn’t, you saw him breathe again. Like someone had finally taken the weight off his chest.

He wasn’t the man who hurt you.

He’d never even been there.

And yet… he was the man whose face haunted you back then. Cold. Silent. Deadly. The Winter Soldier had passed by your cell more than once. You remembered the way guards stood straighter. How even the doctors looked nervous.

But this Bucky?

This was someone else entirely.

Gentle. Broken. Kind.

And you didn’t know what to do with that.

How could someone be the ghost in your nightmares and also the man your child smiled at?

You curled tighter into yourself and closed your eyes. Your body ached with memory and fatigue. Your heart felt stretched thin with confusion and fear and… something else. Something warmer that you didn’t dare name.

Not yet.

But maybe, if he stayed gentle… if he kept giving them space and showing up without demanding anything…

Maybe you could learn how to name it.

----

Bucky now spent a little more time with you and Daisy every few days—never too long, always careful not to push. Sometimes he brought little things for Daisy: a new picture book, a wooden toy. He always checked with you first.

And you two started to talk.

It started out slow with things like 'How are you?', 'Do you like the tower?', or just general conversation about their baby.

“She reminds me of Becca sometimes,” Bucky says one afternoon as Daisy scribbled chalk shapes on the pavement. His soft eyes gaze down at her, a small smile curling on his lips. “My sister.”

You tilt your head. “Was she older or younger?”

“Younger,” he says, his smile widening at a memory. “Bossy. Tougher than I ever was.”

You smile back. “I had a brother. He was older. He… tried to stop them when they came for me.”

Bucky looks over, eyes shaded with something dark and aching. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “I don’t even know if he made it.”

Bucky gives you a sad smile. “My sister got sick and died a long time ago. This was after HYDRA got to me.”

There was silence for a moment, not heavy—but shared. Bucky sits back on the bench, arms resting on his knees.

“You were only eighteen,” he murmurs. “I read your file.”

Your stomach clenches. “Oh.”

“No— I just…” He sits up straighter. “I’m not trying to dig into your past. I just—wanted to understand. What they did to you, what they made you go through…”

His voice cracks a little, then hardens again. “It’s not fair. None of it.”

You look at him carefully. He was trying to understand you. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it’s still part of me,” he says. “HYDRA’s part of me. And I hate that.”

You are quiet for a while. Then softly you speak: “They tried to break both of us. But we’re still here.”

He looks at you. Really looked. There was something in his eyes—a kind of admiration you didn’t know how to respond to. He gives you space, respects every boundary. And still, there's warmth. There's safety.

And you were beginning to feel it.

Your chest aches with something too complex to name. You knew you were starting to like him. To care. But you couldn’t let it show. Not yet.

You turn your eyes to Daisy, who is now chalking a stick figure with dark hair.

Bucky smiles faintly beside her. “That one’s me, isn’t it?”

You laugh under your breath. “Looks like it. Strong jaw and everything.”

He grins, and for a moment—just a fleeting second—you feel like a girl again. Not a prisoner. Not a lab rat. Just someone…normal.

And that was new.

---

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

[flangore]

❥ scarlet plumes

feat.: Valentino/f!reader

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, drugging, rough sex, choking, punishments, manipulation, Valentino is his own warning

You were not the type to get into trouble.

Being confrontational, at least attempting to have things go your way through protests and complaints, had never seemed worth it; not when the one you were up against was Valentino, who always got what he wanted in the end, one way or another.

All too often, you had seen the way he punished disobedient whores; all too often, you had watched the way they were still limping days after, bruises blooming on skin if they had been lucky, bullet wounds trying to heal, oozing blood, if they had been less so.

There was no reason to willingly go through the struggle of disobeying when simply giving in, caving to Val's wishes and orders, was so much easier.

When Valentino told you to bend over, you did so readily, spreading your thighs apart in offering; when Valentino ordered you down onto your knees, you went obediently, lips dropping open, praying he wasn't in a bad mood, unpredictable as his sudden bursts of anger often made him.

You were not the type to get into trouble, and yet you currently found yourself on the floor, crumpled in front of Valentino's boots, cheek warm and stinging.

“Now, why don't you tell me what happened, baby?” His tone was a low coo, almost gentle enough to soothe your sobs. “You've never acted out like this before. What happened to my well-behaved girl, hm?”

In your defense, it really hadn't been your fault — you hadn't meant to do it.

Your night shift had been supposed to be a simple session for a well-known client, consisting of some lap dancing and a blow job; that was what he had paid for, at least. Your surprise when he had begun ripping your skimpy panties off you, forcing your legs apart, hands greedy, mouth drooling, high on some drug, was therefore understandable in your eyes; as was the way you, in your shock, had lashed out, claws scratching at his chest in order to push him off you. A split second later, the side of your face had ached with pain, his flat palm having met your cheek before he had stormed out of the room, screaming and spitting.

Valentino had been with you after barely any time at all.

“I didn't—”, you choked out, voice trembling, “I didn't mean to do it, sir, I swear, he just startled me, and, I mean, he didn't pay for more, he wanted to —, he wanted to—”

One hand of his cupped your cheek, golden claw gently tracing over your jaw. Even with him crouched down in front of you, he seemed ridiculously tall. “Hey—, relax, sweetheart.” At an exhale, red smoke coiled around you, assaulting your senses. Instinctively, your raised shoulders fell as tension bled from your muscles. “I get it. I understand.”

With how utterly merciless Valentino was known to be, it took a few moments for you to actually understand the meaning of his words. Even then, you barely dared to let go of the dreadful fear curled in your stomach. “You do?”

“Of course I do”, he said, eyes half-lidded behind heart-shaped glasses. His voice was soft enough to cause more tears, now of relief, to drip down your cheeks. “You know, I was really surprised when that patron came up to me, demanding to have you fired, if not killed for your disobedience. You're usually such an obedient girl — I was wondering what actually happened. Good job for being honest with me.”

Hope bloomed in your chest, your eyes widening. Streaks of mascara and eyeshadow, black and colourful, ran down your wet cheeks. “So you're not upset with me?”

“Upset with you? Of course not, amorcito. You were scared, that's alright. It happens, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitched in a stifled sob, lips, the gloss now smudged, curling up into a pitiful mockery of a smile. “Yeah. Thank you, Val.”

This could have gone much worse. Your hands were still shaking, anxiety thrumming underneath your skin, and yet Valentino didn't even seem particularly upset. Some higher being — whether that was Lucifer or God, you didn't really care — must have blessed you, somehow.

“Of course, baby.” The moment Valentino stood once more, he towered over you, his shadow swallowing you up. “Now, follow me, yeah?”

Your legs struggled to support your weight, knees feeling weak as you trailed behind him through corridors you didn't recognise. Your steps were unsure, the heels, ridiculously high, only adding to your troubles. You have half a mind to stop yourself from asking where you're going.

It's entirely unnecessary, either way.

You arrive but a moment later, the noise of a heavy door falling shut causing you to flinch; where Valentino was in front of you just a second ago, he was now behind you, a looming presence at your back.

It was a studio; not the fancy kind actual stars like Angel Dust filmed in, but a smaller one, the light bulb flickering, the sheets on the bed stained. Voxtech cameras were pointed at the mattress.

“Val—?”

“Bend over, baby.”

“You said you're not angry with me.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without your permission, a panicked high-pitched tone. “You said you're not—”

“And I'm not, as long as you hurry the fuck up and do what I tell you to.” His voice was sharp. Instinctively, you obeyed, bending over the edge of the bed, nausea churning in your stomach. “See, that guy you were a bitch to was a regular. Good money. I gotta show him you're sorry, sweetheart. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, you didn't get a word out, throat tight as tears spilled past your lashes. Eventually, you managed a shaky; “Yes, Valentino.”

“There we go. Knew you'd get why I have to do this.”

Large hands settled on your thighs, the touch making you flinch; his claws, all too sharp, teased at your skin, leaving faint scratch marks, before they prodded at your folds.

This, by now, should have been routine. It was; and yet, the idea of this being a punishment had you tensing, muscles locking up while Valentino thrust one claw into you, only to grunt, irritated.

“Ungrateful bitch”, he spat, one hand settling on your lower back, pinning you to the bed while another fumbled with his belt, metal clinking. “That's what I get for tryin' to be nice and preparing you — tightest cunt I've ever seen. Loosen the fuck up or deal with it.”

“I'm sorry.” Your voice shook, though the threat of violence, of pain, didn't help with relaxing in the slightest. Instead, you instinctively clenched around the digit, only to whimper when he yanked it back out.

“Sure doesn't seem like it.”

The fat head of his cock, pierced, the metal cold, pressed against you, then pushed inside; you were unable to stop yourself from letting out a pitiful noise, sounding more like a wounded animal than a practiced porn star.

Valentino didn't seem to mind it one bit.

Your vision blackened out for a moment when he bottomed out inside of you, the pain agonising. For a moment, you were certain he was tearing you from the inside out. His hips slapped against your plush ones, building up a steady rhythm; one set of his hands grabbed onto your hips, claws digging into your skin, using his grip for leverage to pull you back against him

“Some wetness would help us out here, y'know”, Valentino mumbled, complaining, bitching, like this was your fault. It probably was.

The only response you were able to come up with was a choked out sob, a dull ache steadily present in your abdomen, only interrupted by sharp stabbing pain whenever Valentino's tip hit an impossibly deep spot inside of you.

This couldn't have possibly gotten worse — or so you thought, tears dripping down your face, your claws ripping the sheets as you scrambled for purchase, only for it to get so much more agonising when, all of a sudden, his hand closed around your throat, squeezing.

You weren't able to breathe.

Instinctively, you clenched around him, thighs shaking. If he wasn't still holding you up, you would have collapsed.

“Fuck, you're so damn tight.” Valentino groaned, low and raspy. His tongue lapped at your neck, leaving trails of pink saliva to drip down your shoulders, your chest. “We could've had such a pleasant time together, baby, if only you hadn't been such a disobedient slut. Hate that you're making me do this.”

His pace was unforgiving, the metal of his belt buckle hitting your hip with every other thrust, surely leaving bruises. Not that it mattered — Valentino did provide you with full coverage makeup, after all.

Out of the corner of your eye, you focused on the red dots of the many cameras, blinking, recording. By now, numbness spread through you, a small blessing. You weren't certain just how long it went on; only that, eventually, Valentino came with a groan, filling you up, making you whimper.

When his grip on your throat loosened for a split second, allowing you to suck a burning breath into your lungs, it felt like Heaven.

“Use your words, baby. Talk to me.”

“Val, 'm sorry—”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry”, you repeated, the words barely audible through sobs, “I'm sorry, Val, I'm sorry—”

Suddenly, his hand, still on your throat, yanked your head up, his lips clashing against yours; the very moment you opened your mouth, pliant with submission, with exhaustion, smoke flooded it, you choking on it.

Your mind felt muddled, mouth dry even as saliva trickled out of your lips, jaw slack.

Faintly, you were able to feel his cum drip out of your cunt and down your thighs, sticky.

“Now”, Valentino said, voice a sultry purr, “Why don't you wait here, I'll send you your client and you apologise properly to him?”

Mind filled with scarlet plumes, you barely knew what you were agreeing to, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, Valentino.”

“That's what I like to hear. Good girl.”

When multiple pairs of footsteps echoed through the room, you, even in your hazy state, had the bad feeling that you were going to be having a long night.

i won't lie i didn't proofread this yet.. tomorrow... ALSO FIRST POST YIPPEEE

[radbelinda]

One of the things that strikes me about the whole Neil Gaiman thing is that people really want to portray Amanda Palmer as being a remorselessly complicit figure, when a lot of things that are very obviously fucked up and menacing when you put it next to the actual assaults going on - are perfectly normalised and accepted within poly/ENM world. All of these things are fucked up and menacing, but the bubble of pseudo-feminist poly world is incredibly effective at making you totally oblivious to the fact that you're opening the door to abuse and emotional damage.

The thing of 'oh we just slept together and I took a consensual nude of you, now can I have your consent to send it to my husband' is a feature of poly culture, not a bug. Suggestive and inappropriate comments to a woman about how hot your husband will find her are completely normalised. A statement from your husband like 'I don't get to play with my Dom side with you, so I need to be with other women who are natural subs' (which I suspect is the reason he gave when he kept having affairs when she was eight months pregnant, after agreeing to be monogamous) is something that culture will expect you to be completely Cool Girl about. Being blasé when a woman comes to you and says 'your husband made a pass at me' is also the expected Cool Girl reaction. Bringing women into your circle that you think your husband will find hot is completely par for the course in those mindsets and part of being a good and fun and sexy partner - no one doing that in poly culture thinks of themselves as 'feeding him women to rape' or grooming. Lots of people seem to find Amanda telling Neil that he couldn't hit on Scarlett, but still leaving him alone with her, to be jawdropping - but, as someone who has had people in ENM relationships exhibit poor boundaries around me and try to insinuate me into their sex lives in inappropriate ways, I know that that kind of thing is seen as due diligence and an appropriate way to navigate a situation. My experience of people immersed in that kind of culture is just this general assumption that words and agreements are magic - that all you need to do is communicate and agree terms and everything is fine, and if an agreement is violated you just need to communicate more and agree terms and everything is fine, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

What a lot of people want (and have wanted all along when they were making jokes about how understandable it was for Neil to 'fly across the world to escape having lockdown with her') is for Amanda Palmer to have been a truly abhorrent person, when the truth is that the whole culture around poly/ENM/open relationships - not necessarily the stated rules everyone claims to be abiding by, but the actual culture itself - encourages this stuff, especially from women.

I'm not suggesting Amanda is a victim in anywhere close to the same way as any of the women profiled in the reportage, and I do think her learned obliviousness enabled her complicity in creating a situation like Scarlett being left alone with Neil, but she has clearly been manipulated as well. Think of how insanely manipulative it was for him to wait until she was in late-stage pregnancy to start violating the terms of their marriage, how he surprised her with a lot of 'dark' elements of his personality after they were already married with a child, how we don't even necessarily know how much control she had over the marital pursestrings, how (as covered in the Tortoise podcasts) he would pressure the woman who lived on his estate into sexual activity by saying that Amanda, not him, wanted to sell the house and kick her out - and that if she kept him sweet he'd be her advocate against his evil wife. He is so clearly a profoundly manipulative person and it's just lunacy to suggest that none of that manipulation will have been targeted at Amanda.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club ch. VI

dark!dbf!Rafe Cameron x dark!f!Reader

Warnings: dubcon if you squint, oral (f!recieving), implied p in v sex, implied unprotected sex, drug use, abusive relationship, manipulative behavior, physical abuse, aggressive behavior, mention of previous attempted assault, ptsd symptoms, infidelity, age gap relationship, secret relationship, love bombing, mentions of baby trapping, reader calls Rafe ‘daddy’

You glanced down at your outfit one last time before steeling yourself to go inside. You knew that Rafe would like the short skirt you had picked.

After spending more time with him recently you had gotten a sense of the types of clothes he liked you to wear around him. Skirts and dresses were his favorites, along with any tight, low cut shirts.

Rebecca had never worn those types of clothes as long as you had known her and you knew that was part of the reason why Rafe loved seeing you walk around his house in your tiny skirts, paired with revealing blouses that left little to the imagination.

Luckily for you and Rafe, Rebecca’s therapist had recommended she attend late night group sessions a couple times a week, giving you the perfect window to sneak over and see Mr. Cameron.

It had become a routine for you at this point. You told your parents that you were hanging out with Charlie, and they never asked any questions. They didn’t realize that Charlie had been spending most of her nights at her boyfriend’s house.

Entering the code that Rafe had given you, you unlocked the door and the pulled it open, letting yourself inside as you looked around.

There was no sight of Rafe, and for a moment you worried that maybe you had been wrong about the day Rebecca had therapy until you heard the muffled sound of music coming from down the hall.

You quietly closed the door behind you before nervously reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Usually he would have been waiting for you in the living room with two glasses of wine and his charming smile that made you melt into his arms. The two of you would hang out and talk about your day for about half an hour before you would inevitably follow him into his bedroom.

Over the several weeks that you had been sneaking over, he’d never not met you at the door. Maybe he got caught up doing work?

You set your purse down on the couch, walking towards the source of the pulsing music. When you found yourself in front of Rafe’s office, his door slightly ajar, you couldn’t help but pause for a moment, not sure what to expect on the other side.

When you swung the door open, you froze in surprise, and your sharp inhale alerted Rafe to your presence.

He was sitting at his desk, which was clean and tidy, save for the several white, powdery lines that he was crouched over.

He dropped the rolled up hundred onto his desk, sniffing once before wiping his knuckle against his nostril as he stood up, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Y/N…” he began, walking towards you as he took in the shocked look of betrayal on your face.

You couldn’t find the words that you wanted to say. For reasons you couldn’t really explain, your heart was pounding faster as Mr. Cameron got closer.

“Why are you..?” The rest of the question died on your tongue and you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

Rafe took another step towards you and the chill that passed through your body reminded you of the horrible night at the party weeks ago, only this time Rafe was the one scaring you.

“Just- just calm down, okay, sweetheart?” His tone was even, kind perhaps, but the way that his fingers were twitching and balling into fists at his side and the jumpy look in his eyes made you feel nervous.

“Is that coke?” You asked again, cringing internally when your voice cracked with emotion.

Rafe stared down at you with an unidentifiable expression. His jaw clenched and you took another step back when he drew closer to you.

When your back hit the wall of his study, you wanted to cry, fear clenching your gut so hard you thought you might be sick.

You made a move to side step him and walk towards the door to his study, but Rafe’s fingers tightened around your wrist, forcefully pulling you away from your escape and roughly pushing you against the wall of his study.

“Wait, Y/N-”

Yelping in pain, you froze, tears springing to your wide eyes as you were transported back in time to the house party with Mason.

“C’mon Y/N,” he chuckled, slurring his words. “We both know you’re looking for attention.”

Your chest felt tight, anxiety beginning to pool in your gut. “I’m not-” you tried to get past Mason again only for him to shove you backwards a second time, this time much harder.

You couldn’t catch your breath, and your heart was racing so fast you felt dizzy.

Rafe’s hard grip on your wrist loosened and he released you, face falling as he took in your panicked state.

“Fuck- I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to do that.” He sounded so different than he had just a moment before and his demeanor changed so quickly you didn’t have time to question it. “Are you okay?”

He gently grabbed your arm, examining the red, irritated skin he had wrapped his fingers around. You whimpered when he ran his fingers over the spot and he immediately withdrew his hand.

“I’m-” you began before your throat closed up with emotion. The injury likely wasn’t that bad, but that didn’t change the feelings that accompanied it. You felt startled, hurt, and betrayed, but most of all you felt scared; scared of the man you had know your entire life who had shown you an unforeseen side tonight.

“I’m okay,” you finally forced out, feeling guilty as the words left your mouth, and you couldn’t stop the tears that had started sliding down your cheeks.

“I’m so sorry baby,” he repeated again, and the pain in his voice made your heart hurt. “Shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“A buddy of mine gave me some of his stash to try for the first time,” Rafe rambled, reaching into his pocket to pause the music. “I didn’t think it was going to make me act like this.”

“Oh,” you paused and sniffled, wiping away some of your tears.

“S-so this isn’t something you do regularly?” Your voice was quiet and timid, but your heart was still thumping in your chest.

“No, no. Absolutely not. Just a one time thing because Topper kept talking it up.” He reached out a hand to brush your tear stained cheek and this time you didn’t flinch away.

“Y-you promise?”

“Yes Y/N/N, I promise. And I’m so sorry I grabbed you. Turns out coke makes me a bit…” he sighed, “aggressive, and I just got scared that you would get the wrong idea about this. About me.”

You swallowed, trying to catch your breath as you calmed yourself down.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years, Y/N.”

Your breath caught in your throat at that and you looked up at him with shiny eyes.

“I mean it, the last month has been amazing. And you’re on my mind more often than not, which drives me kind of crazy at times,” he chuckled at that and you joined him, completely understanding how he was feeling.

“You’re intelligent, funny, and so sweet at times it hurts. Not to mention how beautiful you are,” he added the last part with a wink, finally taking in the outfit that you had chosen to wear.

You blushed as he looked you up and down.

“I mean, fuck, you look gorgeous right now. I feel so damn lucky.”

Your stomach flipped at that, and you were secretly thrilled to be hearing him say all of the things you’d always wanted him to.

“I just, I dont want this one stupid mistake to ruin what we have.” You could feel the regret in his voice chipping away at your fear.

Rafe’s eyes flicked from your eyes to your lips, and when he met your gaze again you gave him a slight nod.

He closed the distance between you, one of his large hands tangling into your hair as your lips met.

It felt gentler and more tender than usual, and you couldn’t help but melt into his arms when he deepened the kiss. His other hand hand found your back, pressing you closer to him when you moaned against his lips.

When he finally pulled away, you let out a soft, disappointed whine. You opened your eyes to see him looking down at you almost dreamily. Up close, you realized how big his pupils were right now.

“Y/N?” Rafe’s arm was still wrapped around your back protectively. The rest of the house was quiet and you shivered in his arms at the intensity of his stare.

“I love you.”

You blinked in surprised silence, shocked to hear the words that you had wished to hear for so long whispered by him.

Before you could reply, his lips were on yours again, stealing your breath with another passionate kiss. With one hand on the small of your back to steady you, he slowly walked you towards his desk, only pulling away from you to sweep the contents on top of the desk onto the floor.

Rafe easily lifted you onto the desk, pressing kisses to your lips and cheek before trailing to your neck. You whined when he nipped at a sensitive spot, squeezing your legs around his waist as he sucked at your tender skin.

“I love you,” he groaned into your neck in between sloppy kisses. When he rolled his hips, pressing his clothed hard on to your core, you gasped, grinding your hips against him.

“I love y-you too,” you stuttered, finding speaking difficult as his scent clouded your thoughts. His large hands roamed down from your waist and under your mini skirt, squeezing your ass and pulling you in closer to him.

You could feel your panties growing slicker as Rafe kissed your neck, and you were almost sure he could feel it too as you greedily bucked your hips against him.

Rafe broke away, panting as he took in your flushed face for a moment before lowering himself to his knees in front of you.

His fingers brushed against your thighs before hooking around your panties and you lifted your hips to help him pull them down your legs. He splayed his hand across your stomach, lightly pressing and you laid back against the desk, heart racing as he pushed your skirt up.

Rafe spread your legs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders. The blond leaned closer and you shivered as he trailed gentle kisses down your inner thigh, stopping before he reached your core only to do the same to your other leg.

You were practically quaking with anticipation by the time he finally tasted you, and you whined his name as his tongue teased your clit.

His warm tongue slid up and down your slick folds and Rafe groaned at your sweet taste, one arm wrapping around your thighs to bury his face deeper.

He lapped at your clit hungrily, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he devoured your soaked cunt.

“Mm, y’taste so good,” he mumbled, and you arched your back off the desk when he slid his middle finger into you.

You whimpered as you squeezed around him, and Rafe held you in place as he curled the thick digit inside of you. His tongue never stopped flicking against your tender bud and the vibrations of his moans sent waves of pleasure through your entire body.

He slowly began thrusting his finger inside of you, and you rolled your hips to meet his pace, whining and squeezing your eyes shut when he circled your clit with his tongue.

The sounds of him groaning as he sucked on your clit made you gush around his finger. You cursed softly between gasps when he pushed his ring finger in, stretching you out before he even reached his knuckles

Rafe pushed his fingers deeper, holding your thighs in place as you squirmed on the desk. You tensed when you felt a new sensation, something hard and cool dragging inside you, but when you realized it was Mr. Cameron’s ring —his wedding ring— you bit back a moan, tilting your hips into his touch.

He curled his fingers as he thrusted them into you, the pace building as your cunt grew slicker and his tongue swirled around your clit.

Your hand came to his shoulder, digging your nails into his tanned skin as his skilled fingers massaged your walls. Each stroke made the pleasure between your legs build, and you felt embarrassingly needy even as Rafe fervently lapped up your juices.

“Daddy-” you whimpered, your nails clutching at his shoulders and leaving red marks on his back.

Rafe pulled away, replacing his mouth with his thumb, which circled your clit as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

He could help but watch your face as he fucked you with his fingers, his pants getting tighter as your mouth fell open and your pretty eyes met his.

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over daddy’s fingers?” He growled. “Making a mess all over my desk.”

You moaned loudly when his tongue found your clit again, and you arched your back off the hard wood when his fingers curled deep inside you, hitting a spot that made you clench around him.

“Fuck I’m-” you whimpered, so lost in the rhythm of his thrusts that you couldn’t think straight.

Rafe’s thick fingers were stretching you out so deliciously, and the feeling of his tongue teasing your clit had you twitching in his arms.

You couldn’t stop the tension that had been building inside you from bubbling over and you whined as you came undone. Rafe groaned against your clit as you tightened around his fingers, pulsing with overstimulation as he continued lapping at your sensitive bud.

Light headedness flooded your brain, and you felt dizzy when he finally pulled away to kiss you. You leaned into the kiss, allowing him to messily push his tongue into your mouth as his thumb traced along your jaw. The aftershocks of euphoria made you feel almost high and you enjoyed the taste of yourself on his tongue as his lips slid against yours.

When Rafe drew back, you let out a disappointed whine, but the realization that he was unzipping his pants to free his hard cock had you eagerly lying back down against the desk as you spread your legs.

He pushed into you with one stroke, stretching your slick, sensitive cunt out around his length, his lips smothering yours to swallow your moans.

The package arrived at noon two days after Rafe had told you that he loved you for the first time.

You were sitting in your bed reading a book when your mom knocked on your door.

“One second!” You planted your hand on the bed beside you to sit up, wincing momentarily at the dull pain that pulsed in your wrist. Pulling your sleeves down to cover up the bruise, you climbed out of bed and opened your door to see your mom holding a black gift bag.

“Long sleeves in this weather?” She half joked before you could ask her what she was holding.

“It’s chilly in the house, Dad keeps it at like 60°,” you shot back, hoping your discomfort didn’t show in your voice or face.

You curiously eyed the gift bag in her hand, happy to change the subject.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know, I just found it on the porch… but it looks like it’s addressed to you,” she winked with a joking tone. “Do you have a secret boyfriend you’re not telling us about?”

Your mom laughed and you chuckled too, but your heart skipped a beat.

If she only knew the half of it, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sure it’s just a stupid prank. Maybe some frat boy I met at a party or something,” you tried to sound nonchalant, but you eagerly took the bag from her, not wanting to give her any chance to snoop inside.

“Thanks mom,” you said, and she walked away as you shut the door behind you.

Barely able to breathe, you carried it to your bed, taking the tissue paper off the top to reveal a smaller, blue bag inside.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head when you read the logo on the bag and you reached inside to pull out the small matching box that was tied up with a white ribbon.

No fucking way, you thought to yourself as you untied the ribbon and opened the Tiffany & Co. box.

Inside, laid out on a bed of satin, was a necklace with a small rose gold pendant that to the unsuspecting eye could have been an abstract shape, but you knew exactly what it meant.

In your excitement, you accidentally knocked the bag over on your bed and the small letter that tumbled out caught your eye.

You ran your nail under the wax seal of the envelope, pulled the letter out, and unfolded it.

Dear Y/N,

A beautiful girl like you deserves beautiful things. I hope you enjoy this gift and wearing it reminds you of me.

Love,

R.C.

You had to stop yourself from giggling with happiness as you read and reread the letter again and again.

No matter how many times you reminded yourself, you still couldn’t believe it.

Rafe loved you!

You could feel all of your dreams coming true as you remembered how those words sounded on his lips.

Setting the letter down, you picked up the box again, gently pulling the necklace out and walking over to your mirror to try it on.

After fastening the small clasp on the back, you beamed as you admired the gorgeous necklace against your skin.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but imagine how you would look pregnant. You pictured yourself glowing, full and round with Rafe’s child, one ringed hand resting on your belly along with your husband’s as he stood behind you.

There was nothing in the world that mattered to you more than having that life and you believed more than ever before that you were going to make it happen

No matter what it took.

[richeeduvie]

✭ THE LENGTHS ✭

PART ONE: GUILTY CUBICLES

DARK(ISH) JACK ABBOTT x READER

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

You don't know the lengths to which he'd go.

Jack finds you. You're a new nurse working the night shift for the first time, and even though his introduction to you is you dead asleep at your desk, his time stuck with you and your eccentric, peppy behavior doesn't stop him from realizing your capabilities that are beyond what you should be able to do. With that, there's something about you that manages to grasp onto him despite what Jack knows best, to the point where even he's not willing to let you go for the sake of staying sane. For the sake of staying himself. It's an all-too-close work friendship that, again, for the sake of staying sane, he denies is anything more than a healthy and professional relationship with you. But when he can finally get rid of his degrading thoughts referring to him as an old sad fuck who doesn't deserve the sunshine of the E.R? When the two of you experience the tension and bond that only the walls of the Pitt can close in on?

You tell him you have a boyfriend. But even in the sudden anger and disappointment over this, Jack knows there's something about the claim that isn't adding up. Others believe, at first, that it's only Jack attempting to cling to you without admitting it, but when situations arise with their sunny, resilient nurse becoming someone they can't recognize, they find they have no choice but to let Jack protect you.

But what happens when the protection consumes him? There's no telling.

PART ONE DESCRIPTION: Jack meets the new nurse Robbie's been fawning over, only to then take the next couple of nights to pathetically cope with what he's feeling for the peppy, sunny young woman he's just met.

WORD COUNT: 7.9K || SLOW(ISH)BURN!! EVENTUAL SMUT (p in v sex, rough, unprotected) graphic depictions of violence, assault, death, and blood. Abuse (Not from Jack) Jealousy, obsession, possessive behavior, Dr. Robby x Reader if you squint like there's no tomorrow. Age gap (the reader is just younger than Jack, you can decide by how many years). Mentions of suicidal behavior. Manipulation (is it manipulation if Jack really believes what he's saying??). Delusional behavior (That Jack is very much aware of and hates himself for, but delulu be deluluing). Very inaccurate depictions of the healthcare system and medical terminology. This is probably my one and only Jack Abbott fic, if his characterization is off I'm sorry...let's just chalk it up to him being too much in love like how he does here <3

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Robby, my brother.

I don't even know where the fuck to begin. But I am so, so sorry. For everything. Please. Take care of her.

————————————————

Although there is solace in the darkness, that doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters hiding in it. It almost feels too fucking childish for him to think like this, but it’s too easy. 

This night tempts harm. It tempts Jack to hold himself too tightly, or to hide his tension away in his anger. He already readies himself for the slight guilt he’ll feel when he’s too harsh and quick in correcting mistakes while taking too long to give credit when it’s earned. But tonight? The few outwardly kind things about his soul can’t make their way to his bones and eyes…but what’s the truly awful thing about this shift to make Jack feel as if there’s violence and internal misery around every corner of the hospital? 

“Oh, Abbott, I was wondering–” 

“Sorry, not now.” 

No patients have died. No patients are near death. Jack has failed no one yet, and yeah, thinking that staying true to his vows of medicine as the most terrible thing about tonight is shitty, so fucking shitty that it goes against the said vows that have consumed his instinct to work and manage the ones who need help, but to him, he just remembers the worst about what’s steady about him. That sometimes he’s not steady, that even on good shifts and quiet nights, his pain will make its way back to him.

This is trauma. It’s never new, but sometimes wordless, nameless in the feelings that are brought to a boil, like now, and there-fucking-fore, it’s much easier to hide in the dark as it waits for Jack to get comfortable in his skin. Apparently, this is progress according to his therapist. That it’s good that his trauma finds way into even the best of shifts because that means he is comfortable enough to let it in on the good days, that he’s not beating the worst of his emotions into a little box he’ll save for opening up on a shit shift as he makes his way up to the rooftop. Well, sure as hell doesn’t feel like progress, but he has to trust the therapist he pays 120 dollars an hour. 

“Abbott, the patient in room three, the elderly man with a breath like death, is there a possibility-” 

“Sorry. Not now. My bladder is turning against me.”

“...Didn’t need to know that.” 

“Okay. Sorry, I’ll never make a quip as long as I live.” 

“Not now” is his phrase for the next ten minutes, and he’ll feel a slighter slight guilt in how he’ll take a breather in the bathroom, or next to the vending machine, because there is a job to be done and it’s not hiding in the dark with his monsters. But Dr. 240-bucks-for-80-minutes says these breathers are needed for Jack to be the best at his job. For others. Something like that.

Unfortunately, Dr. 240 bucks for 120 minutes is right. Jack tries not to choke on the breath he can’t let go of. He tries to stay strong because he’s here at his job, so he tries to keep the walls standing up right and unblurred, which he should be able to do on good days. Easily.

It’s almost a strong stride to the bathroom until the nurse's station. Jack slows in his step, brows slightly furrowing as he looks around. Only by eyes, not by the turn of his head. 

And like that, under the scene of unprofessionalism, the way he feels is no longer unbreathable. So.

Thank you for that.

He doesn’t notice how quick he is to turn his sights back on you. This girl. No, this woman, just a younger woman…a nurse he’s never seen before.

You’re dead asleep. He means dead asleep. There’s no other name for the way your body leans its weight onto your swivel chair, head lifted back, breath deep.

It’s the 3rd most unprofessional thing he’s ever seen.

Jack lets out a breath. He takes one in. Let’s that one out, and it’s continuous as he studies the way you almost snore. He must’ve found it easier to breathe in standing instead of indulging his restlessness by pacing all over the trauma center. Makes sense. Makes a hell's lot more sense than this newbie who’s taking a nap on her shift. And Jack allows for the slight hand of his anger to curl. You are sleeping on the job without a care in the world, and considering that he’s never seen you before, you’re probably doing this while new to the crew. 

He ignores the ten seconds of the way he watches you almost-snore before he knocks his fist on your desk to wake you. 

“I’m up! I’m…I’m up.” 

You rub your eyes as you force yourself to sit up straight. Jack continues to stare as you collect yourself. 

Jack's eyes slightly narrow when he notices you're beautiful, but he doesn't think it, not when there’s a lecture to be had. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jack tilts his head forward in a way that’s curt. 

“...I am glad you are. Considering that you’ve taken the hours when you’re on the clock as hours to have naptime, it’s good that I can see you’re apologetic.” It seems that you truly are in the way your brows twist in the soft lines of your face, as you scratch your nose.

Jack looks away. He puts his arms behind his back, squeezing his wrist because it feels right to do here. “That’s not what we’d consider professional. Or safe. For the patients we’re watching, I mean. I hope you know that?” 

“I know, I know. I promise you, sir–I’m not as stupid as I look right now. I think.” You pull on your scrub top, fixing the sleepful parts of you. “I arrived maybe ten minutes ago? I’m covering for…Princess.” 

“...I don’t think she was supposed to work tonight.” 

Jack blinks when you put your head in your hands, rubbing your temple.  

“I don’t even know, this is my first time working a night shift ever. I woke up to being called in, so here I am.” 

Jack blinks again when you spin in your chair. Not once, but twice in the way your voice goes high at the end of your sentence. 

Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?

You drop your smile when he doesn’t say anything, and yeah, it’s because you deserve to be a little uncomfortable with your mistake, but also…Jack doesn’t know what to say. 

“It won’t ever happen again, sir.” 

“No. Not if you keep to the day shift.” 

“Oh. Hopefully.” You swallow with a small smile, twirling a pen in your hands. “No offense to you night owls.” 

Jack doesn’t look away when your smile reaches him with your eyes on his. Why would he? 

The only other question to ask is why he knows his chest would feel less hot if he did. 

“Not everyone can find the dark shifts fun enough to stay up for.” 

“No, I enjoy a healthy sleep schedule too much–” You break your words with a yawn that you try to stop. Literally. It’s like you try to wave it up and out of your little neck. “...for that.” 

Jack’s brow furrows down with his eyes going slightly wide. You’re an oddball who’s pissed him off a little, and he wonders if this charming, sunny banter is purposeful to get him off your case. 

“Anywayssss, sorry for keeping you off duty, sir.” 

He won’t give you that satisfaction, because you aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job. You won’t get away that easily. He means, he’ll quit when he sees a properly embarrassed pout, or something that can prove to Jack that you’re serious about said embarrassment…

Yeah. That’s why he doesn’t walk away to spend his last free minutes in the bathroom. You seem alright…bright, but if you’re new, you simply need to learn. It’s not against you, that’s just the way it is. 

“You decided to prioritize a healthy sleeping schedule before or after nursing school? Or did you realize how much you love to sleep when you decided to become an E.R nurse?” 

Jack lowers his eyes to where your elbow rests on the table as you let your chin fall into your palm. Is that purposeful too? The softness of it all? 

“Ha ha. I try my best, which is why this is my first night ever. I’m surprised I made it this far without taking up…what the darkness offers.”

…Should he kill himself for noticing the way you’re soft? Maybe. It isn’t professional how he notices, and it’s a bit intense, like he’s a schoolboy who can’t control the way he oogles. Whatever's going on with your face shouldn't make a different.

"...Sir?"

He’s not oogling, really. He’s noticing you’re pretty, and you’re lit in the way you’re pretty. He doesn’t know you, but with the way you smile even though you’re being snarkily reprimanded, with the way you tap your pen, with the way your hair shifts with every head tilt…that’s not on him. That just means you’re pretty. He’s not reacting to what he’s seeing. Besides, even if he was, killing himself would probably be the more unprofessional and intense thing, right?

Besides, a pretty face doesn't mean anything here. Not to him. Blood sprays far and wide.

“...Yeah. Well, if I find you again and I report you to healthcare management, you’re not making it further than tonight.” 

The way Jack says it, he’s pretty sure it was supposed to be serious in reprimand, maybe not, but it comes out weak in that context. He doesn’t know why it falls on his tongue like he’s joking with you. But really…he can’t keep up when you laugh. 

“So, I’m assuming I can’t eat at my desk either. Alrighty.”

Why can’t he keep up when you laugh? And how does he stare and turn away when you do? 

Why does the sound and look of you sear him at the skin and chest?

“Just–don’t knock yourself out on the clock again. You hear me? Not cool.”

Jack doesn’t care how he realizes then, when you nod curtly with your smile under your soft and blinking focus, he really doesn’t care for it…how he doesn’t have to ask for eye contact with you.

Even more so, he’s the one to look away first, as if he has to if he doesn’t want to feel the heat of the sun hurling towards him. That bit of Jack is lost and replaced with something unlike him, because why? 

“Can do.” 

This could be something he never has to think about again if he just leaves at that, if he continues to walk to do what he planned on doing five minutes ago, but for some reason, he’s willing to face whatever insecurities this introduction is brewing, because…despite all his flaws, his many, many flaws, acting like a shy and flustered little guy at the first sight of someone like you isn’t one of them. 

It takes ten seconds for you to look up at him again when you realize Jack hasn’t moved. 

“What’s your name?” 

Your smile drops. 

“Sir, please don’t report me to healthcare management–or Dana! God, no! I came in ten minutes ago, and I close my eyes for a minute and–” 

Jack goes to put the palms of his hand on the counter, but it’s a movement he decides against before putting his hands behind his back again. Well. One hand. The other makes a fist at his hip.  

“That was a joke. As long as you’re not kicking patients out their beds to use them, I wouldn’t risk this hospital losing nurses. It was a joke.” 

It became one, didn’t it? Your eyes close with your sigh. When they open, you take to looking at the tile.

“Hey. I was joking. I think.” 

This is familiar, the way he leans his head forward, slightly demanding your sight on him. This is him, and he deserves to be himself, apparently. Or, it’s good that you know he’s not a flustered stumbler if you’re gonna stick around. 

“I’m definitely going to take your word for my sake. Okay.” 

You stick out your hand with your name greeting him past your lips. Jack nods, and he doesn’t take his eyes off yours when he takes your palm firmly

He shouldn’t be proud that he does this without surprise, smacking him across the face, but he is when your name fully registers in his head. He’s heard about you before, as people hear about new people before they get the chance to meet them first. 

You’re the new nurse who showed up about three weeks ago.

You’re the new nurse. Robby’s nurse.

It hasn’t even been a month and in the chances he gets to spend his moments talking with Robby in the handing over of shifts, Robby's mentioned you way too fucking much. With your name in the squeezing of your smaller hand, Jack knows too much about you. He guesses that if you’re as capable and talented in your duties as Robby says you are, then it’s warranted. But still, he was happy to know the nursing shortage was challenged by the Pitt gaining a competent addition to the team at first, but in every other conversation, your name just happened to pop out of Robby’s mouth. 

“She’s just–it’s not just about having no complaints about her and her abilities. She’s great.” 

“...I gathered that, Robby. These past weeks, I’ve been a gatherer of information for our new nurse. Besides the last story and the last story, just tell me, does the sun shine out of her ass? 

Robby smiled a smile that was almost as bright as yours, even though Jack didn’t really ask it as something to laugh at, his words were dead in the pan.

“Medically speaking, yeah. You know, man–could just be that you’re expecting a good nurse and you end up with a great one who’s knowledgeable in a way that’s beyond her paygrade.” 

“All nurses are underpaid.” 

“I’m meaning…that she’s basically a third-year resident and a nurse combined. I don’t give her the tasks of a resident, but it’s like, like…if it came down to it, I could trust her with it. The tasks.”

“...Hopefully you’re not projecting this professional infatuation onto her, because the last thing I need is a cocky-connie trying to run my shifts.” 

And Robby gave him a look, as if their conversation was no longer banter. 

“Cocky-connie? That's just something you made up right now, and it’s not infatuation if she’s that fucking good, man. It’s just the truth. But you don’t gotta worry, she’s humble. She doesn’t wallow in self-degradation, but she’s just humble.” 

“Oh. Good. I’m wondering how I haven’t met the savior of Pittsburgh's nursing community.” 

“Yeah, she kinda makes sure to leave right when her shift’s over. Which is a shame for you, all her baked goods are gone in an hour.” 

“...She bakes?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“...Okay. Robby?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Everything you’ve claimed her to be in the past half-month has been invalidated just now.” 

“What??” 

“The baked goods have gone to your head. I can’t trust your recommendation.” 

“Oh, come on, brother! People can have multiple talents, and this place can benefit from all of it.” 

“...Sir?” 

Jack blinks himself sober. “Sorry. Nice to put a name to the perpetrator.” He squeezes your hand again. “Jack Abbott.” 

You’re the first one to let go. 

You blink, mouth parting slightly. 

“Oh! Dr. Abbott, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

…He guesses Robby told you about him, or maybe it’s just the perpetual gossip that exists in the walls of this hospital that’s led his reputation before him. For a second, the tenseness of his hands begs the question, what have other people said about him to you?

Another question is begged at the curl of his palms, why the hell does he care?

“Robby’s told me so much about you. Dr. Robby.” 

Jack could scoff. There are things Robbie didn’t mention about you, and he’s assuming that was for a reason. 

“Good things? Or do I have to beat on him?" 

“I thought when we’d be introduced, there’d be light trailing you.”

Jack’s head shakes once. What?

“...What?” 

“You are apparently so, so badass. And also good at your job. I guess the latter is more important, or you’re badass because you’re so good? Anyways.” You scoot your chair in closer. “Excuse my language, I’m just surprised the sun doesn’t shine out of your ass with the way he talks about you.” 

…Huh.

Jack nods as if this is an expected thing to hear, because if he doesn’t, he’ll notice the way his face has gotten hot, and if he does, he’ll find a one-way ticket to the rooftop a reasonable thing to joke about. Ha-ha. 

“...Yeah, yeah. That’s good.” 

Apparently he’ll never make a quip as long as he lives.

“Yeah.” 

“...Yeah! Well, I guess I should actually do my job. Again, nice meeting you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack watches you get up from your chair and away from your desk. You nearly brush shoulders when you do. 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you.” 

He scratches the back of his ear as you walk away. 

“I better not find you knocked out in a supply closet.” 

His words almost echo, and he almost smiles when you throw a thumbs up without looking his way. 

When he turns back to the nurses station, whatever’s on his face drops immediately. 

“Dana?” 

“...Nothin’. See you met our new girl. She's smiley, ain't she?”

"I didn't notice."

"...I'm gonna let that one slide."

"What--"

"I'm taking my smoke break."

…Alright. The bathroom. The bathroom, right? Jack takes his way there. 

You’re alright, and he doesn’t know if he’ll see your capabilities tested tonight, but you’re alright. They’re lucky to have a new addition to the center to make the days…and nights easier, but he wouldn’t mind if it were a night. Singular.  

He wouldn’t mind if it were in the plural, either, he guesses. In the end, what he’s felt tonight are the bits of him that aren’t him, the unusual – and he’s allowed to be unusual when he’s meeting someone who can be that cheery and mutually quippy five minutes after waking up from the dead.  He’s allowed to feel confused about what he felt in his chest as much as he’s allowed to ignore it, and he’ll ignore it because it’s nothing. Nothing but a funny, pretty nurse who knows how to get out of trouble and make Robby go...gooey. If he ignores it…well then, he can take advantage of your talents without a problem. 

That and your possible baked goods. That he'll take advantage of.

Other than that, he’s sure the night will keep the distance between the two of you. Not that he isn't capable of doing that himself.

Not that he even has to, and that's nothing against you.

————————————————

Jack moves quicker when he sees you running towards him the next night. His brows rise with widening eyes. 

“...Well.” 

You look up at him with that same smile that finds the pit of his stomach, and when it happens, he almost doesn’t register the seven pudding cups in your hands. 

A surprise night two and he’s already seeping with…ridiculous, unnecessary ardor. If he can even call it that. But he’s not gonna blame you, you can’t be at fault for something that’s supposed to be nothing. Unless you know how unbaringly bright your smile is, and he’s not gonna create an issue for the suckers up in H.R just to ask a stupid fucking question. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, because there shouldn’t be a faltering on his end just from a smile and a laugh and some banter from the new nurse. There’s not.

But still, Jack kinda wonders if you do know. 

“Hey! Lookey, no need to sound Reveille for me.”

…No need to sound Reveille? 

“How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“You’re too cool to keep a secret. But why? Did I say something–” 

“No. No. But…lookey indeed. You got lost in the dark to the point you couldn’t find your way back to the day shift?” 

Your smile softens with a sigh. “Yep, you and any other night-preferred physician are stuck with me for the next five days.”

His head gestures to the pudding cups. “Do I wanna know? Wait, rephrase. Do I have to know as your attending physician?” 

“Not really. Lucky you, Dr. Abbott.” 

Jack allows what's almost a smile to creep on his face, because this is sorta funny, and you know what? He’s glad to see you again, despite what’s seeping in against his best interest. Which is nothing.

He crosses his arms. 

“We’ve got you for the week, why?” 

“I was covering for Princess last night. She has COVID, and her mandatory five-day stay away from the world has me covering for her. So, if you’re empty-handed right now, there’s a man in room six desperate for a doctor to guide him through the motions of taking the light bulb out of his ass.” 

You’ve allowed yourself comfortability with Jack already. Even he wasn’t like this with Robby in the early days of their friendship. 

Maybe you don’t know how you smile or tilt your head or fiddle with your body language, because if it’s everyone that can see it, maybe they’re not purposeful or even impulsive decisions outside of what you usually do, it’s just who you are. Who the fuck ever knows who they are? 

Besides, if they were uncommon, purposeful movements, why would you choose to do them towards him? That’s where it seems pretty fucking impossible. 

“I was told you always leave exactly when your shift is done, and that seemed true last night.” 

It is. You took off the minute your time in the Pitt was over. But your smile faltering isn’t purposeful, Jack thinks. Here, he shames himself for yesterday, the way he was secretly relieved he didn't see much of you or you as a nurse during the shift. The begged questions wouldn't do him any favors with the night he was having. But the sun came up, and you were gone before anyone knew it.

He doesn’t know you, but for once, there’s almost something of a…serious nature on the lines of your face and lips. Just like that. 

“Yeah…yeah, you were told right. Responsibilities in the world outside our castle stop me from going above and beyond as a nurse. If there’s ever a moment, day or night, when I have to work overtime, I will definitely, but you know. Life.” 

“...Okay. For Pittsburgh's sake, let’s hope it never comes to that." Jack scratches his ear.

The name-dropping from his mouth is natural, he thinks. Acceptance at what's been given to him, turning fatigued lemons into banter-full lemonade, because you know what?

At the end of the day, he cares for the group of people he's partnered with. The people he teaches, the people he saves others alongside with. But none of them have ever made him feel likes he's bits of a newer, flustered-fuck of a man on the first day of meeting them. They don't affect him that way. You shouldn't.

He can play with them on occasion and is more than cordial. He should be no different with you.

"Am I able to look to you first for nursing assistance if I need it tonight, sleepy?

He crosses his arms when he can hear your footsteps halt past him. Saying it nearly dead-panned was purposeful.

“I cannot be given a nickname from a five-minute mistake. Please, Dr. Abbott.” 

“I’m not giving you a nickname, I haven’t known you long enough to deserve that kind of bullied affection. It’s just…” Jack delivers his word deadpanned, he turns to you with your face already pleading. His eyes shift quickly to the floor, then back to you with a curt nod or two. That’s purposeful. That’s feigning thought. 

He’s in a better mood tonight, he doesn’t know why. “It fits.” 

He can tell you stop yourself from rolling your eyes, because you’re probably smart enough to know where to tow the line when it comes to dry-humored conversations with a senior attending you barely know. 

“Are you saying I have to earn your professional friendship to earn your harassment?” 

“Let’s not use the word harassment, sleepy. Healthcare management has eyes everywhere.” 

“You know what, Dr. Abbott?” You ready a pudding cup in your hands, swinging it like you’re about to throw it. “Challenge accepted.” 

“Hey! Don’t–”

You throw the pudding cup that was never gonna be hard to catch. Still. 

You've accepted this easier than Jack would've thought. Sure, you're obvious in your light and...medical pep, but you're willing in play already.

Well. That reaction really shouldn't effect him either.

“Don’t throw objects in the walkways.” 

You begin walking backwards. 

“And don’t walk backwards.”

“If that name reaches the day crew, you’re in for it.” 

“...Excuse me?” 

And like that, you’re gone with a light jog when Jack can hear a voice screaming “Nurse!” throughout the curls of the halls. 

The strangeness of you found questions in Jack, too many for a night that’s tolerable. It would be too much for Jack and Jack alone, really…because maybe those feelings can be chalked up to what you claimed, a professional friendship, and despite the parts of his bones that are hardened, guarded, and whatever else his therapist accuses him of being, he’s not entirely closed off. Being closed-off doesn’t make a good doctor or caretaker; it doesn’t help anybody, especially not himself, if he somehow does deserve help by the end of the day. 

Nobody knows the whole of themselves, but these are the few things Jack is sure of, and with that, you're about to be what everyone else is to him: A person he can get along with. What more is needed?

————————————————

Dr. Jack Abbott is a nice man. A cool guy. And you’re glad you trusted Dr. Robby’s word on him. He is pretty badass. Even though there hasn’t been much chaos in the two shifts you’re partnered with him on, you can tell he’d be able to thrive under it. 

And he’s funny. He’s a person you can find yourself comfortable with easily. Although…it’s been a long time since you were yourself that you’re not sure if you should be giving credit to Dr. Abbott or to yourself for that, but–

“Sleepy.”

You jump when Dr. Abbott is just suddenly in front of you. 

“...Hey. I didn’t mean to make you jolt out of your seat, but…hi.”

But he’s gone now. You have more than enough time to figure who you are without him hurting you. 

“No–no. What’s up?” 

Dr. Abbott puts his hands at his sides. “Tonight’s the night you take me up on my offer. A lady’s in room seven with what looks to be a non-critical issue. Diaz was gonna check her in, put down the vitals and lab sheets for me, but with it being a slow night on your minor rotation…and with what I’ve heard about you,” His hands make his way up to the counter, one palm lies flat. “Am I allowed to put your skills to the test? Or should I let you take another nap?” 

You smile with your heart speeding in its beat. He’s funny. You think he likes you, or maybe he’s the person here that can be easy with others, make others smile. But, either way, the night shift isn’t looking to be so bad, after all. 

It doesn’t hurt that he’s so handsome either, not that that matters. But it’s…you’re in a place where it can and you won’t be hurt for it. You’re in a place where you can get along and care for others and you can exist for other people, people who you can tell are already great at their jobs, great at being. 

You can exist for others and not be bruised for it. That’s how it should be, your therapist says. It’s valid to feel guilty after how long you were with him, what he forced your mind to learn, but this is how it should be. 

“Of course.” 

…Even though you’re suddenly terrified. Still, you keep your smile along your face.

You are confident in your capabilities as a nurse, you have to be if you’re gonna be working with emergency patients, but you trust Dr. Abbott to be a great doctor, and even if he isn’t, he’s obviously a superior, and putting your skills out there for anyone to observe is terrifying, especially when you’re newer, you want to impress everyone, and that feeling is intense, the anxiety that comes at the idea that you won’t is even worse. 

But you’ve been through worse. You’ve felt worse. 

“Room seven, you said?” 

“Yep. I have some charts to finish, another patient to check on. When you’re done, come find me and give me a debrief.” 

“Alrighty, Dr.” 

You throw a salute at him. Dr. Abbott only confuses you when his brows go low with a stare. 

“...How much did Robby tell you about me?” 

“I don’t know what I’m saying that you would ask that.” 

“...Just get on the patient, please.” 

You do. She’s a 57-year-old woman named Lillian. She’s nice enough.

“What happened to that young Hispanic man? I was looking forward to being examined by him.” 

It’s the not worst sexual harassment you’ve ever witnessed or have received from a patient, but even in the shameless comment, you can tell she’s pale and uncomfortable. 

“I hope my face does just well enough, ma’am. You’re stuck with me. So, what’s exactly the matter, tonight?” 

You find that what’s been the matter with the patient for a while is that she was previously healthy to only come in with intermittent chest tightness, dyspnea, and a dry cough with a bit of lightheadedness. No on COVID. No on the flu, but most of her concern is how every hospital before yours claims it’s only a cold as her immune system weakens into old age. 

“Don’t worry, ma’am. We’ll try our best to stop you from feeling like this.” 

As you slowly make your way to Dr. Abbott at the nurse’s station, you do more than you’re supposed to in your head in thinking about her symptoms. You are a confident nurse. You’re proud to be one…even if it wasn’t your first career choice, but still, you do know you’re not supposed to be the one to make the conclusions. You can suggest, offer, assist, but you cannot allow your confidence to lie in the things you’re not allowed to do. 

Still, there’s something wrong here. It’s more than all the things that have been ruled out, and even though you know there is risk of seeming pushy or out of your depth at bringing up your theory to Dr. Abbott if he comes up with it first, but for the sake of the patient, you have to. The wellbeing of them outrules…the rules. 

This is not about seeming impressive to him…or to anyone, but if it does, you wouldn’t mind the emotional benefit of that. 

“Dr. Abbott.” 

Dr. Abbott turns around, stern in the movement…strong in the arms. You wonder if you’d noticed that before. 

“You’re done already?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“I was told to be expecting a mystery illness.” 

“Yeppers,” You hand him the chart and he’s quick to flip through it, studying it with a practiced eye. “She’s been two primary care doctors and urgent care before going to another E.R in Philly.”

He continues his study, and this is really the first time you’re able to see Dr. Abbott doing his job, and although he’s literally just looking at a chart, his focus is natural. Admirable.

“Normal ECG, troponins are slightly elevated but not screaming at us. Is the echo still pending?” You nod. “Labs are not gonna be for another couple of hours.” 

“Mhmm. But if it’s the same as the last department, they’ll probably run clean. Still,” 

“Mhmm. What?” 

“...Did you just mock me, Dr. Abbott?” 

“Mm-mm. What is it?” 

You stop yourself from rolling yourselves with the rush of blood against your arms. The way his jokes come out as if they’re fact, as if he’s not joking. 

The night shift isn’t so bad. And Dr. Abbott is more than a good man, he’s much too likeable already. 

“I’ll wait on the echo before I suggest anything.” 

Dr. Abbott looks up. He blinks before his eyes slightly narrow. 

“Alright. I suppose it’s my turn to examine her now, and whatever comes from my assessment, you’ll sit with me on the next patient after.” 

“Alright.” 

Your word is not unkind, but curt in a slightly lowered voice. 

You try to not let your smile get so wide when Dr. Abbott points a low finger. 

“I’m just going to state my rules, well, my preferences. I couldn’t have specifics rules for a nurse, I’m not your superior, Dana Evans is–” 

“Damn right.” 

It’s Dana flying past, covered in a fluid you will not ask about.  

You turn back to see Dr. Abbott’s eyes on you first. You suppose he’s more used to Dana or any nurse or fellow attending or resident covered in fluid. 

“If you’re gonna take to the night shift, I’d rather not have you mock me. But I’ll be in room seven with…” He takes his sights back to the chart before handing it back to you. “Lillian.” 

You wait a few seconds before Dr. Abbott’s away from you.

“Right back at ya.” 

You smile when Jack stops in his tracks. He takes two seconds to turn and takes seconds to stare at you when you blow a finger gun. His brows raise. His eyes go small. 

“You are so strange.” 

Your smile keeps at his simple statement, despite the fact that you’re shocked at his easy bravery. You suppose you’re glad he can already feel comfortable around you to bully, that makes for good teamwork. That seems to be the truth for your time with Dr. Robbie, and his little group of residents and students you’re trying to get to know. 

He turns back, and for the next twenty minutes, he’s gone. 

Dana’s suddenly next to you, chair against chair. She sighs shakily.

“People need to stop shoving shit up their anuses. At the very least, the country needs to make a law against it. Why is it that every nurse that has been and is to be will encounter butt stuff?

“I don’t know about lawmaking, Dana. That won’t stop anyone.” 

The blonde woman smiles thinly, but sweetly before it fades slightly. 

“How’s the night shift treating ya, so far?”

“Alright, actually.” 

“...How’s Abbott?” 

Dr. Abbott? “He’s great. For a conversation where I’m bullied, I mean. But he’s a pretty good doctor, yeah?” 

“One of the best, don’t tell him I said that. Tell him I said he’s good. Just enough praise to situate confidence, but not enough to build an ego. Same goes for Robbie.” 

You chuckle at Dana’s rightful plan, chin resting on your hand when you squeak your chair closer to her. 

“...How do the others like him?” 

You already regret the question when Dana’s brows raise, but you don’t know why, it’s just a question where you want to see if the others you’re getting to know like him as much as you do. 

You like him. And that’s okay. You can exist around him and it’s not a crime. 

Nothing about the way you feel deserves punishment. Remind yourself of that if you want the way you smile and the way you want to make others laugh and feel good feel real. If you want to be yourself. 

“In this department, with his ability? He’s easy to like and learn from. He’s not sunshine in a can like you, but you’ve obviously seen he’s able to…appear like he has a will to live.”

“...Sunshine in a can?” 

You’re completely confused in the way you blink quickly. 

“You’ve been here for almost a month and one would think we suddenly have a teddy-bear rotation. The fact that I have not come to resent your constant smiling or surprise granola says something about you.” 

“...Dana–” 

“Take the compliment, sunshine. If I have to hear our Mckay bitch about the lack of brownies since you’ve been put on the night shift, that means you belong here.” 

You smile small, and you’re smile being small doesn’t mean it’s any less genuine, but the idea of people perceiving you, or at the very least, your charge nurse perceiving you as someone who already belongs here makes your heart unbelievably shy. 

You’re glad that the person you can finally be is a person others like, but even in the confidence you need to relearn, you’ll keep that thought down for the sake of being humble. 

“Tell Cassie the day shift will have assorted scones ready for them when I come back. And speaking of my sunny absence, how’s you with the double shifts?”

“It’s probably my 15th anniversary of double shifts tonight. Maybe you can join me for once this time. Stop running for the door the minute your shift is done.” 

You try to smile.

"Hey, it's your one flaw, I'll take what I can get--"

“Sleepy,” You and Dana both look up at Dr. Abbott in front of you two, arms stretched out, palms flat on the counter. “On your feet, we’ll leave Evans to take a nap she actually deserves. Seriously, slugger, you running back and forth tonight worries me.” 

You almost moan when Dana’s mouth parts with a scoff readied on her tongue. “Sleepy? Oh, sweetie, that’s much better than sunshine.” 

You only burn when Dr. Abbott looks at you, then Dana, then you again, all with a stiff head and unblinking eyes. 

“Let’s go.” 

And you can only mouth “why?!” at Dana as you walk backwards behind him. 

“Stop doing that, please.” 

You stop walking backwards. 

“Thank you.” 

Before you know it, you’re standing alongside the newly introduced attending in the intake bay. A patient’s chart rests in his hands, and there. He’s focused again. 

His face is beautiful in his stern, simple sight, and the only issue is your instinct to blush instead of teasing him about it, so you try to focus on what must be the rare reprieve of the night shift, no drunk college kids or wounds from bar fights, right? The fluorescent light hum you know this place for is almost enough to not notice the way Dr. Abbott scratches his leg, and when he does, the pant leg pulls up by a few inches. 

And what’s underneath is metal instead of flesh and bone. Another life that’s built into him. 

Oh. To sound the reveille. The salute. The leg. Or lack thereof. That’s probably a cruel thought to have. You’re sorry. 

He must be a vet, and although you like him, and you want to get to know more of him, you feel like knowing that now without Dr. Abbott’s own words feel wrong. But you can’t think like that. 

These simple things do not deserve punishment. 

You clear your throat, dropping your body on a wheeled stool to spin. And spin. 

Dr. Abbott doesn’t look back down when he looks up at you.

“What are you doing?”

“You look like you’re trying to decode the Zodiac letters.” 

The small, clueless smirk you pressed your lips together for fades when Dr. Abbott puts the chart to his chest, and his face is plain, but already, you can tell by his eyes that he doesn’t find the joke in this. 

You stop spinning. 

“You must be very good at baking. Good on you.” 

You blink. “Oh! My reputation precedes me. And I am, if I do say so myself…” You blink again. 

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? 

“Dr. Abbott, if…my attempts–if I ever get too much, you can tell me. Whatever you’ve heard about me, I can assure you, I’ve definitely caused eye-rolls before.” 

Dr. Abbott gives you no reaction. You can’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but the way he simply looks back down at the chart strikes you. You swallow. 

Impress. Make do. Make people feel good. 

“Let me guess–non-traumatic, vague abdominal pain, vitals are stable, and the labs could bore you?” 

Dr. Abbott looks up and holds the chart over his legs, his head slightly lifted, but his eyes only on you. 

“There’s nausea, some lightheadedness. Minor tachycardia but not sustained. He says it gets worse after meals. Negative for ulcers. No fever. Nothing glaring at us in the CBC or BMP. You’ve ever caught smoke with your bare hands?” 

You shake your head. He blinks. Oh. 

“Of course you haven’t.” You try not to smile when he shakes his head. “I’d say it feels pancreatic, but the clarity on that isn’t as clear as I’d like it to be. Could be early gallbladder, but the imaging’s clean. I could go get Dr. Shen, or leave it to Robby in the morning for a second opinion but…I don’t know, sleepy.” 

“Can I?” 

You point to the curtain and Dr. Abbott doesn’t take a moment to nod, he only crosses his arm and narrows his head. 

You end up glancing through to see the patient. He’s mid-thirties, male. Seemingly alert and coherent, annoyed but not in distress. 

“May I?” 

Your hand gestures to the chart in Dr. Abbott hands and he gives it to you to study. Here, you wonder what it is he’s trying to do with you exactly, other than figuring out the situation with the new nurse he’s only met yester-night. 

…Is he challenging you? Trying to disprove what others believe? It makes you wonder what’s exactly been said about you to the point where Dr. Abbott or anybody else would think you’re more capable than the average nurse (and the average nurse is nothing short of God here in the Pitt, you think). 

And then you wonder what it is about the other parts of you that might make it harder for him to believe you are what you are, which is a nurse that knows more than she should. 

You can’t blame Dr. Abbott exactly, considering you were just playing spinsies on the chair two minutes ago. Still, the answer to his problem comes to you easily, and you can’t help but wonder what face he’ll make when you tell him. 

“I’m seeing he started a new ‘clean eating’ thing two weeks ago?” 

“No red meat, high fiber, the load of raw veggies.” 

You nod thoughtfully after he drags out the word load on his tongue. “Did you palpate the LLQ?” 

Really. You try not to smile when Dr. Abbott makes no face, but only shifts his crossed arms to folding his knuckles over his stomach. That says enough. 

“Yeah. He winced. No rebound, but no rigidity.” 

“And what about percussion on the sigmoid? Or the gas pattern?” 

And even though you’re not looking, you can feel his eyes watching you, asking a question. 

How the hell do you know exactly what to ask?

“...Some distension, but nothing dramatic. You…what are you seeing in this chart that I’m not?” 

You smile something that all too quickly turns into a smirk. You hate to break down your humbleness the way you do when you hand Dr. Abbott the chart.

“I’m thinking, and only thinking, not diagnosing–that’s your job. But…it could be acute colonic pseudo-obstruction.” 

You lean against the wall, growing taller on your tippy toes and dimples coming along wide. 

Dr. Abbott flips through the chart. 

“He’s ticking all the boxes, don’t you think? Sudden dietary shift, high fiber, gas buildup, some mild nausea. It’s rare, so I don’t mean to think of zebras instead of horses, but if the labs and tests are coming up empty with more common illnesses, you can claim it’s not impossible in a younger patient, you know? The imaging’s not gonna catch it, and even if it did, no one thinks to look for Early Ogilvie’s in someone his age. 

You let the Dr. blink in the moment of silence. 

He puts the chart down on the counter before leaning against it. 

“You’re serious.” In the moment, you’re almost thankful for him taking his sights off you to watch the sterile glow over the tile, but when he looks back up at you, there’s something new in his eyes. It’s odd, you try your best to be confident in the way you talk, the way you comfort patients and your colleagues, but you don’t think you could be as confident with your eyes as Dr. Abbott is with his, but you hope your confidence has the same effect as his focus. 

That it puts trust in others. 

“Ogilvie’s?”

You shrug before leaning into Dr. Abbott’s space, you only do it for dramatics as you whisper. “Just a theory, but I’d put my money on it. You, good sir, could ask for KUB focused on his distal colon, or maybe a contrast if you want to go fancy. But you probably already know that, because if everyone thinks you’re great, well…what can I do but follow?” 

You think that after this, you have to keep looking in his eyes, because what’s the point of proving yourself to him if you can’t appear confident in your proof? Still, you’re thankful that he’s the one to look away first. 

“If you’re right, excellent job.” 

And there it is again, your veins and bones trying to sit still when it faces a compliment. 

“...Thank you–” 

“Excellent.”

And they possibly can’t when you realize that Dr. Abbott is truly serious in his words. Almost…breathless, but that must be how he sounds when he’s not facetiously bullying you. Still, you have to stop the corners of your brain close in on its believability. 

Impress, but relearn how to accept the praise when you finally do. 

But here…it’s different with Dr. Abbott, and you couldn’t know why, but it’s easy for your system to accept his praise, and maybe it's because it wants it badly enough that it’s willing to ignore his voice. His words. 

“If you’re wrong, I will call on Evans to severely reprimand you.” 

“I’ll start a betting pool when you walk off to order the imaging.” 

Dr. Abbott nods before lifting himself away from you and your sights, and it’s only a matter of this being a calm shift that you’re able to sit next to Dana again. 

You only regret when you meet her knowing look. What could she know? You wouldn’t.

“Aw, shit. You glowing from your diagnostic confidence or from Abbott’s praise when you did whatever the fuck it is you did this time?” 

“...I’m allowed to be proud of when I’m right.” 

“Mhm-hm.” Whatever it is that Dana’s unconvinced about, you can tell she is still when she stands up with two pats to your shoulders. “Sure.”

And when she walks away from you, she’s only more unconvinced when she meets Abbott in the walkway. 

“Her. What is with her? How do…others like her?” 

And Abbott’s only as confused as you when Dana snorts.

————————————————

It was just all...so different in my head.

[meo-eiru]

If Micah has a million haters, then I am one of them.

If Micah has ten haters, then I am one of them.

If Micah has only one hater then that's me.

If Micah has no haters, then that means I am no longer on earth.

If the world is loving Micah, then I am against the world.

Can't believe this anti-Micah agenda you guys got going on. My boy's only crime was gaslighting, manipulating, drugging, kidnapping, forced confinement, threatening, blackmailing, coercion, forcing himself on you, assault, trespassing, psychological abuse, having a weird hairstyle, murder and possibly selling the souls of his enemies.

[vigilante-3073]

Harm

Edward Cullen x Female Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Y/N has always had issues with physical contact and Edward never understood why until an accidental touch brings up unpleasant memories for her.

TW: Mentions of sexual assault, death and molestation, angst.

*Contains mature themes that could be triggering*

Y/N had always had an issue when it came to physical contact, she would shift away like any kind of unexpected touch made her squeamish. Edward had never questioned it, simply assuming that it had been a matter of personal preference. Physical contact had never been a big factor in their friendship and Edward found it easy to respect her boundaries.

Most people were willing to accept her dislike of physical touch, but there would always be people who didn't understand or respect her wishes.

They were walking down the hallway talking about their biology assignment when Emmett ran up behind Y/N and grabbed her waist. She let out a panicked scream as memories began to race through her mind. The memories were so powerful that Edward couldn't keep himself from hearing them.

"Here, munchkin, I got you a toy, but you can only have it if you promise not to tell anyone about our little game," The man said to a 5-year-old Y/N.

The sound of a belt buckle clinking and a sudden unyielding feeling of fear overcame everything.

"Such a good little girl," The man said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before leaving her bedroom.

The memories continued to fly by, each one more unpleasant than the last. It was years of torture, fear and abuse. Her emotions were overwhelming as the memories began to resurface, like a festering wound that never healed.

Emmett set her down on her feet and she immediately broke free of his hold, running down the hallway and into the girl's bathroom.

"The hell was that about?" Emmett asked.

Edward shook his head before quickly following after her. He pushed aside his discomfort and made his way into the women's restroom. Edward moved over to the stall where Y/N had fallen to her knees, coughing and retching as she threw up.

Edward held her hair back, providing silent comfort as she continued to get sick. The memories obviously weighed heavily enough on her to produce such a visceral response.

She finished getting sick before slowly shifting onto her butt, leaning back against the wall of the bathroom stall. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Edward reached past her and flushed the toilet. He stepped away and wet some paper towel for her before returning to her side.

He held out the paper towel to her and she took it silently, wiping her mouth. Edward watched her, listening to her erratic heartbeat as it began to return to normal.

"Who was it?" Edward asked, she gulped, "My uncle," Y/N admitted softly.

"How long?" Edward asked.

"Until I was twelve," She stated.

"Where is he now?" Edward questioned.

Y/N shrugged, "I don't know," She said, toying with the paper towel in her hands.

"Did you ever tell anyone?" Edward asked.

She shook her head, "No, I was-I was scared and I just- I felt like it was my fault," Y/N said shakily, more tears gathering in her eyes.

"You were a child," Edward said, kneeling down beside her.

Y/N scoffed, "I could have said something but I didn't... I thought that no one would believe me," Y/N said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry that you felt like you were alone in that, Y/N. No one should have to go through that," Edward said.

Touch had become an evil thing for her. That man, that family member, had taken her choice away and robbed her of her innocence. Y/N was just a child when he took advantage of her and it went on for years before she was able to escape him.

Y/N was abused and manipulated into thinking that no one would believe her. She endured years of pain and lived in a state of constant fear of this man who was supposed to be someone she could rely on.

He was family.

...

Edward took some time away from school after that day. He told Y/N that he was going to see his cousins, but he wasn't going to Alaska. Edward went to Y/N's hometown and found her uncle stumbling drunkenly out of a bar.

The stench of alcohol permeated the man's entire being as he staggered over to his truck. He fumbled for his keys in his pocket, dropping them down onto the pavement with a mumbled curse. The man bent down to pick them up and Edward had appeared in front of him when he straightened up.

"The hell do you want, kid?" The man asked.

"I'm a friend of Y/N's," Edward said.

"Oh, wow, I haven't seen her in years," The man chuckled.

"You mean that you haven't assaulted her in years?" Edward questioned, eerily calm.

The man scoffed, "Now, I don't know what she told you-," He started.

Edward didn't allow him to finish, grabbing onto his throat and slamming him back against the side of his vehicle. The metal caved in from the force, knocking the wind out of the man.

"I know all about what you did to her and you deserve to endure a lifetime of suffering for it," Edward growled, leaning closer to him and tightening his hold around the man's neck.

He sputtered, hands shoving desperately at Edward's chest to try and push him away.

Edward felt like an avenging angel in this moment, choking the life out of such a vile man. It brought him comfort to know that he would be removing a very evil person from the world.

Edward leaned in and bit into the side of the man's neck, shredding the arteries and spilling his blood in the parking lot brutally.

He pulled away, watching the life drain from the man's face, "You will never hurt her or anyone else ever again," Edward said before letting him go.

He watched the man's body slide down to the ground, gasping and gurgling on his own blood as he died. This man was a predator and he finally knew what it felt like to become the prey.

...

Edward returned to Forks a day later with red eyes, Carlisle knew what he had left to accomplish and chose not to acknowledge it. Even Carlisle had to allow him leniency in this case, violence was never the answer until it was the only answer available.

That man was sick and he deserved to suffer for what he had done to such a kind person, a child nonetheless. He could not be saved or changed and the world would be a better place without him in it.

Edward never told Y/N about what he had done that day, but he would never forget the day her mother had told her the news. They thought it was an animal attack, her mother called it 'gruesome' and 'awful.' She had said that the animal responsible hadn't been located, but assured Y/N that they were searching for it.

Edward watched the look of recognition cross Y/N's face before her glossy eyes slowly came to focus on him. She hung up the phone, dropping it down on her bed.

"What happened?" Edward asked.

"My uncle is dead... They said it was an animal attack," Y/N said.

"Seems to be happening a lot lately," Edward stated.

Y/N stepped over to him, sliding her arms around him and pressing herself against his chest. Edward slowly wrapped his arms around her, holding her gently.

"Thank you," She mumbled, a few warm tears soaking into his shirt.

"You're welcome," Edward said.

She let out a soft breath before her body began to shake with sobs. Y/N cried until she had nothing left in her, standing silently with her head on his chest and her arms wrapped tightly around him.

His shirt had been saturated with her tears and he could feel her beginning to shiver from the ice cold temperature of his body. Edward wanted to get her a blanket or a warm cup of tea, but he knew that she needed this. She needed to hold onto him and feel safe.

Edward had protected her more than anyone else had and Y/N finally allowed herself to enjoy the touch of another person. Y/N would never have to live in fear of that man again and maybe she would eventually be able to tell her family about what he did to her. And if she didn't, her secret would rot in the ground with her abuser.

[oatmealwrites]

Catch Kira, NOT Feelings! Ch. 8

Ch. 7 | Ch. 9

Series Masterlist Here | Regular Masterlist Here

Synopsis: You pick up where you and Ryuzaki left off... and things get steamy. Right after a peak moment of climax, you're interrupted by an apologetic Matsuda who leaves behind a very interesting set of documents. The next day on campus, you run into Light's new....girlfriend?!

Tags: Hickies, french kissing, men yearning, ORAL(m receiving, mentions of f receiving), L is a virgin, caught in the act [almost], L is a YEARNER, he's down horrendous for u, some fluff moments, Light is a manipulator, mentions of death, Misa appearance, makeout once again, NSFW, 18+

a/n: at the end!

WC: 9.4k

~~~~~~~~~~

If you had to guess the exact tempo, you would put his heart rate at a speeding 170 bpm as it pulsates beneath your lips. For a man of relatively few words, the sound of his voice fills the room as you bite and suck on the flesh of his throat and grind down on his hips. Gruff sighs and moans spill from his mouth as his head tilts further back to urge you even closer to his neck.

You hollow your cheeks and increase the suction on the sensitive part of skin while your nose tickles the area under the gonial angle of his jaw. One hand is flat on his chest to keep him relatively still while the other is pushing away long strands of dark hair that fall in thick tufts around his nape. While your torsos are relatively stable, L’s hips are twitching and squirming as you sit on his pelvis angled over him.

“Nnghh.. Ahh!-- t-that’s…!”

He bucks his hardening erection up into your fully clothed cunt and furrows his eyebrows; eyes squinted shut as his mind seemingly melts from the new sensations flowing through him. 

After a few more moments, you run your tongue flat over the bruised skin in a silent apology for the abuse and pull back from his neck to admire the work. The radio is still playing idly in the background, but the pants from Ryuzaki’s lips are the real music to your ears.

As quickly as you pull away, his eyes are shooting open and pouring into yours; black pupils dialated to dissolve the gray irises, he searches your face for reasoning of the pause.

“You.. finished?” he asks, hands keeping you firmly planted on top of him as his voice shows obvious signs of disappointment. 

You shrug and smile to yourself, tracing the outline of the blossoming dark purple and red bruise that glows against his pale skin. “Mmmm, I can leave a few more if you want.”

Ryuzaki blinks once and immediately nods before peeling his eyes down to where his hands dig into the plush curve of your hips. Swallowing, he leans his head back down and stretches it back a bit more to open up the entirety of his throat to whatever you have in mind. 

The protrusion of his Adam’s apple bobs once in anticipation as you swing back down and run a flurry of small kisses around the other side of his neck. Lips moving and pecking every square inch, Ryuzaki lets out a mixture of nearly giggles and gasps as you tickle him with the action and shifts in his laid out position.

“Gonna be hard to leave another mark if you keep moving around.” You murmur against his throat before sinking your teeth into a chunk of flesh and sucking on it. 

Fingers dig into your waist from the sudden action and Ryuzaki shudders with his head back as you continue the assault on his neck. “C-Can’t necessarily.. haaa help it– …. This position isn’t optimal for… ngh critical thinking… “

Ah yes, his explanation for the strange sitting positions was to help him optimally think– to cut off circulation to his limbs to prioritize blood flow to the brain [so he claims.]

You run your tongue against the chunk of flesh in your mouth and move to another spot on his throat before grinding down slightly. 

“Ahh-!”

So now that he’s all sprawled out beneath you…that means the blood is finally running to the other parts of his body. The raging hard on in his jeans jerking up into the crotch of your sweatpants is more than enough evidence. 

Pulling your lips from his neck and sitting upright once more, Ryuzaki lays beneath you panting as if he had just run a marathon. Cheeks flushed pink and chest heaving as he attempts to ground himself, he only peels his eyes open once the radio cuts to a run of advertisements. 

“You ok there?” You tease lightly, enjoying the way he seems to melt beneath you. 

L swallows and drags his blown out eyes over the bummy outfit adorning your body as if it were the most sexual arousing pieces of fabric he’s ever seen. Hands that lingered on your waist tug to the kangaroo pouch of your hoodie before pinching the lower hem of the article. 

“It’s my turn, right?”

Your coy smirk falters slightly as Ryuzaki pushes himself up onto his elbows and slowly grinds his boner against your cunt as the angle of the position changes.

You blink slightly, taken aback. “Huh? O-oh..”

He sits up all the way and leans against the armrest to keep himself upright before leaning his torso to essentially hug you. Still sitting on his lap, his face is eye-level with your breasts as he tilts his head up to stare into your eyes; his chin and part of his cheek are essentially squished into your right tit. 

“Yea…you can leave some on me now.”

Sharp canines poke from his lips as Ryuzaki smiles up at you with eyes glazed over before he turns his attention back to the oversized fabric that keeps him from your flesh. Slender fingers tug the hem once more. “So…can I take this off then?”

You suck in a breath and admire the image of him so patiently sitting beneath you; the dull sound of the radio and the food on the table long forgotten as Ryuzaki looks up with his neck littered with a variety of markings you left on him. 

“Of course, L.”

Ryuzaki pauses slightly but swallows it before you can notice the small shift in his demeanor. The fabric of the oversized hoodie bundles together as he pushes it up and you take the folds to pull it over your head completely. 

Your bummy ‘at home outfit’ isn’t risqué by any means, now sitting on his lap with uni sweatpants and a tank top, but the exposure of flesh makes you shiver as he takes it all in. To be fair, it’s the most exposed version of you he’s ever seen.

Dark eyes trail from the band of your sweatpants up to the soft skin of your biceps, to the dip of your collarbone that pokes up from your basic tank top. You squirm slightly in your position, feeling so vulnerable despite the layers of clothing you both still wear; the shift of your hips grinds against his erection once more.

As if snapping back to the task at hand, Ryuzaki sits further upright to shift you lower in his lap to point where his head is back at the same level as yours. Slender hands raise to push a few strands away from your face before tilting his head forward to mold his lips into yours. 

The objective is to mark up your neck, instead he rocks his head in a waving motion to keep his lips attached to yours. Ryuzaki pulls back once to tilt the opposite direction and reconnect your mouths over and over again as if he needed it to live. Nearly every kiss you share feels ‘different’, as if more emotion is being poured into the action from the last. 

He kisses you like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do– as if the stress and worry of the task force doesn’t exist; as if you were simply two twenty-something year olds with nothing else to do but enjoy each other’s presence. 

Ryuzaki pulls back first but keeps his eyes shut as his lips trail to the soft perfumed flesh of your neck. He breathes deeply through his nose, the light air gust making you giggle at the sensation, before he latches onto the same pulse point you had marked on him. 

The sensation is one you haven’t felt in a while, and you can’t help but lean into desire for more. Tangling your hands in his dark hair, sighing when he pinches his teeth around the skin, and rocking your pelvis against his erection with craving. 

“I thought you said we weren’t supposed to move” He teases before trailing his lips to another spot and running his tongue along it. 

You chuckle and let out a slight groan when he begins to suck another large bruise on your jugular. “Ahh– would you rather me stop?”

The moment you pause to dry hump against his crotch, Ryuzaki bites the skin a little harder and groans into it. Reverberations making you shiver, L slides a hand from your waist to the under plush of your thigh to pull you back into the rocking motion on his lap. 

“N-Never said…” he murmurs along your neck, placing far more hickies on you than you got to on him. “Never said to stop…”

Ryuzaki continues biting and twitching his hips up into you until he’s effectively left an exponential amount of bruises against your flesh. From just under your jaw, to the ridges of your collarbone, to the very seam of your neckline above your breasts is covered in bite marks and hickies. 

The raw feeling makes you shudder, pulling his hair slightly to tug his mouth away from its current position on your shoulder. 

“I think you’ve done enough, no?”

Ryuzaki’s hooded eyes barely look into yours, instead he finds more focus on all the other parts of your body that seem to call his name– waiting to be signed with his mouth. 

He pouts his lip when you keep his head a safe few inches away. “Mmmm, but there’s a few more areas not covered yet…”

It’s a strange sensation to see such a renowned detective effectively pouting at being denied biting your shoulder, but there’s bigger issues at hand. 

You run a hand to push his hair away from his face and smile to yourself at the way it messily refalls to cover his eyes, before pushing a hand flat on his chest to lay down flat once more. With a short sigh, you stand on your knees to kneel between his splayed on the couch, watching the way he tilts his head in careful attentiveness to the action.

Ghosting a finger over the swell in his jeans of his throbbing erection, any hesitation you’ve been harboring over the past few days is thrown out the window. You need this.. And with a stressful lifestyle of solving the world’s most difficult cases, you’re more than certain he probably needs this too. 

Pinching the hem of his baggy white crewneck, you look up at L and silently tug it; he blinks once and places his hands on top of yours for a moment before nodding and guiding the fabric up and off. 

The material hits the throw rug of your living room floor in a silent fall as you take your time to admire the open canvas of his torso. He’s pale. Like.. REALLY pale. His skin is fair enough that the blue and purple veins that tangle inside his body can be traced rather easily with your fingertips.

Ryuzaki stares at your face, trying his hardest to read your mind as you drink in the physique he always keeps hidden from the sun and everyone else’s gaze. Years of sitting inside in front of screens and paper documents have left him with a nimble build with a low body fat percentage, but not necessarily boney. 

It’s obvious he’s athletic of sorts, hearing a few stories of his tennis match against Light before you joined the task force, but he’s not sporting muscles like a gym bro. There’s a softness to his belly when he breathes deeply, and touching the faint outline of his abs makes him tense to reveal the beginning of an Adonis Belt. 

L squirms slightly as you silently trace the swell of his pecs before finally trailing down his navel to the very obvious beginning of a happy trail that disappears into his jeans. His erection throbs in ache the moment your fingertips even ghost the copper button of the denim restricting it. 

“Is it… ok for you?” He whispers. 

You blink once and turn back to him with a reassuring smile on your lips. “Oh, yes! Yes… its– you’re perfect.”

Ryuzaki lays as still as a cadaver, unable to move as your praise for his physique renders his mind completely blank for the first time in a long while. Though he doesn’t dislike the feeling of being out of control. If it means his physical senses get to be at 100% performance then he’d gladly lay beneath you whenever you call for it. 

You smile down at him and lean to place a slow kiss to his lips as Ryuzaki regains the ability to move and places his hands gently on your shoulder blades– unsure of exactly where to put them at a time like now. 

Dragging your lips away from his mouth, you graze further south from his neck, leaving nips and kisses to his erect nipples, the upper swell of his pecs, until you reach the soft flesh of his stomach. Hovering and crawling down lower and lower, your lips plant small pecks to the light ridges of a V-line while your chest is flush against his clothed cock. 

“Oh…” a low grumble escapes L’s lips as his head tilts back into the armrest and digs his hands into your hair out of primal instinct of wanting you to go even further. “Ngh..that’s good…feels good..”

You blush at the praise and continue until the pubes that litter his lower navel tickle your nose and your breath is ghosting the most sensitive area of his body. 

It’s hot. Everything is hot. 

The mature resolve of a genius has melted into the pathetically yearning man beneath you. The way your thighs stick together as your arousal soaks through your painties in a pathetic need. How, despite all the stupid pretenses you both use as an excuse to see each other, your bodies both know how genuine the desire is. 

Tracing the belt loop of his jeans, your gaze falls on his erection once more before his hands are tugging your head up and away from his cock. 

“W-Wait.”

Immediately you pause and sit upright, cursing yourself for letting your stupid hormones get in the way and moving too fast for his comfort. 

Rocking back, he winces slightly when you tug your hands away and raise them in apology. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to pressure you at all… we can stop–”

“No–!”  L swallows his rushed answer and sheepishly looks down at his discarded shirt. “I mean… trust me I want to keep going…”

He pauses to make a gesture to his very obvious arousal with his chin before tracing the elastic waistband of your sweatpants absentmindedly– as if not touching you would be the cause of his death. 

“I don’t want this or anything further to happen under the explanation that you’re doing it to ‘show me what you did with your ex’ or ‘because it’s part of the job’.” He states, slowly working out the sentence as it processes in his mind. 

You wet your lips and look at him, all of him, beneath you as he continues. “I know the little stunts we’ve pulled in the past were for protection, and I still stand by their usefulness. But… I don’t think I can lay here and spend time with you and be fine with pretending it’s all part of an act when I think there’s something more going on.”

“I agree.”

It’s the only words you can find in this very sexually tense moment to describe the mutual understanding he’s just put on the table. Is it a proclamation of love and a devoted long term relationship? No. Well.. if it is, then you aren’t really able to gauge that level of commitment without something a bit more clear.

But it’s an acknowledgement that whatever tension you were feeling, he was too. A shared agreement of exclusivity which opens the door for a face-to-face chat of a real label. For now though, it’s enough to feel comfortable moving forward.

Ryuzaki places his hands back on yours and places them idly at his navel once more. “You agree?”

“Yea...” You run a soft graze along his knuckles before looking up at the half naked man on your sofa. “I want this because it’s with you. Not just because of the case, but because I like this– I like us.”

Ryuzaki half undressed with a raging hard on isnt’ the ideal scenario to sit and have a proper conversation on something more official, but this mutual understanding is more than enough to calm both of your anxieties it seems. 

L smiles gently and blinks a few times to himself, no doubt processing not only a new wave of physical simulations he may have never previously felt– but also experiencing the feelings of something more than friends for the time ever in his life. He seems to be taking it well, drinking in the information before swallowing thickly and releasing his grasp on your hands letting you continue taking the lead. 

You let out a small chuckle of air, as the erotic scene is acknowledged by you both, before you lean down to pepper a few more kisses to his torso. The light sighs and twitches that escape the man beneath you are more relaxed and natural as his body loosens up to the pleasure coursing through him. 

Peeking at him one more time, you turn your attention to his jeans and release the button and fly before shimmying them down. Ryuzaki raises his hips on your command to tug the material to his mid thigh before groaning loudly when your hands ghost over the very large saturated stain on the front of his boxers. 

It looks nearly painful. Light gray boxers host a sopping puddle at the peak of the tent as his cock throbs and twitches at being one step closer to freedom. You trace the outline of his swollen tip once, then twice– enjoying the way he squirms in anticipation for more, before moving to grasp the flimsy elastic of the material. 

“Ngh.. t-that’s nice..”

A smile adorns your lips as you trace the length one more time before tugging the fly of the boxers open just an inch to let his cock slip partially through. The change in temperature makes him suck in a shallow breath as you admire the scene in front of you. 

Though not totally freed from the fabric, you can tell he’s decently long with an average weight; his tip is a warm pale blush color [#d1a19b] that shines with pearls of precum dripping from the slit. Smearing the drippings with your thumb down to his frenulum and rubbing slightly, Ryuzaki throws his head back as his hands clench the sofa cushions below. 

“You ok?” You soothe, releasing the slight pinch on his tip to rub a bit more of his own lubrication down the throbbing vein that sits underneath his shaft. 

“Y-Yea, of course.”

If it weren’t for the way his mouth hung partially open and his voice was wavering with sensitivity, it would almost look like Ryuzaki was in pain. His eyes are wired shut and his knuckles are pure white from their grip on the cushion– though the way he profusely leaks and twitches makes you wonder if he’s so hard that it actually does hurt. 

You hum once and remove your hand, to which he immediately cracks an eye open, until he feels you shimmy his boxers down to join his jeans. Now fully freed, you can take a better moment to enjoy the complete sight.

7, maybe 7.5 inches, throb against his navel as a thick and untamed patch of pubic hair covers his base and most of his balls. His cock is thrumming in an eager desire while his balls hang heavy, most likely undrained from days without the time to jack off. 

How often does a guy like him even masturbate? It’s not like he sleeps often either… so when's the last time he could take a moment to himself?

You shake out the meaningless thoughts and can feel your nipples hardening against your bra and your panties becoming uncomfortably sticky. L can feel you’re taking an extra moment, but before he can question himself again, you lean forward and let a long string of saliva drip from your lips and land on his cock. 

Smearing it with his precum, you give Ryuzaki a few testing pumps and gauge his reaction before leaning down to place a few licks to his tip. By the time your lips wrap around him fully and begin to suck, the man is gone. 

“Haaaa oh my– ngh…!”

There’s not a thought in his head as you inch down lower and lower until your nose is tickled by the long strands that litter his pelvis. His hips twitch beneath you, edging up into your mouth until you gag slightly at the pressure of his tip rutting against your throat.

“Ah s-sorry, just ngh feels…. Haaa”

The lack of a coherent thought process is made up for with physical sensitivity as his hands leave the sofa cushions and tangle in your hair. His cock throbs against the flat of your tongue as you take turns between hollowing your cheeks and sucking, and spitting against his length and jacking him off when your jaw begins to ache. 

Ryuzaki’s jaw is slack and open wide as moans shamelessly fall from his lips as his head is tilted over the armrest and hanging idly. It fuels your ego at seeing him unravel so quickly under your control, and a hand leaves your hair to shakily cover his mouth as the sounds increase in volume.

It’s as if you were sucking the soul out of this man– you’re not even sure it’s your best performance given the angle and your own pent up desires, but Ryuzaki squirms and sighs beneath you as if he’s viewing heaven’s gate. 

This is what he’s been missing his whole life. 

At this point his pubes are saturated in a mixture of saliva and precum, essentially matted to the flesh of his base and balls. It’s an erotic mess of moans and bodily fluids as Ryuzaki’s twitches get more and more impatient and his cock throbs within your mouth. Heavy balls pulse in anticipation as your hands move to massage them and your tongue ruts against his frenulum a few more times.

Babbles and incoherent phrases leave his lips in a volume louder than his normal speaking level as saliva dribbles from your lips, down your chin, and drips onto his thighs. 

There’s a mix between a sharp inhale and a choked moan before Ryuzaki’s hips jerk forward and he’s cumming. Hard. 

“Oh my– AH–”

One hand is still tangled in your hair, ensuring his length keeps pouring hot seed down your throat, while the other is between his teeth as he bites down to muffle his own sounds. It’s barely been 3 and a half minutes and L has already come completely undone, panting as if he’s just run a marathon. 

You swallow what you can– it’s obvious he hasn’t cum in the last day or two given the amount of ropes pouring from his cock– and a few drops escape your mouth and trickle down the sides of your lips. The viscosity is a bit thinner than honey and the taste is relatively neutral with a twinge of sweetness to it considering the amount of sugar that must be coursing through his body.

Ryuzaki seems lost in his own world before you cough slightly at the lack of airflow and he immediately removes his hand to allow you to slide off his length. 

“O-Oh sorry! I didn’t… haaaa… didn’t mean to cum so early… would’ve given you a better warning..”

You wipe the few drops from your chin and rock back onto your heels, swallowing the rest of the thick viscosity in your throat and shoot him a reassuring smile.

“No it’s alright… actually kinda fuels my ego a little.”

Ryuzaki nods once but keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he takes several deep breaths. His erection slowly softening, a mixture of cum and saliva dripping from his tip down to his balls, and sweat beads forming on his forehead. 

You rub a reassuring hand on his thigh as L comes down from his high, leaning down to plant a soft kiss to his chest right above his heart, before getting up to grab a glass of water. You take a few gulps before refilling it and padding back to let him rehydrate; he chugs nearly half the contents before looking up to you and tugging your hand.

It’s a silent plea that you answer, tilting at the hips to plant a slow and soft kiss against his lips; the remaining taste of his own seed tingling on his tongue as he molds his mouth against yours. 

“Thank you…” He mumbles quietly. 

You smile and unconsciously clench your thighs together, wondering if reciprocation was in the cards, before sliding back next to him and watching the way he tugs himself back into his boxers. 

“How are you feeling?”

L sits upright, still shimmying his jeans, “Well, I think it goes without saying but–”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey! Are you home?”

….

You’re silent. The slight smile on Ryuzaki lips dies immediately as the metal front door to your apartment rattles against the hinges. 

You glance down at L with a worried expression which he returns with a questionable look. “Are you expecting someone..?” He barely whispers.

Before you can answer there’s another set of knocks at the door as whoever is on the other side is obviously getting impatient. Staring down at Ryuzaki for another moment, you slink off the couch and take a few quiet steps over to the kitchen; L stands up and follows suit with a shrug and obvious confusion. 

You pause beside him and usher him to the door which he responds with a head tilt. It’s a semi-silent whisper/telepathic argument for him to check the peephole. He may be half-naked and covered in hickies, but he's the guy, so you usher him forward to the shoe rack by the front door. 

Ryuzaki gets maybe another 4 steps away from the peephole before the metal rings out again with another series of knocks.

“Come on, I know you’re in there! Watari told me L already stopped by to drop a few things off–” the voice rings out. Matsuda’s voice. 

Immediately you both scramble to swap the positions as quickly as possible; sliding on the wooden floorboards in your socks as you rush back to the living room to throw on your hoodie and scoop up the clothing articles of Ryuzaki. 

Erection still deflating in his boxers, you bundle up his crew neck and shove it into his arms as you coerce him into the coat closet next to the entrance. Fluffing your hair and throwing the hood up to cover the sides of your neck, you rush over to the door and swing it open to reveal Matsuda’s hand raised in preparation to knock once more. 

“WOA– Ah!” Matsuda startles back slightly. “Geeez, give me a heart attack while you're at it! What took you so long to answer?”

You awkwardly step back and swing the door open wider to invite him inside, taking note of the small bag in his hand as you try to calm the pounding in your chest. 

“Ohh, just uh.. Took a shower!”

He watches you shut the door and raises an eyebrow at your very dry hair. 

“It was a rinse! Hahah.. Just took a run and rinsed off…”

Matsuda shrugs but doesn’t bother it any further before sliding off his shoes and noticing the obvious other pair of men’s shoes sitting at the entrance. This, he has to comment on. 

“Is there someone else here…? Ryuzaki–”

“Just a spare pair of his!” 

He pauses at the entrance to your kitchen, just briefly passing by the coat closet, completely unaware of the hidden presence of his boss in your apartment. It’s clear Matsuda is a bit confused by your behavior, but he doesn’t have the motivation to pry much further.

“Right, well I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” He shuffles to the kitchen counter and places his messenger bag on the surface before turning back to you with the small paper bag in his hands. “It’s nothing big, I just wanted to apologize.”

You peel your eyes away from their cautious glance at Ryuzaki’s hiding spot and blink once at Matsuda. “Huh? Apologize for what?”

He places the bag in your hands, and peering down you can briefly make out what seems like a small pastry box. “I know that it took a lot of courage to be open with the group about you and L… and I also know that you both probably don’t appreciate that your relationship becomes the but of a lot of jokes– so I wanted to apologize.”

Ah! He’s so sweet you could probably cry. 

Sure, a lot of the off-handed comments are annoying, but that’s all they are at the end of the day. Especially since the remarks are about a relationship that barely fits the definition of an ‘official’ one anyways. 

You smile at Matsuda nonetheless and thank him for the goodies regardless. “Was there anything else that you needed?”

He exhales slightly and shifts his attention back to the messenger bag he usually carries with him, taking a moment of silence to stare at the contents before deciding to turn and face you once more. It doesn’t take a trained detective to catch on to the nerves eating away under his skin.

“Well there is one more thing… but it’s not exactly my position to explain it entirely.”

You raise an eyebrow and reach forward to grab the manila folder in his hand, scanning the documents with a frown. Each page seems to be a list of contacts, addresses, and connections to a variety of police organizations scattered across the globe. 

Matsuda awkwardly rocks on his feet and organizes the rest of his belongings in an eager desire to leave.

“What…. Is all of this?”

You flip through a few more until a heavy feeling forms in your chest. Emergency contact papers. Though they aren’t for Matsuda– instead it’s a variety of the world’s next best detectives and agencies that can be contacted for assistance if a crisis were to happen. 

“It’s from the NPA. Just… a few traditional outlets for help if–” Matsuda looks at the corner of the kitchen and hunches over slightly in a forlorn expression. “If things don’t quite work out under L...”

“Huh?!”

You don’t mean to get mad at him, he’s just the messenger after all, but the tension in the room is palpable. 

“So what does this mean? They don’t trust Ryuzaki or us enough to let us make our own decisions?”

Matsuda winces and rubs a hand against the back of his neck. “I’m not sure to be honest, and you had the same reaction as Aizawa. He thinks the NPA is just trying to save face after the death of the FBI agents– if something goes wrong, they want to have jurisdiction again.”

“They were the ones that cut off task force funding in the first place. And besides, what do they even mean if something goes wron–”

You pause and look back down at the names and a heavy silence falls back into the room. Matsuda slings the bag back over his shoulder and inches forward, unsure if he should give you space or offer a reassuring pat on the back. 

“It’s unlikely to happen, ok? The only way the NPA can weasel back in is if L lets them.”

If it weren’t for the pair of shoes peeking in the corner of your vision, you would’ve completely forgotten that Ryuzaki was still in the coat closet listening to every word. Matsuda holds your gaze in a mutual understanding that ‘L letting them take control over the investigation’ was synonymous with ‘if L were to die’.

It’s an uncomfortable topic, especially considering your position, and you pity the short straw Matsuda drew to be the one to deliver this information. The list of contacts has a variety of names redacted and edited for everyone’s safety, but a location southwest of London catches your eye. The entirety of the name is blacked out with the only information being the town. There's nothing significant about even the lack of phone number, but your attention lingers on it for a moment regardless.

For a fleeting second you almost feel the same way you did the first night you joined the task force; a feeling of uncertainty on who L really is. Sure the man at the hotel introduced himself to you all as him, a mutual trust formed, but who’s to say that’s really ‘him’. Or if L is an idea, a group, or another person and the man in your closet is merely a vessel or placeholder for that. 

Matsuda shifts side to side in an awkward anxiousness and adjusts the straps of his bag. “Well that’s all I’ve got for now. Do you already know where you’re posted for tonight?”

You take a breath and place the folder on your counter before tightening the strings of your hood. “Mmm I’m on PR duty for Misa’s manager– drafting up documents for arrest charges for assumed drug possession. Not like I really know when we’ll be detaining her though…”

“Ah lucky, I’m supposed to be with Ryuzaki reviewing her most recent marketing campaigns for anything that could link her in a better timeline to Light.”

You stifle a laugh and he raises an eyebrow while sliding on his shoes. “Maybe you’ll wind up liking her content.”

He rolls his eyes at you and replies sarcastically. “Ha. Ha. Veeeery funny. Mogi and Aizawa are on call for the transportation of her arrest while I’m stuck in a room with L watching dumb advertisements.” He pauses for a moment. “Ah, that reminds me, I should probably give Ryuzaki a call and let him know I’ll be at our observation spot a bit early.”

You refrain from egging him on even more, knowing full well that the said ‘dreaded activities’ would be taking place with company currently hidden, and push his cellphone back into his chest. “Maybe wait a bit; he messaged me earlier about having to make a few international calls and won’t be available until early evening.”

Matsuda doesn’t question the information and instead heads out the door with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the heads up! Would’ve been awkward if I interrupted something haha.”

You offer a shrug and wave him a ‘goodbye’ before shutting the door and placing a soft knock against the coat closet. 

Ryuzaki slides it open a crack before peering at the front door and then looking up at you expectantly. “Is reviewing her materials that much of a dreaded task? I thought it would’ve been rather relaxing for him.”

His shirt is on backwards given the darkness of the closet but his boxers and jeans are back to their usual low position on his hips. Ryuzaki’s neck is still covered in bruises, but the fact that this night’s meeting will be split positions means you won’t have anyone giving you grievances.

“Mmm well consider this his payment for actually interrupting.”

Ryuzaki scoffs in a partial laugh and swings his crew neck around to face the correct position and pads over to skim the documents that Matsuda delivered. “I don’t take this as hostility, but their sudden interest is inconvenient. This isn’t just a list of emergency contacts in case of my absence, but could essentially serve as a hit list for Light.”

You watch him skim through them and shrug. “I doubt it’s information he doesn’t already know considering he probably has access to all the files his dad has. It’s also not like there’s names or photos listed.” 

Ryuzaki keeps his gaze on the papers a moment longer before his phone pings with a message from Watari for their agreed pick-up time. 

L wanders back over the shoe rack and awkwardly shoves his feet in his own sneakers but doesn’t make an effort to leave. You walk to the edge of the kitchen floor, his baseball hat and sunglass disguise in tow, and hover slightly behind, the list of addresses still fresh in your mind. “You wanna talk about England? I don’t know of any investigation groups near Winchester.”

The man blinks and stands back up, his back against the wall and his shoulder slightly angled away. “At a later time perhaps. Though I was surprised you caught it considering the many  notable agencies listed.”

It’s the answer you expect, a dodge with a small compliment thrown in there to appease your curiosity enough to stop prying. You purse your lips indifferently, already aware you weren’t going to get a straightforward answer. “It just stood out to me is all…. Not like I know what half of those contacts actually are.”

Ryuzaki hums to himself with a faraway look in his eyes and gnaws on the corner of his lips, as if making a mental to-do list and organizing them in order of priority. He waits an extra moment until satisfied and turns his full attention back to you. “I’m sorry to leave suddenly, I was hoping we’d have more time.”

A pink dusts your cheeks and you shrug as casually as you can, as if your panties weren’t plastered to your cunt in arousal from the shared moment only minutes ago. “It’s fine… you can just pay me back next time?”

“Huh? Oh, yes! Yes, I would like to return the sentiment if that’s alright.” He snaps the elastic of your sweatpants against your hips once. 

You laugh at his phrasing and nod in approval as he slightly beams in excitement. He moves to slip on the disguise and take the door handle but pauses to give you another glance; Ryuzaki is silent but peers at you through the corner of his eye like a dog.

Despite him not wanting to say it, the look is written all over his face that he’s clearly waiting for ‘ahem’ something. Shaking your head and sighing lightly, you step down to the genkan and lean in to plant a small kiss to his lips. 

The exhale he releases through his nose tickles your cheeks and when you finally pull back, he chases forward to plant just oneee more peck and spin back around to the door. “Alright, now I’ll be off!”

*****

The evening meeting is split up with varying tasks, members fulfilling a variety of different positions for the upcoming arrest. Matsuda is with Ryuzaki reviewing Misa’s content to ensure the timeline of her and Light match, Mogi and Aizawa are solidifying the transportation method given the threat of apprehending a Second Kira, and Mr. Yagami and Light are at the monthly NPA meeting to give updates on the investigation– of course to also ensure Light’s uninvolvement with Misa’s arrest. 

It’s hard to concentrate, though the task at hand doesn’t require much brain capacity anyways. Filling out legal forms, ensuring police warrants are in line, and filing an array of suspected evidence for when lawyers eventually come calling isn’t the most entertaining job, though it’s relatively straightforward. 

You almost feel guilty everytime your mind wanders back to how little you really know about the man who reciprocates your interest. For every lingering touch, breathless kiss, and moment alone with him, there seems to be an equal force shrouding him in more mystery. 

Part of you doesn’t care at this point, not bothering to get hung up on trivial matters when the connection between you both is so solidified. Who cares if his identity is a mystery that literally only… one[?] person knows the truth of? You enjoy spending time with him and he feels the same… so why should it matter?

You fill out the next line of signatures on paperwork and flip the page, gnawing at your lip and sighing. Of all the times to have what seems like the beginnings of an actual relationship, of course it happens during an investigation for a world-wanted serial killer and with your communicationally void boss. 

Whatever, you can settle down officially later…once you catch Kira….graduate…get a job, and a good income… the list is impossible. Maybe you’re doomed to rot away in your apartment alone for the rest of your days.

The evening is relatively dull, with occasional updates from the members before you finish the task and begin to wind down. To you it doesn’t matter who Ryuzaki is, just having him around, alive, is enough to satisfy. 

*****

Summer classes are a scam. 

Even if you get an additional set of credits that are ‘supposed to put a competitive edge on your resume’, the amount of brain power it requires is not worth it. Most of your friends are enjoying the warm weather on vacation, tanning at the beach, picnicking in parks, and getting some well needed rest after a grueling academic year; you are standing in the cold-ass lobby of the criminology building shivering in a sweatshirt. 

The AC is on waaay too strong for the relatively mild weather outside and you're torn between ditching your desire for a diet cola to get a hot coffee when the automatic doors swing open. Too focused on the string of vending machines, you barely register another person on a relatively desolate summer campus until a hand is waving in the corner of your eye. 

“Sorry! I was wondering if you could help me–”

You blink and turn to face the voice, immediately dropping your hand from its position at tapping the buttons of ‘A6’ for a compromise of an iced coffee container. Long blonde hair is pulled into partial ponytails while intense evening makeup adorns her features despite the time only being half-past 2pm. Her eyes seemingly flick upwards to a space above your head before her voice pauses in surprise with the same shocked expression you both wear. 

Not realizing the two of you indirectly know each other, neither of you make a move until Misa blinks in remembering her request for help in the first place. 

“Ah sorry miss, you just look familiar is all haha! I was wondering if you could help me out?”

Her eyes dip to the tattoo of bruises on your neck with an intense scowl, eyes nearly turning red, before she swallows it and continues. “I’m looking for the criminology building.”

You adjust the floppy collar of the hoodie and sheepishly point to the ground. “Oh, this is the criminology building.”

SHIT. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. This is exactly what you DIDN’T want to happen.

Misa blinks in embarrassment and turns to face the large floor to ceiling windows of the lobby that open to the courtyard of the eastern part of campus. There’s not too many people walking around, especially during summer classes, aside from a few tour groups guiding potential students around. A certain figure…s.. catch your attention though. 

A young man walking casually towards the building with a woman right beside him; the two pause for an extra moment to talk and Misa takes a sharp inhale and begins to sputter an excuse to leave. She barely gets two steps away from your position as the woman who was just speaking with Light waves him goodbye and a man sitting on a nearby bench waves him over instead. A man with terrible posture and tacky looking sunglasses on. 

Ok, was there some sort of meeting you were unaware about? 

“Light?” “Light?”

You say it at the same time and sheepishly smile at each other before Misa runs out of the criminology building and you scurry after her. 

This is bad. REALLY bad. If she’s the Second Kira and gets a glimpse at L’s face… the only thing she’ll need to kill him is a name. 

The drink falls to the retrieval area but you’re already out the door and running across the courtyard to bother mourning the wasted beverage. Misa arrives there a second before you, though you bypass her to step directly in front of Ryuzaki and shimmy off your sweatshirt to throw at him.

Both men, partially stunned at the encounter of both of their girlfriends, exchange a look before glancing at the company. You stand with your back to Light and Misa, focused on trying your best to cover his appearance as quickly as possible. 

“Ah, you left your hoodie at my apartment!! Better take it now or else I’m keeping it!!” 

L lets out a half chuckle but doesn’t protest your attempts at dressing him in your own clothing nonetheless; he lets his head be guided through the hood and tugs the oversized fabric to fit a bit more comfortably. His eyes lighten at your appearance as his gaze traces the bruises that are now on full display from the t-shirt neckline that leaves them exposed. 

“Thank you, I was beginning to wonder if you were holding it for ransom as a reason for me to come over.”

Misa, who was previously gushing over seeing her boyfriend, spins around at your conversation and relaxes slightly. L’s gaze is still locked on you, even when you side step to remain in front of him and away from the other woman’s stare.

“Perhaps it’s time for introductions?” Light offers through grit teeth, a hollow smile and empty eyes crinkle at the forced civility. 

Ryuzaki leans from over your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear, “A wonderful idea Light! I would love to meet your girlfriend.”

A happy pink flushes Misa’s cheeks at the ‘g-word’ and she steps forward with her hand outstretched. “I’m Misa! Light’s girlfriend.”

There’s an awkward tension between everyone else at that phrase, but no one feels like addressing it. L side steps past you, despite your intentions to keep him hidden, and meets her hand. “I’m Ryuzaki, and this is my girlfriend.”

Misa pauses with a confused expression, her eyes once again glancing upward before laughing slightly. She smiles at the reason for the hickies littering your skin not being because of Light while the aforementioned man scowls deeply at L. You take Misa’s hand next and offer your name and brief working relationship with Light and his father while the campus gets more and more crowded. 

A hand now casually holding your waist, Ryuzaki has an uncanny grin plastered on his lips while Light’s brows are furrowed. Before you can shove an elbow in L’s ribs at what his genius plan to get out of this situation is, he tugs you tightly behind himself and protects you instead. 

“You know I’m actually a fan of yours, Miss Amane.”

Light steps forward slightly but Misa cuts him off and beams at him. “Really?!”

“Mhmm, my girlfriend here follows your social media. She showed me your movies and the little cafe spots you recommend.”

Despite the response being for her, Light knows the entire meaning is directed for him– a not-so subtle way of letting him know how close an eye he’s been keeping. If Light wants to stalk your ex-boyfriends, why not dig up dirt on his ‘current ‘relationships’?

Misa expectedly turns to you. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Oh! I just didn’t want to make a scene…”

A scene that was very much happening right now. 

Despite there not being ample reason for a crowd, a small circle of students and visitors begin crowding around the four of you and whispering. 

“Isn’t that Misa Misa? What’s she doing here?!”

“Woa and with the most popular guy on campus…?”

“And there’s Ryuga… that guy barely shows up to classes at all so what’s he doing?”

“Kyahh~ that emo guy is totally my type!”

“You need better standards…”

“The two smartest guys on campus each have a baddie?! Maybe I should start studying…”

Misa doesn’t seem to mind the crowd, instead she flourishes within it and takes the time to offer selfies and promotional content for her big movie or tv show or whatever magazine she’s going to be appearing in. However, the more she entertains the crowd, the busier it gets.

As the group becomes more and more squished together as the onlookers crowd in closer, the grasp on your waist is replaced with a quick squeeze to your hand. Ryuzaki steps slightly to the side and is immediately lost in the sea of people fawning over Misa, with calls for autographs and photos drowning out your voice. 

You stumble through the crowd slightly, grabbing onto Light’s forearm for balance when you bump into him; there’s a mixture of excitement in his eyes but a frown plastered on his face when his gaze drags over your neck. 

“I should grab Misa and get out of here” he offers with an energetic smile. 

Despite the idea of having peace and quiet sounding more appealing than anything, the change in his tone leaves you nervous. Before you can offer a response, a shriek rings out through the crowd and several people back away when Misa screeches out.

“Hey! Someone just grabbed my ass?!” 

She looks over to Light with a pout, recognizing his far distance from her meant it wasn’t her boyfriend getting frisky, but instead a pervy onlooker. Several men raise their hands in defense, but when the circle around her clears slightly, there’s a very conveniently placed Ryuzaki standing too close for comfort.

Misa stomps the ground and throws her hands onto her hips while he sheepishly smiles and slowly backs up. “Uhh… I’ll get to the bottom of this! I won’t rest until the culprit has been found and dealt with!”

He slinks further backwards and you frown as the crowd squeezes him out to regain their proximity to the celebrity. 

Ok, it’s obvious he has a plan. … right? Not like you’re mad or anything…. 

…. But why the fuck did he need to touch her in the first place anyways??

Before you can let the anger fester, Light tugs you away from the crowd once he sees a very angry management team pushing through people to reign Misa back in. Ryuzaki waits by a bench idly, stepping forward when he sees you and reclaiming the spot beside you as Light scoffs at the business of the campus. 

There’s a bit of a scuffle as Misa’s manager essentially drags her away from the crowd of fans and berrates her about an intense schedule she’s threatening to ruin. Misa doesn’t pout much, she offers a small apology and waves frantically to you all in an eager attempt to offer a future ‘double date’ when she’s not busy. 

The crowd slowly filters out and when Ryuzaki makes an effort to grab your hand, you pinch the flesh on his knuckles and shoot him a sideways glance. A pout forming on his lips, he stays silent and takes your pinky finger between his index and thumb to soothe any tension; Light sighs as he watches her disappear, though there’s a faint smile on his lips.

“Well, sorry about the commotion, everyone. Especially you, Ryuzaki, I know how much you hate crowds.” Light’s voice is void of genuine sincerity. 

Ryuzaki shrugs. “Not at all. Her surprise appearance is certainly interesting, but I’m glad to have met her regardless.”

There’s an unspoken tension between you three, and before Light can open his mouth again, you cut between them. “I’m going back to class. Walk me there, L?”

His gaze lifts from Light and instantly relaxes when you finally take his full hand in your own; fingers intertwining and tugging him back towards the criminology building. You both give a slight wave off to Light, but before you can question Ryuzaki, a cute ringtone pours out from the front pocket of his jeans. 

L shoots you a small smirk and flips it open. “Heellloooo?”

…

You pause. And apparently down the pathway, so has Light; he stands motionless with his phone pressed to his ear. 

“What are you doing, Ryuzaki?”

“Oh wow! I guess in the middle of the chaos she must’ve dropped her phone! That’s rather unfortunate.”

The exaggerated voice from his lips makes you think back to the time he called you, when you were on a lunch ‘date’ with Light. It’s coy and way too energetic to be natural; you drop your hand from his to cover the laugh escaping your lips and Ryuzaki looks up with the same pout as when you refused his hand earlier. 

Light has stopped responding at this point, and L leans into the phone repeating ‘hello?’ and wondering if the service dropped until there’s a tap on his shoulder. 

Pissed off doesn’t begin to describe the emotion dripping off of Light, but Ryuzaki doesn’t seem phased in the slightest. Instead, he shuts the cellphone and slides it into the other man’s hand with a petty smirk. “Ah Light you’re still here! Maybe it would be best to give that back to Misa since you’re in close contact.”

“Right. I’ll do just that.” Each word is spit out and Light doesn’t bother waving goodbye to either one of you before turning west towards the main quad. 

Before you can watch him walk off or look around to see if anyone suspicious might be lingering, Ryuzaki reclaims your hand and tugs you into the lobby of the criminology building once more. He walks over to the large windows and flips the blinds down one by one while you pad over the vending machines to see if your iced coffee might still be sitting at the bottom. 

It’s not. 

Pushing the air out of your lungs, you reach around in your pockets to search for your coin purse until Ryuzaki grabs your arm to steady it. 

“I only did it to grab her phone.”

You don’t need a definition of it to know he’s referring to grabbing Misa’s cellphone. “I know.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but settles on silence instead; he looks at the wall clock and tugs the hood of the sweatshirt off. 

“Wait, what if Misa isn’t the Second Kira? And maybe there’s someone waiting nearby to get a glimpse of you–mpfh”

Soft lips cut you off as L rocks his head against yours and wraps his hands around the curve of your waist. The shut window blinds make the lobby dark as the LEDs overhead haven’t been turned on yet given the early time of day; the irises of his eyes are darker than usual.

You pull away when there’s the sound of commotion and people yelling echoing across the courtyard, but Ryuzaki takes your chin and kisses you again. Everytime you try to break it to speak, he molds his mouth back to yours and slips in his tongue to play with your molars and silence you. 

After the fourth attempt at prying him back, you raise an eyebrow and turn your attention to the windows; his hands are still firmly on your waist to keep you pressed into him. He doesn’t let you move, instead he pivots to shelter your face entirely from view of the windows with his back to them and your head in his chest. 

“Ryuzaki– what’s going on?”

“Do I still need an excuse to kiss you..? I can think of one quickly if you give me a moment.”

Before you can roll your eyes, he tugs you back to his lips and groans slightly when his cock begins to stiffen in his jeans and grind against your pelvis. Parting for air, he takes a hand from your hip to trace the hickies that litter your neck and frowns when one or two of them seem to be already half-faded. When he doesn’t answer, you pinch his bicep and peer up. 

L’s gaze remains on the open spaces of your neck for an extra moment before thinking. “Well… it’s nearly 3pm? It should be nearly finished.”

You pause and look up at the clock with an intense expression. Outside the windows there’s a few more muffled shouts and the sound of police sirens gets louder as a new crowd forms to witness the arrest of Misa Amane. 

a/n time: OMGGG

it's getting SMUTTY YIPPEE

it's gonna get to sum p in v later [probably next chapter or so -> i just had to eassseee into it] ALSO sorry this one took so long pookies, i had some school work but i hope it lived up to ur expectation hehe

I wanna post like a small head canon to go with this series this week as well...

-> hex code: [#d1a19b]

-> ch.9 will most likely be a full blown porn with some plot SORRY [no im not]

-> im still debating on the ending of this series, but i'll most likely break the canon and have L live

likes/reblogs/comments all appreciated!

LUV U POOKIES

-oatmeal <3

taglist: @lechatparle24 @irissfoot @iheteeaifs @automaticpatroltragedy @greenapplesaucepi @thesimpnovao @leiiilaaaa @duckydee-0 @dija200 @cherry-san @hanakokunzz @maribellaaaaa @love-of-less @bakugouswaif @kakamixoxo

[wolfertinger]

a person, who wishes to remain anonymous, has put forth the effort into writing a detailed document on salem, of his online history, starting when he tried to run away, and began lying on wolfertinger.

here, they also collected various important posts and statements, i will be listing below. WARNING FOR EXTREME AND DETAILED, DISCUSSIONS OF ABUSE.

sawyer's timeline of knowing wis and salem

sawyer's timeline of mari's abuses and repeated admittance of assaulting saywer while they were high (tw assault, manipulation, abuse)

sawyer's warning post about torin/sparklekitty, an abuser that fetishizes underaged individuals, to the point they sexually interacted with a 15 and 17 year old at 19, saying "it felt wrong", and "not to tell anyone", then going on to do the same, to another 17 year old, when they were 21.

luluyam's statement, of their abuser majora, and how wis and salem continue to defend and platform them, while slandering luluyam with lies, in an attempt to destroy a genderfluid lesbian's career

cass' statement, a former partner of majora, also falsely accused of abuse, despite being able to prove with her family's word, that this "rape" did not only never occur, but was NEVER possible, meaning majora made false rape accusations against a trans person, for no reason and with no given evidence

further, a tumblr account, dedicated to exposing majora's repeated abuse and lies

evidence of continued fascist/alt-right behavior from wis

a post detailing both PAST and PRESENT actions by salem, of things he apologized for, then backtracked, and admitted he was not sorry / another post by another person, detailing even more behaviors by both salem and wis, and their inability to apologise and change

salem's association with floraverse, a community KNOWN for their grooming of younger people, and association with irl, active zoophiles and pedophiles

[mullermilkshake]

You break up with Satoru.

Part 1 <- -> Part 2

What could go wrong?

Yandere!Satoru Gojo x Fem! Reader Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Non-con,Sexual Assault,Assault,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Verbal Abuse,Possession,kinda smut

<<< For more Satoru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

“So that’s it then? You’re just gonna end things?” Satoru’s voice came through the speaker phone, the silence lingering longer than it was meant to. 

You hadn’t been together long, four months give or take. The sentiment of a relationship became more and more unbearable at how overly involved and saccharine he was.

“I-I think we are very different people and-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

It was a bullshit excuse. But what could you really say? Was this a legitimate reason to break things off?

Satoru must have caught on to your silence. He cleared his throat. “How about we talk things over? I couldn’t bear to end things like this. Let’s end things amicably.”  

You said nothing. 

“I won’t be long.”  

The line disconnected, leaving your phone screen blank. Your stomach sank lower than the basement. Was he really coming? You had already run things over in your head, what to say, what might tip him over the edge. But he seemed to understand at least. Right? 

It didn’t take long for him to arrive, rapping his knuckles against the front door like he usually did, leaning to the side of the porch by the broken lightbulb. You opened it, his signature smile and eyes dazzling back at you over the top of his glasses. 

“Miss me?” He said, his hands in the pockets of his pants. 

“Come in.” You didn’t cater to his charm.

“Arw don’t be like that, why are you so serious?”

“Why did you come over?”

You wandered over to the kitchen, mindlessly rummaging through your cupboards to avoid him. You took a mug from a low shelf. 

“I think we should talk about this, y’know?” Satoru cleared the island counter and jumped up on top of it. “See what I can do to change your mind?”

“There’s nothing to change. I made it very clear.” 

“Did you though?” Satoru climbed down. 

You put the kettle on, the water making crackly noises as the base heated up. He was like a ghost, his footsteps making no sound as he approached. 

You stepped back, never taking your eyes off his. “Well- yeah- I mean I sorta did.” Your hips pressed against the counter. 

“What do you really want?” He was so close to you now. 

Satoru brought a hand up, taking a strand of hair in it, fiddling between his slender fingers. The cologne at his neck was intoxicating. The woody aroma filled your nose, welcoming you to take a step inside. Satoru tilted his head to the side too, his eyes contemplating.

But you didn’t want that. “I don’t want to be with you anymore. I meant what I said.” 

“Are you sure about this?”

You took your eyes off and stared down, nodding quicker than you should have. If you couldn't see him, then it would be okay. But you cursed and questioned why you even opened the door to him in the first place. 

“You really wanna break up with me?” 

You nodded again, though still never looking up.

“You really wanna break up with me ?” His laugh came like poison. “That’s comedic.”

Your blood ran cold by how quickly his voice switched. Nothing like you had heard before, like a villain in every superhero movie you’d ever seen. "Satoru-“

“You know, no one else will take you. Right? I love you. But it seems meaningless to you.”

“Just go home. Please Satoru.”

His hands came up, squeezing your shoulders to the point his nails dig in. “I don’t think you understand how this works. So I’ll spell it out for ya.” Just as quick as his own demeanour changed, his hand lunged at you, wrapping around your throat, your feet were almost off the ground, flailing for support.

“S-Satoru!”  

Clawing at his hand made no difference, even when his knuckle began to bleed. The look in his eyes. Shit. You’d never seen it before. Large as saucers, and so psychotic his pupils were dilated.

His teeth were clenched, but his face dropped when he saw your tears slip to his hand. “Arww. You cryin’? You were always one for the theatrics weren’t ya?”

“Let me go!” 

You tried hitting him now, your arms barely reaching his face. Your eyes grew sleepy, dark spots collecting at the edges with only his grin left visible. The kettle whistled aloud as though to call for help, but no one came. 

“Okay.”

He dropped you. A sharp pain ripped through you as your head hit the tile floor. Spluttering your guts, you gasped, feeling your neck. Satoru stood there, towering over you.“Oh you poor thing, you’re bleeding. You’re so clumsy.” 

He pressed his fingers to your head, making you wince and pull away. But he pulled you back, pressing harder as punishment, huffing and sighing concern. Satoru pulled his fingers away, but kept the other hand behind your head, the blood on his fingers smeared under his nails, already drying. So he licked them, sucking them in between his lips and smiled. 

“You’re sweet when you're hurt.”

“P-please. Just leave me alone. Let me go.”

He shot up, walking backwards towards the kitchen island, his eyes dilated once more with a grin like a clown. You got up, moving around, backing away towards the living room. You could see your phone in your peripheral. It was only for a split second, but he had already noticed. 

He swiped it up and threw it across the room. “Don’t go cheatin’ now.”

“P-please.” 

You thought he’d noticed your panic, and he stepped back even further, almost to the other end of the kitchen. “How about this?” He said, putting his hands up as though in defeat.

“Because I’m Satoru Gojo! The best boyfriend in the world!” Then his voice dropped, so low it growled. “Why don’t I give you a head start?”

You stood frozen, not sure whether to run or not. What if it sent him over the edge? Or that was exactly what he wanted you to do.

Predators don’t run. Prey does. 

Satoru must have seen your hesitancy, he stepped forward. “One… two-“ He was serious. So fucking serious. Your flight response kicked in and you bolted, running for the front door. But it was locked, the key was missing. 

They jingled behind you. “Looking for these?” Satoru chuckled, then continued. “Three… four-“

You ran up the stairs to the spare room. Each step was a mission, like climbing a never ending mountain. You could still hear him counting down on the kitchen like he was still there in the room with you. The spare room had no lock, like the other rooms, but it had plenty of places to hide. The cardboard boxes you never bothered to recycle, collected full of old memories from your childhood. There weren't as many places to hide than you thought, but if you could give him the slip, you could make it out the back door. 

“10!...Ready or not! Here I come!”  

There was no movement, like a shark in the darkness, waiting, hunting in the shadows for its next meal. You struggled to keep your breathing level, even, quiet. And then. He was just there, at the top of the stairs. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are, love.” He cooed, like he had done before with your affection. 

You could see him, but he couldn’t see you through a slit between two house moving boxes, moving in a predatory fashion, knees bent with his hands up like claws. You held your breath for what felt like hours, but it was only a few seconds. In the moment you blinked, he had disappeared from the landing. 

The boxes were ripped away like they were nothing, he growled. “Got you.”

You scrambled away, but his grip around your ankle was a chain of muscle. The carpet offered nothing more than a burn under your fingernails, threatening to pull them away from your fingertips. 

“Come on back to me baby! You know I can’t live without you!” His laugh was sickening. “I will always find you, so there's no point in running.” 

In an instant, you were looking at the ceiling, and Satoru climbed on top of you and pinned you down. His hands took yours to the floor and held them there.

“Satoru, stop! Stop it please!”

If delirious could be summed up in one word, then it was Satoru. He looked nothing like the person you’d first met at that party. The cocky guy who you fell for hard. You didn’t recognise him at all.

He just kept laughing. “Stop it? Stop it?! We’re only just beginning! We have our whole life ahead of us. With you by my side we can do anything! We can start a happy family if you’d like?”

Anything but that. “Get away from me!”

One of his hands let go, going straight to your pants, slipping in like they weren't there. “This is where you’re weak, right?” His eyes never left yours. 

His finger brushed your clit, rubbing it exactly how you liked. But not this time. It was mechanical, viscous and forced. You felt around the carpet, by the boxes for anything. Something that could get you out of this bind, something to get him off of you. 

“I distinctly remember having you like this on the bed. My fingers were so deep, you couldn't think. Shall we try that again, Love?”

There. Something long and thin protruding from one of the boxes. You didn't know what it was, nor did you care. It sliced your fingers when you pulled, ready for the right moment. 

“What, cat got your tongue? I thought you loved calling my name when you were like this under me? There isn't anyone else, is there?”

“I. Said.” You found what little courage you could muster. “Leave. Me. Alone!”

The box cutter you grabbed revealed itself when you stuck it straight into his shoulder. Satoru didn’t scream, he didn't even wince. But he backed off and stared at it as you got up, half expecting him to grab at you again. He didn't. He just stared and watched you leave into the bedroom. 

You slammed the door, running straight to the window, trying to move it. Of course it had jammed again, the one thing Satoru always whined at you for. “You’ll die if there was ever a fire y’know?” He’d say, bugging you to pick up the new rollers for it. 

It wouldn't budge. "Come the fuck on you piece of shit!" 

Shit. You looked to the door and blocked it off as best you could, sliding furniture you through would hold the door. Anything. A desk chair, knotted scarf around the door knob to the handle of your wardrobe. You tried to move your bed out the way to block it.

And then came a bang. “Hey. I guess you never got that window fixed, huh?” 

Your stomach flipped, he was so calm, collected. Nothing he’d been just minutes ago. A sound you’d never forget came from the other side. A scratching, something almost smooth down the painted wood.

“You left something out here. Want it back? It’s pretty sharp.” 

You needed to get help, anything. Someone could help you, you knew it. You searched while Satoru spoke incoherently behind the door. Under your covers, behind the desk, under the paperwork stashed in the corner. 

You found it. Typing away at the passcode, your tablet opened up. Finding the call button, your friends face popped up on the screen and she answered quickly. 

‘Hey you, what’s up?” Your friend’s voice was a light in the tunnel, one you hadn’t heard for a while.

“Shoko. I need you to call the police, its Satoru he-”

“What did he do?”  She cut you off, her chilled, soft voice changing to more serious and stiff.

The little knocks and bangs on the door grew louder, Satoru chuckled. “Who y’talkin’ to? Come on baby! Open up!” 

You kept your eyes on the door, expecting him to kick it down with the half assed barrier you put up between you. You kept talking. “He’s gone crazy. I tried to break up-”

Shoko tutted, you could hear the vile rage through the speaker. “Jesus christ! I told you to do that months ago! Where is he?” 

“I’m sorry I didn't believe you- Please help-”

Satoru clawed at the door, cooing and musing your name through the wood. “If you open up, I promise to be nice! Don’t leave your man out here on his own, it's dark, and I’m scared.”  

You backed away and kept looking, but you were able to drown his voice out for a moment.

“You're so blind. I’ve already told you this, you should never have gotten together in the first place. But you blew me off. He’s a psycho and now he’s got his hooks in you so deep.” There was muffled static, a moment where you were more alone than you had ever been in your life. “ I’m calling the police. Break the window, I’m coming over.” 

The phone line disconnected for a second time that night. Your heart thumped against your chest it was fit to burst. You search for something heavy to break your window, a paper weight? Or a high heeled shoe? You were so entwined with the despair, you didnt realise that it had gone quiet out in the hallway. 

“Satoru?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he would be able to hear you. 

Taking a step back, you perched against the window, listening out for something. A breath, footsteps or a groan. But nothing. And the silence was even worse. Because you didn’t know where he was. You worried that the things against your door wouldn’t hold, but they did. Perhaps he left. 

You picked up the glass snow globe you had gotten as a gift. Satoru picked it up from his travels. You were happy to smash it in the window whether it broke it or not. Turning around, you kept an eye on the door with your hand raised to hit the window, protecting your eyes. 

But something was amiss. It had gotten a lot darker in the room. You glared outside and Satoru was there above the porch by the window. His eyes wider than ever, face pressed against the window. A cat that found a mouse to pounce on. 

“I found you.” 

You froze on the spot, dropping the snowglobe. It smashed, the liquid soaking into your socks. Satoru broke the window clean with a single punch, the glass cutting you in the process. It happened so quick. In an instant. His arms around you with that maniacal smile of his. 

“Let’s go somewhere no one will ever find us. Not even Shoko. Because we’ll die before I share you with anyone.”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[prying-pandora666]

I don’t know how to say this tactfully, but I’ll do my best.

If other fans online have convinced you to see the gentle, optimistic, empathetic, fun loving, whimsical, forgiving, wise beyond his years genocide survivor, as a sexist, racist, xenophobic, abusive, pro-colonization, sexual assault perpetrator who doesn’t care about anyone else and doesn’t understand trauma…

You have been LIED TO.

Please just think for a moment!

ATLA was banned in China from the beginning for a reason. Because they didn’t want anyone empathizing with a character based on Tibetan monks. Why? Because they are an actual oppressed and persecuted minority IRL. Their religious leader lives in exile. Their second most important spiritual figure is the youngest political prisoner ever taken (and to this day no one knows if he’s alive or dead!). China has actual prison and labor camps. Tibetan people get sent there for “re-education”.

Can you please think about what these “fans” are saying when they stomp all over this allegory in TLA and try to frame Aang as the oppressor?

Do you really think it’s appropriate or these people who call Aang all these horrible (and inaccurate) things are being in anyway fair when they call Aang “white coded”???

Even without the real world context, Aang is explicitly the only survivor of a genocide. The last of his people. He has lost more than anyone else in the entire franchise. There’s a reason he clings so hard to Appa.

Do you think it’s fair to compare a 12 year old misreading signals and trying to kiss a girl who already consensually kissed him before, and immediately backing off and giving her space when she says no, to rape?

Tweens and teens miscommunicating and trying to comfort each other with kisses, only to realize that’s not what their friend needed and immediately backing off is the same as having your body violently violated against your will? The same as having your “no” ignored?

How do you think this makes survivors feel? To see people use their experiences as a shield and cudgel for ship discourse? It certainly upsets me as someone who experienced intimate partner violence, let me tell you! And I know I’m not the only one.

And how is it in anyway feminist or pro-Katara to ignore her own agency and deep love she shows for Aang? Yes, that includes her own crush on him! It IS reciprocated!

Lastly, you don’t need to demonize Aang to ship whatever you want to ship. Please understand that the majority of these takes are bad faith and born out of bitterness and insecurity over a friggin FANON SHIP.

And none of it is necessary! You can ship whatever you want! You don’t need permission or excuses. You can just ship them! You can make your case for why you like another pairing better without misrepresenting what happened in the show and what these characters are like, let alone what they represent.

There’s already plenty to work with in the show as it is! Otherwise why bother?

I’m imploring fans taken in by persuasive and manipulative metas to please just think about it. Get off social media and rewatch the show for yourself thoughtfully.

It doesn’t need to be like this.

[koqabear]

Divinity for the Damned

“There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.”

“What sweet bliss it is to follow the teachings of God. To put in your faith and trust wholeheartedly, even if it means getting nothing in return.”

fallen angel! Beomgyu x fem!reader 

Genre: horror, religious au, smut, angst

Word count 18.3K

warnings: i was delirious when i proof read this sorry in advance, very detailed descriptions/elements of the catholic church, mc is super duper religious, and innocent, lots of religious guilt, corrupt church members, assault in one scene, sacrilege and blasphemy i suppose, abuse of power, manipulation, guilt tripping, MCD, slight gore, violence, cannibalism…? aha…

smut warnings: dubcon/coercion, manhandling, mind breaking, corruption, virgin!mc, sub!mc, condescending soft dom!beomgyu, blindfolding/sensory deprivation? dacryphilia, fingering, oral (f. rec) edging, overstimulation, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i should add anything!

notes: hi guys! i have no idea how i got here.

[This story contains dark content. Please read the warnings carefully; I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume.]

The day is wintry and cast with a heavy snow; it is advised for citizens to remain inside due to the extreme weathers, flurries falling outside your bedroom window that is tinted with a frost that creeps from the corners. But it is Sunday morning, and a simple snowfall will do nothing to deter your humble duties. 

Today, you rush to get ready; the layers of clothes on your form make it difficult for you to pull on your snow boots, thick and warm as your fingers fumble to lace and tie the shoes— you’ve begun to feel overheated, but you’re sure all the layers you have on will not go to waste the moment you exit your home. Standing with a huff of exertion, you pull the coat on you just a little bit tighter; with a gloved hand and one final glance at the clock, you finally open your door and make your way out. 

The little village is quiet today. The snow is up to your ankles— it makes the trek to the church a little more difficult than usual, and it’s not as though the gravelly paths were any more helpful. A wind carries flurries into the air, sticking to your clothes and onto your hair— it makes your skin sting and your arms come up to hug yourself instinctually, a hand coming up to rest on your chest, almost able to feel the cross necklace that’s tucked beneath all your clothes— your fingers press against the layers, able to feel the pressure of the delicate charm on your skin. 

Shops are open, but they aren’t very busy; it seems as though the snow has turned the place into a ghost town, and you wonder with a frown if a simple change in weather was enough to make people set aside their duties— in the distance, the tall pinnacles of the church begin to fade into view, a sight of a cross at the very top of each one bringing a sense of relief into your system, like a warmth that floods into your veins. 

There are twenty minutes left before the mass begins. But even so, you note that there are not many others making their way inside— your frown tugs at your lips a little deeper, and you’re too lost in thought to take note of cracked path before you; your foot is catching and you fall to the ground unceremoniously, yelping at the impact and the snow that drenches your tights and dress within seconds. 

Your knees sting; with the multitudes of layers you have on, it’s a lot more difficult to stand— you’re wincing in pain from both the cold and the fall, your gloved hands now soaked as you try to steady them on the ground to help you up; you stumble slightly, the weight of your clothes now doubled as you fall back onto your knees— you huff with frustration, your head hung down in defeat. 

“Excuse me, are you alright?” 

The voice is gentle and melodic; like a song in your ears, breathy, deep and smooth as you look up with surprise, not expecting anyone else to witness your fall— your face is heating up pitifully and your eyes are widening the moment they meet with those of a stranger, a man whose beauty is almost otherworldly; his hair is long and covered with flurries of snowflakes, decorated along his head and in his bangs like a crown— his face is blushing a soft red from the cold and his eyes are filled with concern; briefly, your eyes flicker up to his furrowed brows, taking notice of the scar that decorates his face, reddened and stopping just above his eye, a small deformity on his otherwise perfect face. 

He looks like a prince. 

“I–I’m… I’m fine,” you stutter out, still a bit dumbfounded by this captivating stranger, trying your best to remain composed as you take his outstretched hand for help; his hand is warm— no, it’s hot, even through your gloves— the contrast of temperature startling you for a moment; you try not to show it, much more distracted by the way his grip tightens instantly and he’s pulling you up with a surprising strength, the motion so sudden and unexpected that you’re stumbling out of balance; with a swift hand on the small of your back, the man steadies you. 

“I’ve… never seen you around before,” you say softly, continuing your attempt to remain casual as you shrug his hands off you, taking a step back and trying to ignore the lingering heat his touch left— and you smile politely, hands folded in front of you as you tilt your head. 

“Ah, I moved here recently,” the man explains, sending you a smile that’s just as charming as the rest of him; his eyes scan your sullied outfit, wet with snow and dirty at the knees, and he frowns. “You must be terribly cold. I suggest you go home and change.” 

Your hands are patting your clothes off immediately in response; small clusters of snow that stuck to you fall off with every swat of your hands, attempting to rub at the dirt with your soaked gloves as you merely laugh him off and shake your head— you’re glancing back at the church in the distance, and are suddenly reminded of your responsibility. 

“I’ll be alright, I assure you,” you say softly, doe eyes bright and optimistic, even if he seems doubtful of your words, “I have somewhere I need to be— it’s much warmer in there anyway.”

“Oh?” he says, raising a brow and scanning over your appearance once more, wondering what could possibly require such dedication from you, “may I ask where you’re headed?” 

“Sunday mass,” you say eagerly, your voice sweet and lovely— and though his expression is suddenly unreadable, you remain enthusiastic as you continue, “If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come— our church is beautiful, you’d get to meet so many amazing people.”

Mass is starting soon— you’re visibly antsy to go inside, yet you remain patient as you wait for the man’s answer— and though you’ve always been used to the polite turn downs from others you’ve offered to in the past, you can’t help but get your hopes up the longer you wait for a response. 

He sighs; it’s soft and would have remained unnoticed under your gaze, except it comes out as a smoky puff of air due to the cold weather— his gaze skirts away from yours, lost in thought for a second, and you can feel yourself deflate as you begin to brace yourself for yet another rejection. But then he glances back at you, lips pursing and gaze taking you in slowly as he begins to speak. “I suppose I can,” he says gently, smiling at the way you’re immediately lighting up again, “I don’t have much else going on today anyway.” 

A smile spreads through your face; you’re trying to control yourself and remain unfazed, but it’s a lot more difficult than you anticipated as you merely nod happily like a puppy— with his soft lead the way, you’re nodding again and taking him to your safe space. 

“You never told me your name,” the man says suddenly, the two of you making your way up the steps to the church— you’re turning to him in surprise, mouth parting in slight shock as you realize that you really didn’t introduce yourselves— and you’re telling him your name softly, your tone a lot shyer than you expected, feeling small under the intense gaze of this handsome stranger. He laughs softly, eyes filled with amusement as he repeats your name back to you— it sounds so captivating and fragile on his lips, and you try to ignore the way the sound sends shivers down your spine. 

“Beomgyu,” he says before you can direct the question back at him— and just like he did for you, you’re testing his name with your own voice, taking his nod of approval with a smile.

Conversation dwindles down the moment the two of you enter the building; it is low in light due to the cloudy day and the candle-lit lanterns that don’t fully light up the large establishment, and a warmth engulfs the two of you the moment the heavy wooden doors shut behind you; sending Beomgyu another encouraging smile, you take him softly by the arm and lead him further inside— you promptly stop at a small basin filled with holy water, dipping three of your fingers in and crossing yourself slowly, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to mouth an unintelligible words— and while Beomgyu is presumably doing the same, you take this time to say a brief prayer. 

Beomgyu simply watches you with blank eyes. He makes no movements to follow after you, watching apathetically as your brows twitch and your eyes remain shut for a few seconds more, sweeping his gaze over the area as he will his lips to not upturn in distaste— his expression morphs to one of content the moment you’re opening your eyes to look at him again, the only thing to fuel his feet to move being the way your delicate hand squeezes his bicep gently, as though you were leading a scared animal into the unknown— he can’t help but find your mannerisms amusing, filled with an overwhelming innocence he hasn’t seen in a long time. 

As a child, your family moved a lot— going from town to town, your father offered newer and better opportunities due to his trade— and, just like you, your family remained dedicated during it all, never failing to find a church to become a part of, a place to spend their Sundays and worship their God. Because of this, you’ve seen and been in more churches than you can keep track of; able to take in different interiors and atmospheres, different communities and sermons— yet, despite attending more churches than this whole town combined, you’ve found that the one you currently stand in cannot even bear to rival the others— it is wholeheartedly your favorite. 

Nothing quite compares to the feeling of warmth and comfort this quaint building brings you, from the friendly smiles others in the community send you the moment they see you, to the smell of incense and flowers that fills your nose the further you walk down the nave, automatically going to your usual pew closest to the altar; the spot is basically reserved for you at this point, anyone who has come to this church at least once knowing that the third pew away from the altar is your favorite spot. 

Beomgyu trails a little behind you. A little hesitant, you think— it must be difficult being thrust into such a new environment so suddenly, and you’re stopping in your tracks to turn around and reach for him with a kind smile. 

He seems startled by your sudden gesture. His expression is completely lightening up within seconds, and if you hadn’t been dreadfully nervous to offer him your hand so you could walk together, you would have been able to pinpoint the clear scorn in his gaze— instead, all you’re able to see is the way his brows raise in surprise and his gaze turns warm, smiling fondly as he takes your hand; he tucks it snuggly in the crook of his arm before he’s nodding at you to continue walking. 

You’re suddenly much more aware of the eyes pinned on you— you’re sure many must be surprised to see you with someone new, always used to you coming in early and quietly, head bowed down and mind already lost in prayer— and in this condition nonetheless, your body heating up slightly as you stare down at the ghastly state of your clothes. 

“Relax,” Beomgyu suspires, leaning close to your ear so only the two of you can hear his words; his other hand reaches to place itself over your gloved hand, and again, you can feel the heat of his touch permeating through the wool. “You look lovely. A bit of snow or dirt could never take away from your beauty.”

His sudden compliment has your face heating up and reacting drastically; you can only squeak out a flustered oh, in response, unable to do much more than look in the opposite direction and stare at the scarlet rug that rolls down the nave— and you’re arriving at your usual spot, close enough to the altar that you’re bowing in respect— stiffly, Beomgyu is pulled down with you; his jaw clenches at the action. 

The sermon begins as usual and proceeds as it always does— though, with Beomgyu at your side, you seem to have garnered quite a lot of attention to you; from others around you eagerly wanting to wish you and Beomgyu peace, shaking his hand firmly and with looking up at him with awe-stricken eyes, to the priest’s gaze that inevitably falls back onto the two of you again and again, not used to the scrutiny in his eyes as you flush with heat at the sudden realization of what others might be assuming the two of you are— as subtly as possible, you try to make space between the two of you, using the armrest of the pew as your excuse to scoot away as you try your best to remain inconspicuous, pretending to get comfortable and resting your arm against it. 

Beomgyu doesn’t seem to pick up on your particular train of thought— he’s sending you a curious glance before he’s closing the space between the two of you again, feeling the way your body stiffens and your back straightens the moment you feel him against you, thigh against thigh; the small pressure of his body against yours enough to have you flustering pathetically, lips pressing together as you try to keep your expression neutral. 

But if there’s one thing Beomgyu has learned about you from the short time he’s gotten to know you, it’s that you’re undeniably terrible at keeping a poker face; all your thoughts are written across your expression clear as day and seep into your body language— anyone who has you in their line of sight would be able to immediately pick up on your flustered and shy state. 

You’re such an innocent little thing; like a lamb, Beomgyu thinks, gaze visibly boring into your side profile as you attempt to pretend as though you’re unaware of it, even if the nervous fiddling of your fingers gives you away. There’s an air of purity around you that is simply enticing, unable to pretend as though he isn’t endeared to you the moment you finally break and turn to look at him once it is time to receive the eucharist, bright, wide eyes silently asking if he’ll join you— he shakes his head no gently, and you’re nodding in understanding before you finally scurry away to get in line. 

Your heart is pounding; you’ve never thought a man could have such an effect on you, your poor brain confused and running laps to try to reason why you can’t even keep eye contact with him for more than a second— you’ve just met him, just a little bit ago, yet even so you can’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, undeniably charmed by both his looks and soothing aura— your hand goes to place itself onto your heart, a weak attempt to steady it’s erratic beating. The charm of your necklace presses against your skin, and as it nears to be your turn, you pray for your heart to have more resilience. 

“The Body of Christ.” 

Beomgyu watches as you stand dutifully before the priest. He watches as the older man stares down at you with an intense gaze, one that seems to hold silent disappointment; he watches as the priest looks back at him, their eyes meeting and his gaze hardening before it falls back onto you— with a twisted realization, Beomgyu realizes where this emotion stems from. 

The priest is careful with you, hand reaching out to slowly place the Eucharist on your awaiting tongue; he’s gentle, as though you were made of nothing but glass, gaze following you even after you’re long gone. 

You’re walking back with your hands clasped together and your eyes downcast, undoubtedly lost in prayer again. But even so, you can’t help but sneak a glance at Beomgyu once more, relieved to see his eyes weren’t on you already this time— instead, he’s watching the priest acutely, observing and analyzing his every move— and you feel star-struck by his beauty yet again. 

The day outside must have cleared more; at least, that must be the case if there is light shining through the stained glass windows, myriads of colors casting themselves on the floors and the people around you— Beomgyu is not an exception to this, entranced with the sharp reds, purples and blues that cast onto his delicate skin, making his appearance seem more otherworldly than it already was. 

His brows furrow. Part of his face is lit up with a faint red from the window, hitting his right eye and the scar above it— suddenly, his eyes are flickering back to meet yours, and you’re jumping slightly in surprise; his eye is practically glowing. 

Your gaze becomes downcast again. You try to ignore the feeling of him watching as you kneel down and begin your prayer once more, staring at the altar and at the captivating marble statues, eyes falling onto the candles that hypnotize you by its flickering flame, lost in thought as the taste of wine that lingers on your tongue becomes the only thing you’re still aware of. 

Beomgyu makes no attempts to conceal his desperation to leave the moment mass is over. His goodbyes are brief and he manages to pull you along, simply because you’d feel bad if you didn’t accompany him out. You’re almost out the front doors, so close to leaving, only to be stopped the moment you’re stepping outside, not expecting the priest to slip out of the doors behind you, calling out your name and asking you to wait; obedient as always, you’re practically frozen on the steps of the church— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to hide the clear distaste on his face as he hears the priest ask for a word with you; in private. 

Without hesitation, you’re scurrying up the steps and meekly asking Beomgyu if he was going to stay— you can’t help but be surprised at the immediate nod of his head in response. 

“Lovely seeing you today. Like always,” the priest says, sending you a fond smile that you eagerly return; he’s taking a step close to you, voice lowering slightly as he continues. “This is the first time I’ve seen you attend with someone else.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, evidently flustered by the breach of this subject; you’re turning away from him to glance back at Beomgyu, who sends you a small smile the moment your eyes meet. “I met him this morning— he aided me when I fell, and agreed to join me when I invited him to today’s mass.”

The priest frowns. You’re taken aback by the clear disapproval in his eyes, blinking owlishly as you silently question what’s wrong— the priest is taking another step closer to you, his brows pinched together and his voice cautious as he speaks. 

“My child,” he begins carefully, taking in your wide and curious eyes as he warns you, “It is admirable of you to spread God’s word so dutifully. I admire your devotion to both our Lord and this community.” 

“However,” he says solemnly, “I advise you to be very careful. You have only just met him after all.”

The two of you glance back at Beomgyu, who leans against the stairway with a blank expression, staring out at the snowy scenery before him as he waits for the two of you to finish; he can feel your stares on him, but he doesn’t bother to look back, already knowing where this conversation must be headed. 

“Oh Father,” you say softly, giving him a reassuring smile, “you shouldn’t worry, I know how to handle myself.”

And, Beomgyu has been nothing but kind to you, you think to yourself, though you know better than to rely solely on the limited hours you’ve spent together. 

“Of course. Though you can’t blame me for being concerned,” he says, taking yet another step closer to you— the space between you is limited now, and you’re unable to stop the way you retreat subconsciously in response.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to,” he reaches up to place a hand on your shoulder, heavy and making you stiffen at the sudden contact; it remains there, thumb rubbing soft circles on your coat, “such a dedicated servant of God. It is my duty to protect you, child.” 

He is reluctant to let you go. You breathe out a soft laugh and smile, taking another step back and watching as his hand slides down your arm, his touch lingering and grabbing at your hand momentarily; he squeezes it in an attempt to give you reassurance, and you nod. 

“I understand,” you say quietly, pulling your hands in close to your chest, clasping them together as you take another step back, “I must leave now, Father.”

His lips press, as though disappointed to see you leave to soon— but then he nods in understanding, wishing you a blessed day and encouraging you to stop by anytime; you nod, bidding him one last goodbye before you’re turning around and descending the stairs— you miss the way his eyes harden and his brows knit together the second they meet Beomgyu’s, lips pressed to a thin line as he watches the two of you for a moment more. 

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” you say meekly, feeling a smile grow on your face the moment Beomgyu simply shakes his head in reassurance, boldly taking your hand and placing it in the crook of his arm once again; a gesture that has your body warming up as much as his touch warms you, allowing him to pull you close to him as you walk away— he allows you to speak about whatever is on your mind, listening intently as he glances back at the church one final time. 

At the top of the stairway, the priest remains, watching. Beomgyu is unfazed at the sight, and instead of returning the harsh glare the older man sends him, his lips curl into a smile— wide and wicked, showing off his perfect teeth and sharp canines that adorn his mouth, confusing the man before him— and his expression switches in the blink of an eye the moment you squeeze at his bicep subconsciously to get his attention as you speak, leaning in to ask what he thought of today’s mass. 

“It was lovely,” Beomgyu says smoothly, eyes crinkling into a fond and kind smile. You’re returning the smile without hesitation, feeling as though it’s become second nature to your being now. 

“I think I’ll be seeing you around more.”

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

The two of you part ways once you’ve reached the center of town. Beomgyu tells you he has somewhere he needs to be, and you explain that you still have a few errands to do; with the promise to see each other again soon, you’re reluctantly bidding him goodbye. 

He asked if you’d be willing to show him around the town a bit more; if you’d like to show him your favorite places to eat and visit— you told him yes in a heartbeat. 

With new promising plans with this handsome stranger, you felt lighter on your feet— a giddiness that undoubtedly was written all over your face, laughing shyly at the remarks others would give in regards to your good mood; and though the trek back to your little cottage on the outskirts of town was a long one, you didn’t seem to particularly mind it today. 

The rest of your day is quiet; peaceful like always, not a soul stopping by to interrupt your day. You’ve fallen back into routine, and with your sudden encounter with Beomgyu earlier, you’ve begun to realize how mundane your everyday life is— you’re suddenly antsy, waiting anxiously for the day to bleed into the next so you’re able to see him again. 

Night falls and you have yet to forget about him. Beomgyu’s soft gaze and kind smile, the way he hovered over you and humored your spontaneous offer to join you— his touch that warmed you through your layers of clothing and left your body hot and flustered. 

This sudden change in your train of thought has you snapping back to reality; your eyes are blinking into focus and you’re now hyper-aware of the hot water that runs over your skin, the dishes in your hands that you had absentmindedly been washing— and you’re straightening up to stare out your window, feeling a breeze slip through the small opening and hit your warm face; you definitely need it, you think to yourself, scolding yourself for thinking of such scandalous things about a man you just met. 

You think you’ll go to bed early; with the final dish placed on your drying rack, you’re off to your bathroom, washing up before you make your way into the bedroom, slipping into nothing more but a thin nightgown; the moonlight casts a glow on your figure as you change, already feeling sleep weigh your eyes as the soft silk of your gown brushes against your skin. 

Your bed feels a lot more comfortable than usual; your body is more tired than you realized. The blankets weigh down on you securely, and any restless thought seems to dissolve in your mind the moment your head is resting against your soft pillows— for the first time in a long, long time, you’re able to achieve a peaceful, immediate slumber. 

Poor thing; today’s events must have truly exhausted you. After all, being around a demon for such a long time takes a lot of energy. 

Beomgyu watches the soft rise and fall of your chest with fond eyes and a small smile. He thinks that the moonlight casts a truly angelic glow on your face, unaware and peaceful to the dangers around you— not much of a difference from your awake self, the man muses.

The energy you emit is as pure as the light in your eyes; innocent, untainted by the horrors of the world. Unlike the rest of this town and their putrid thoughts, their intentions to rip you apart and force you to stoop as low as them, you’ve remained the same: devoted to your God, devoted to live an honest and peaceful life— your being is nothing short of angelic, and Beomgyu has found himself addicted to it. 

He’s weakened— you remind him of the life he used to live, the person he once was before he gave in to the beauty of temptation, ensnared for eternity to the carnal sin that allowed him to reject the teachings of his god. He’s lived this life longer than he can remember, memories of pure beings and a light heart long gone; it’s instead been replaced by an insatiable hunger and instincts that led him to you. 

Beomgyu wasn’t supposed to find himself here, he supposed. Damned to nothing but a void of flames that seared and marred his skin, to be given bodies of those who shared the same sin as him— indulging in his cravings, but never truly satiating them, just enough to keep his soul hooked and coming back for more, a constant cycle of addiction and hunger and desire. 

But this is — you are — different. Just being near you is enough to get Beomgyu’s heart racing, his body buzzing with a slight nervous energy that begs to just touch you, to take you, to use you. His body is weak, drained from its descent from the heavens and its unexpected escape from his perpetual state of limbo, from his punishment. His bones ache and his skin begs to be with you, his soul guiding the rest of him to find you; just one night with you could keep him strong for eons. 

Such a cruel hand life has given you. Because now that Beomgyu has found you, he’s made a silent vow to not let you escape from his hands; you’re the perfect prey, innocent and trusting and charmed by the closest thing to ever be graced by God's presence. 

He closes his eyes, and hones in on your energy— to properly entangle you in clutches, Beomgyu must begin to plant the seeds in your mind; seeds of doubt and want, seeds that will allow you to see the world as is and bring you into his awaiting, protecting arms. 

After a moment, he finally feels it; the soft beating of your heart, the aura that hums like an enticing melody. Deep breaths bring a slow rise and fall to his chest, allowing it to match the rhythm of your own. A harmony is created between the two, and only then does Beomgyu finally feel it— your mind is inviting him in. He suppresses the triumphant smile that makes his lips twitch. 

Declining such an offer would be quite rude, wouldn’t it?

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

You wake with a start. 

Your chest feels as though it might cave in and your gown sticks to your skin in an unbearable way, your body exuding so much heat that you’ve found yourself covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mind is racing, you feel as though your heart is ready to burst out of your chest— what happened, why do you feel like this? 

It takes a minute before everything else floods back in. A wave of shame and horror washes over you, searingly hot against your skin as you find yourself throwing the covers of your bed off your body, reaching over at your nightstand instinctively and kneeling at your bedside; your hands shake slightly as you try to ground yourself with the feeling of the rosary beads against your palms.

Prayers leave your lips like a waterfall; attempting to forget the dream— the nightmare— that your mind conjured, surely nothing but a test of faith and temptation to make you stray from the path you painstakingly set up for yourself. 

The beads of the rosary dig deeper into your palms. Your hands press tighter together, your face screwed into a frown of concentration, attempting to rid yourself of the way your mind seems to want to do nothing but wander. Wander to the foreign feeling of a hand gliding against your skin, a smooth path along your bare back and chest, lips that caressed your neck and whispered nothing but praises and promises of divinity and eternal life.

A shudder rips through your body like an earthquake. You must rid yourself of these thoughts. 

Your will is strong, but the temptation is stronger; it sings memories and images from your nightmare, appearing at the most inconvenient moments and making your every movement falter— when you change, vibrant images and raw skin replacing the sight of your body in the mirror with one of pure lust and sin, when you prepare to go out, tucking the rosary safely underneath your layers of clothes, and as you spot Beomgyu in the distance, waving at you with a kind smile on his face; shame bubbles hotly beneath your skin, and you hope that the man who asks you to lead the way with bright eyes simply blames the flustered look of your face on the cold, the pure snow around you. 

“You must be cold,” Beomgyu muses softly, turning to you and suddenly cupping your face; wide eyes meet his as you merely remain still, unsure of what to do as the feeling of his hot hands cupping your flushed skin only make it burn hotter, embarrassment eating you up as his brows twitch at the feeling; he raises a brow, tilting his head in confusion as he inspects you slowly. “Or… perhaps not? Your face is burning.”

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to spit out, taking a step away from him and averting his gaze entirely, hands pressed firmly against your pounding heart, “I’m sorry if I seem to be acting strange, I’m not sure what has gotten into me.” 

Beomgyu shakes his head softly, brows knitted together with worry— oh, you must seem to have lost it, you think to yourself, biting your lip and attempting to brush off your skittish behavior with a soft laugh, Beomgyu must find you strange now.

And whilst Beomgyu continues to feign concern for you, brushing off all your apologies and maintaining a curious facade, his body practically buzzes with excitement; poor, innocent thing, one simple dream was enough to bring you right to where he wanted you— one dream was enough to fluster and break down the solid fortitude you once set up for yourself, the man before you catching you so off guard that you never had a moment to question the sudden turn of events; he had you right where he wanted you, smiling to himself at the way you could barely maintain eye-contact before you were flustering and looking away. 

You told yourself it would pass with time. But hours fly by with Beomgyu and nothing changes— if anything, everything simply got much, much worse— the man seemed to have found solace within you, getting comfortable and finding confidence in being subtly affectionate with you; holding your hand and pulling you along to show you something, brushing the corner of your mouth and teasing you for being such a messy eater, and holding a firm hand at the small of your back while you walked— you couldn’t pretend to be unaware of everyone’s stares even if you tried. 

“Such a small town, isn’t it?” Beomgyu muses to you, taking in the scenery, the people that wander the streets; he finds his eyes meeting with every person they land on, holding back a sneer at the way their stares linger with fascination, landing on you with a myriad of emotions: envy, lust, disdain, he sees it all. “I feel like there’s someone watching us at all times.”

“Oh, I suppose,” you say sheepishly, as though you were the one to blame for his discomfort, “I apologize, I had no idea it would be this busy today— but it’s natural to be curious, I know they mean well.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully at your claim; surely, there’s only so much innocence you can harbor before it begins to become naivety— do you really believe such lies? But of course, you’re filled with nothing but surprises, the clear look in your eyes telling him that your words are more for you to believe than him. 

When the sun is beginning to set and the street lamps are beginning to get lit up, Beomgyu sees your mood flip like a switch; you’re getting antsy, you must want to leave soon. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what might be going on in your mind at the moment. 

“You must be tired,” Beomgyu says, slowing to a stop before turning to face you; you led him to one of your favorite parks, taking him into the maze of a garden and along your favorite trail, the light and excitement in your face enough to make the scenery around him seem dull.

You look like a deer caught in headlights at his words; was it so obvious? You stammer and try to sugarcoat how you feel unsure of how to tell him that you want to leave now, not because you’re tired of his presence, but because you feel as though you’re not in your right mind at the moment. 

Oh, how could you possibly tell him that the reason you must leave soon is because you feel a nauseating urge to repent? That, as soon as you say your final goodbyes, smiling shyly and turning around to walk away from him with a haste, you’re going to make your way straight to the church? The night is cold but your body is far from it, face burning with shame as you walk into your sanctuary with a haste, unsure of how to deal with the fact that you’re thinking very impure thoughts over a man you’ve just met; the very reminder is enough to make your stomach lurch once more. 

The warmth of the building doesn’t feel as welcoming anymore; it only makes your body hotter, breaking out with a light sweat as you slowly approach the basin of holy water, dipping your fingers in and slowly crossing yourself— you take a deep breath, ignoring the flames of shame that eat at you as you walk inside. 

The confessional is just by the entrance, at the very end of the left wall and tucked in safely from any private eyes. The velvet curtain beckons you, and as you rush over in a haste, you can’t bring yourself to catch eyes with the priest that stands by the altar, having caught sight of you immediately— there was no one else that would come here so late at night but you. 

You sit at the very edge of your seat, hunched over and staring at your lap as you wait. You can feel the heat of the single lightbulb above you on your back, searing into your nape as you pick at your nails anxiously. It feels like time has frozen within this small booth you’ve cooped yourself in, the heat of it all only making you more restless as you wait, head ducked down in shame, much too afraid to look into the screen that separates you from the only other person that will ever know about the dark thoughts that plague you.

After what feels like an eternity, you hear footsteps approaching; you peek up instinctively, just in time to watch the velvet curtain on the other side get pushed open— your head goes back down hurriedly.

It’s not too often you come into the confessional, but you still find yourself doing the routine like you were born to do so. Your hand crosses yourself dutifully, licking nervously at your dry lips that part to speak— your voice feels timid and broken, the words you speak heavy on your tongue. 

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

It’s been about four weeks since you last confessed, you tell him, wringing your hands together as you attempt to find the words to say, feeling as though a heavy lump in your throat prevents you from expressing the truth; it’s too much, you find yourself thinking, the burden and shame of it all bringing a heat to your cheeks, reluctant to voice your sins aloud. Moments pass and you have said nothing, but the priest on the other side remains patient— the silence and the heat of his stare through the screen only makes you more aware of the guilt that sits in your stomach. 

“Father, I don’t know what to do,” you sob softly, the dam finally breaking in one, swift motion; words spill from your lips with abandon, unable to keep track of what to say as you scoot close to the screen, barely on your seat as you lean your forehead against the cool wood.

“I have restrained myself all my life, I’ve avoided the temptation that is thrown my way, the dangers presented to me— I’ve remained strong— yet…” you swallow thickly, a shuddered sigh leaving your lips as your hands brace themselves against the screen; your palms press against the sturdy structure, a false sense of security as you hesitate to say the words you’re about to admit, “yet— these past few days I’ve been plagued with nothing but thoughts of lust. Of blasphemy.” 

For a moment, there’s only silence. Memories seem to bubble up from the confession, detailed and vivid, playing against your eyes that screw shut as though in pain. 

It’s all wrong. So, so so wrong, the warm feelings that stir within unfamiliar as you remember all the thoughts that fill your mind throughout the day. 

“It’s unlike me— I’ve never found myself to think anything so crude, so immoral,” you say, hanging your head with shame, “Yet I find that I cannot stop. Father, I’ve prayed and I’ve remained abstinent, but the thought that I fear the most is the one… that makes me doubt whether I’m on the right path.”

On the other side of the screen, you’re faintly able to make out his figure shifting. Your hesitation is evident as you finally admit something you hadn’t been able to accept yourself. 

“Father, I’m afraid that I’ll give in.”

More silence follows. You’re sure that the priest must be in deep thought on the other side, but the silence only seems to make you more anxious; how low you’ve come, a voice within you chides, wanting to throw away your purity for a man you’ve just only just met. How vile.

The voice is cold and blunt and unlike your own— the sudden thought startles you, your spine straightening as you look around you, a shiver going throughout your body. Inevitably, you look through the screen once more. On the other side, you’re able to see the faint image of the priest, his head hanging and lost in thought. 

You feel as though you’re in a daze for the rest of your time there; you can only nod softly with every piece of advice he offers you, telling you to remain strong and trust that your faith in God will guide you to the right path— he tells you to pray, to devote yourself to the church in any way you can, your penance weighing your heart as you agree to it all. 

“My child, be aware that this is another test of your faith. You mustn’t give in,” he finally says, stopping you in your motion to leave, “You are a pure flower, bound to attract others who do not have your best interest in mind.”

Hesitantly, you nod, unsure if you’re deserving of this praise he sings to you.

“If you ever find yourself in doubt, know that you can always come to me.”

There’s an odd feeling that blooms within you at his words; you know you should feel comforted, honored to have someone to support you in your time of need, but instead you can only muster a wry smile, whispering a soft of course before you’re exiting the booth in a haste. 

Glancing behind you, you’re reassured to see that the priest has yet to come out; you don’t think you could face him any time soon, knowing that despite the anonymity of the booth, your identity is quite obvious. 

No one else resides in the church as you make your way down the nave and down to your usual spot. Your footsteps feel heavy on the rug as you stand before the altar, head tilted up to be able to take it all in properly; the marble statues that look as though they might come to life, the angels that bow down and the intricate details that go to frame the cross in the middle— you stare up at the altar for what feels like hours, the guilt in your heart weighing you as you take a deep bow and go to sit. 

Your mind is calm, but your heart is restless; you pray for forgiveness and plead to not be led astray, yet something within you itches to do just that— a tug at your heart, wondering what it would be like to indulge yourself for once— you’ve seen the other members of your church, the way they comply and worship yet change in the blink of an eye once they’re out of this sanctuary— so, would it really be that bad? You’ve seen their actions, know their hearts; they treat you so kindly, worship your lord so devoutly— so, is it really unjust for you to do the same?

Your nails dig deep into your skin, a way to snap yourself out of that train of thought, scolding yourself for thinking this way of others around you— for attempting to reason with the whispers of temptation that attempt to lure you. 

How long you spend lost in thought is unknown to you— minutes, maybe hours, your knees sore and your clasped hands clammy as you rest your forehead against them, eyes screwed shut and lost in prayer; it was a meditation of sorts, finally able to cast out straying tangents and focus on one thing. Your breathing is slow, tired, your body slowly giving in to the exhaustion, muscles weighing you down as you continue to pray— it isn’t until you’ve found yourself about to doze off that you realize you must leave. 

When you stand, you’re shaken awake instantly. You could’ve sworn you’d be the only one left in the building by now, yet the priest still lingers by the altar, tending to the candles and shifting about— the smile you send when he glances behind curiously and meets your eyes must seem as ingenuine as it feels, because you see his expression fall instantly. 

It’s important to rest. You must be seeing things, you think, tightening your coat around you before you’re stepping out of your pew and turning to leave— your steps are unconsciously haste, your arms that wrap around yourself unnaturally tight, yet you still flinch the moment your name is being called— softly, but still echoing throughout the building. 

You find yourself feeling reluctant as you turn. Your words are timid as you address him.

“Yes Father?”

Upon your surprise, he is not too far from you— as though he had been mere steps behind, wanting to close the gap between you two as he continues to move forward; he sends you a soft smile, head tilting in curiosity and brows furrowing in worry as he speaks. 

“My dear, are you leaving? At this hour?” he asks, watching you nod meekly, “But it is so dangerous; it is far too cold and dark for someone like you to be out alone.”

Sheepishly, you smile, hands wringing themselves without you realizing.

“It’s quite alright, Father. I’m stronger than you think.”

The soft laugh he lets out is meant to be lighthearted, though you can’t help but think it’s one of disbelief instead. 

“I’m sure, but you must understand my concern; to let you leave alone like this would be wrong of me.” His smile is fond as he steps closer to you, gesturing behind him as he proposes, “Why don’t you stay here for the night? It’d be much safer.”

“Oh, thank you Father, but I think it’d be better for me to go to my home instead,” you say softly, pressing your hands firmly against your beating heart, “I have a busy day tomorrow, and I don’t think it’d be wise to rest on the pews.” 

He laughs again, shaking his head in amusement; your brows knit together in slight confusion, laughing along hesitantly nonetheless.

“Of course my dear,” he starts, your smile widening in hopes that he’s giving up this small fight, “but that’s not what I was referring to.”

“I meant that you should rest here tonight,” he repeats again, voice softening as he continues, “with me.”

Your eyes widen in shock— it’s painted all over your face as well, unsure of what to make of his sudden offer as you resort to letting out an incredulous laugh instead. 

“Oh Father, I couldn’t possibly—” you gulp, softening your tone at the sight of his confused face, “It– it wouldn’t be right. I mustn’t disturb you.” 

“But you wouldn’t be disturbing at all,” he insists, taking a step toward you, talking animatedly with his hands as he does, “I’m inviting you, afterall, I’d love the company— it does get lonely sometimes, I must admit.”

You attempt to maintain a look of understanding, nodding along to his every word— but you remain firm in your stance regardless as you respond. 

“I understand, and I truly do appreciate the offer,” you try again, beginning to walk back despite the slow souring of his face, “but, even so, I really must leave—”

“Why?” he suddenly interrupts, his voice sharp and his expression cold, “why are you so insistent on leaving?”

“I’m tired, is all—”

“Lies.” he shuts you down again. “All of it. For if you were true to your word, you’d have no issue accepting my offer to accommodate you.”

Shaking your head, you shrink within yourself, shoulders caving in as he begins following your steps— you attempt to give him reason, to be polite and kind, yet he hears none of it. 

“You come to plead for forgiveness yet are so quick to run back to your old ways,” he says, his every step like a resounding boom in your mind— you deny him adamantly again, but all you get in response is a cold look. 

It seems as though you’ve nowhere to go— the doors had been shut due to the cold and your back presses against it, but before you can reach for the handle and open your only exit, you find yourself trapped— the priest’s hand is heavy as it slams on the handle, the loud sound causing you to jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Can’t you see? I only want what’s best for you,” you feel as though you might merge with the wood of the door as you press yourself to it, eyes glued to the floor in an attempt to escape the cruel wrath of the priest that towers above you, spitting words of discipline, “It’s dangerous for you out there. You haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you if you were found like this— alone, helpless, defenseless.”

“I have gone out of my way to provide you shelter, yet you refuse; I know what it is you’re truly adamant to get back to,” he grits, as though it pained him to say— his eyes narrow, watching as you merely tremble and refuse to look at him, finding himself tired of you not meeting his eye— the cry you let out is insignificant as he takes hold of your shoulders, shaking you and crouching down to meet your face. 

“And I will not have you whoring yourself out to another man! ” Your eyes are screwed shut now, tears threatening to flow down as you reach for the hands on your shoulders, attempting to pry them off— he pays no mind to your attempts, continuing to scream in your face until you find that you can withstand no more. 

“Please! Let me go!” 

Your chest heaves. Your wide eyes are brimming with tears and your legs are shaking terribly, just like your hands that have just shoved the priest off you; he seems just as shocked as you are, mouth parted in surprise before he finally goes to regain his composure.

“I-I’m so sorry Father, I–” your voice breaks and you feel the hot streams of tears on your cheeks, a trembling hand reaching behind you in search of the handle— when you find it, you immediately pull it open. 

“I–I— I must go, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I didn’t mean it, I’m so—”

“You do not deserve to be deflowered and tainted by the evils of this world,” the priest says, his voice hoarse and stopping you effortlessly in your tracks; he doesn’t bother looking at you anymore, staring at your feet with a pinched expression of frustration instead. “But if that is what your blasphemous heart truly desires, then so be it.”

When his head raises and his eyes meet yours, you’re stunned— his eyes shine, a forlorn look settled within them. 

“You were so perfect, my child,” he says softly, frowning at the fear in your eyes, the heavy heaving of your chest, “you were divine.”

“May God have mercy on your soul.”

Brows furrowing together, you deny him one last time— this time, he simply watches as you slip out the door, fleeing with sharp steps and sobbing quietly into your hands, cheeks stinging from the cold. 

The path before you is dim— the trek to your home is long. Without realizing, you think of the priest’s warnings, tears an endless stream as you part your lips in a soft whisper. 

“Oh Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection…”

Through the long journey back to your way home, you sob and you pray. By the top steps of the church, hidden by the columns and tucked safely into the darkness, Beomgyu watches. He watches until your figure is nothing but a small speck against the vast landscape of the town, your trembling body and the echoes of your soft sobs ingrained into his mind. 

Slowly, he turns back to look at the doors, into the small sliver of warm light provided by your failure to close the door properly. 

His eyes catch movement; a grin grows on his face.

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

Tonight, it seems as though your heart and your mind have finally conceded. Tonight, you dream deeply. 

In your dreams, it is all a haze; you’ve found yourself within the holy sanctuary once more, slowly making your way down the nave, past the crowded pews of hooded figures with their heads ducked down, hands folded dutifully in front of you and your eyes pinned straight ahead. The altar beckons you, the thickened, incensed air bringing a calm through your system as you walk. You walk and you walk, eyes pinned on the cross that looms over you. 

The path seems to warp— the nave seems never-ending, the carpet slowly becoming worn and darkened with every step you take— your heart beats a little faster now, nails digging into your skin with a subconscious tension; yet you continue to walk, whether you want to or not. 

Everything feels so heavy. You feel lethargic and dizzy, feeling as though submerged underwater, limbs moving oh so slowly; the room around you has begun to darken, unable to halt your trek down to the altar no matter how much you try— everything has begun to fade to black, the pews of people turning to dust, the carpet beneath you disappearing beneath your feet— the only thing that remains steady is the altar in front of you and the steps you take. 

You can’t breathe— have you been breathing at all? It’s a fleeting thought that crosses your mind, the burning of your lungs and the pressure on your chest sudden and alarming— the smell of incense no longer enters your system, but you can still feel the air thicken around you; somehow, your eyes remain wide open through it all, stuck onto the mesmerizing, pure altar that remains on its fixed point in the distance. 

It feels as though hours have passed, and you’ve yet to make any progress. Your body remains still as the darkness around you. Just when you’ve begun to wonder if there will ever be any end in sight, something changes. 

It’s subtle, at first— you think it might just be a trick of the mind. The very edges of the altar have started to fade into the darkness, the sharp edges of the pure, white marble statues turning fuzzy— the wings of the angels, the top of the cross, the podium that holds it all up— it’s fading into the abyss, becoming one with the eternal nothingness around you— and as much as you feel yourself panic, wanting to speed your pace, break into a run in a weak attempt to stop it— you can’t. The sound of your steps is like a metronome in your ears, falling against the void and keeping you still. All you can do is watch. 

Your eyes remain wide open throughout it all. Your dress sways with every step you take, your body not realizing that soon enough, you’ll be walking towards nothing. The faces of the angel’s are now fading into obscurity, the darkness prickling at Jesus’ nailed hands and thorned crown; your heart hammers against your chest, forced to watch as it pools around Mary’s feet. 

The few remnants of the holy altar are slowly being swallowed by this strange darkness; sorrow fills your weak being, wondering why it is that your body continues to walk forward— there is nothing left to go to, the last of Mary’s bowed body getting lost into the abyss— and as your eyes scan her smooth, marble complexion, you catch on a single crimson tear, welling up at the inner corner of her eye, able to watch it grow as though you were standing inches before it— it grows and grows, until it can no longer stay still. The path it runs down the smoothness of her cheeks is striking, a sharp trail left behind as it drips off into nothing. 

The last of her fades away. 

There is nothing but darkness ahead of you; even so, you continue forward. Your mind has emptied, body becoming lax as the steps you take become effortless, light, like walking on air. Your eyelids feel heavy with sleep, the haze in your brain returning twice as strong. 

You can feel yourself walking, but you cannot see anything; not even yourself. A voice within wonders if you might be left to walk forever, towards an end goal that will never show itself to you. 

Come to me. 

Despite your shock, you do not halt. The voice is soft and sweet, like dripping honey— it’s only three words, but even so, you find yourself entranced, following the command even if you’re unsure whether you’re going the right direction. 

Closer, come. 

The voice beckons you so effortlessly, like a leash that wraps around your figure, pulling you forward, following your instinct to continue to walk, to explore what it is that calls to you so sweetly. 

Unlike the altar that has now been lost on your once worried mind, something has begun to fade into view. It is soft and hazy, with a slight glow that hurts your eyes— unable to make out what it is you’re now making your way towards, eyes dilating and adjusting slowly. 

A bright, ruffled shirt, a corset that’s tied tightly, long flowing sleeves covering the hands that rest leisurely at their sides; your gaze is quick to sweep up their appearance, a quick observation before you move onto what tugs at your curiosity the most— only to find that their face remains obscured by the darkness, a slight blur of what could be registering in your mind— you think you see soft, plump lips that curl into a reassuring smile, but it might be wishful thinking, if anything at all. 

Slowly, they raise a hand— calling you closer, the path beneath you finally beginning to shrink with each step you take— their fingertips outstretched toward you, as though expecting you to do the same. And even when you fail to mirror their actions, they refuse to falter, accepting you as you are. 

It is only when you stand before them that your body finally stops. Your face expressionless as you observe the person in front of you carefully, oddly hesitant to accept their offer. You stand for a moment, left in a standstill as the figure lets out a soft, echoing laugh. 

Do not be afraid, they tell you, their words wrapping around you warmly, take my hand. 

You blink. Your body suddenly feels like your own, the grounding heaviness of your limbs making you realize that it is now you who controls what you do next; glancing down at yourself curiously, you look back up at the figure, where they remain waiting expectantly.

You take a step closer. Their smile widens slightly. 

Good, they say, soft and deep like a purr, closer. 

Slowly, you bring a hand up, finding a slight hesitation to make contact with this outstretched hand— and, as though hearing your doubts, the figure chuckles, teasing and lighthearted, as though already aware of what you will choose in the end. 

When your skin touches theirs, you feel nothing. It is like air under your palm. 

Your grip tightens, unsure if you’ve taken their hand at all; before you can so much as take a breath, their hold shifts, hand sliding forward and deft fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist, fingertips digging into the skin— you’re pulled in without warning, stumbling forward and crashing into their strong chest. 

Looking up, you find that you cannot bring yourself to feel afraid— their smile is radiant as they look down at you, the faint outline of their head much too fuzzy for you to understand— the air cracks as two pure wings stretch out, curling around the two of you and moving to cage you in shortly after— feathers fly around the air from the aggressive movement, fluttering around before they rot black, lighting at the quill and turning to ashes, the crackling sounds filling your ears as you look around you in confusion, only to get the sight obscured by the darkening wings that trap you. 

Eyes on me, the voice says, echoing in your mind, following their command immediately. The soft smile that remained on their lips can no longer be contained, growing into a grin that shows off brilliant canines that shine down at you. I will give you everything you seek. 

Feeling the twinge of hope in your heart, the figure pulls you closer still, allowing your body to press against theirs. 

Seek me, they whisper lowly, a hand beginning to snake around your waist, dancing fingertips pressing into the small of your back— leaning down, they whisper softly into your ear. 

Find me in our sanctuary, you can hear their grin through their words, and I will give you all you yearn for. 

Their lips ghost over the shell of your ear. 

Quickly. 

Before you can react, they dissolve to nothing. 

You’re left alone in the abyss once more. 

  ≪⋆⋅☆⋅⋆≫  

When you startle awake, you find that it is still nighttime; sitting straight up in your bed, you look out the window— snow falls peacefully, the quietness of the scenery doing nothing to calm your beating heart. 

The dream. 

Words and messages echo throughout your mind, unsure of what to make of it all. Your chest heaves slightly with confusion, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you glance over at your bedside table— the statue of the cross greets you like always, the soft voice from your dream resurfacing in your tired brain. 

Your body is moving on its own accord; your coat, your shoes, all of it is being thrown on before your dazed mind can even process it, still weighed with sleep as you stumble around in the darkness. Only one thought seems to keep you moving, like a restless pull that leads you out your front door. 

Swinging it open, you’re met with the freezing winter breeze; the trees sway and creak, snowflakes falling in your direction and landing against the apples of your cheeks— shaking you awake slightly, a quiet voice within you wondering what it is you’re doing, telling you that you should go back inside and rest— but even through this small window of reason you receive, the warmth that leaks from behind your home attempting to wrap around you and pull you back in, the need to seek closure haunts you; your boots crunch beneath the freshly fallen snow, sealing your fate as you haphazardly close the door behind you.

It all feels like a dream still— and you wonder if it is, blinking away the snow that gets in your eyes, your walk through the emptied path that leads back to the center of town turning haste; you feel as though it is something else that is pushing you forward, allowing you to head through this dark and barren path without so much as a light to guide the way, the sound of the wind whistling through your ears and the snow crunching beneath your feet following along.

There must be a reason, your weary mind thinks, a passing thought through the blankness of your mind, passing through the desolate, closed shops, not a single street lantern lit to give you a sense of security, there is something calling you back. 

In your right state of mind, you never would have found yourself doing this; after what happened mere hours ago, you wouldn’t have been able to walk in this general direction without feeling guilt and fear weighing you down— in your fully conscious state of mind, you would have stopped to contemplate your actions the moment you began to lace up your shoes— but in this moment, as you slow to a stop and turn to face the stone steps that lead to the first faint, flickering light you’ve seen tonight, you’re none of that— instead, you allow yourself to give in to this strange, delirious state of being you’ve found yourself in. 

The tall steps of the church have blurred together. Your head remains bowed, eyes glued to your feet as you ascend, hands folded neatly in front of you as snow falls around you, on your clothes and in your hair. 

When you arrive at the top, a hand reaching out for the entrance, you hesitate— your eyes widen, and as though a bucket of ice water has been poured over you, you take in the door that has been left ajar, the lights that are no longer on inside; your hand remains outstretched for a moment, and for the first time tonight, a single question runs through your head.

Why are you here?

Standing straight, you turn to look over your shoulder, out at the town behind you— all is still, eerily so, like you’re the only person there. Even in the distance, in the neighborhoods, you do not find a single light on. A chill runs through your body, suddenly aware that you’re standing outside in the snowfall with nothing but your nightgown and a winter coat on; with blazing cheeks, you rush to slip inside the sanctuary in hopes of getting your confused mind back in order. 

The door falls shut behind you, the soft click rendering you in complete darkness; not even the magnificent, stained glass windows are able to provide you with a proper source of light, nervously looking around and taking in the church in this desolate, foreign state.

You’ve heard that old habits die hard— without realizing, you’ve made your way to the basin of holy water, shaking fingers reaching in to be dipped so you can cross yourself— only, you continue to reach in, going in further until your fingertips are touching the cool porcelain of the bowl; head snapping over the sensation, you frown in confusion at the sight of the empty basin— walking over to the one placed adjacently, you squint, reaching in unsurely, only to be met with the same cold feeling. 

Strange.

Retracting your hand, you cradle it close to your chest, a frown tugging at your features as you try to brush off the confusion; looking forward once more, you’re left face to face with the marble altar that sits at the end of the nave, beckoning you to come closer. 

It must’ve been a sign of God. That is the only explanation that would justify the strange circumstances of it all, making you way down the familiar carpet, the soft sound of your steps enough to rival the beating of your heart in your ears. 

Stepping off the carpet, you go to bow in respect— only to hear a strange sound beneath your feet, like a splashing of sorts— glancing down in confusion, your eyes narrow, attempting to decipher what it is you’ve stepped in; a pool of water maybe, looking above you to see if there might be a leak in the ceiling— a few seconds go by, and when you neither feel nor see anything fall, your frown deepens. 

“You came.” 

Your heart spikes and your gaze drops to the source of the sound, unable to do anything but gasp from the startle— through the darkness, standing behind the altar, a figure speaks to you. The sight is reminiscent and makes your legs shake, a mixture of fear and awe filling your body as you find yourself unable to speak. 

“I wondered what it would take for you to finally give in,” the voice, soft and melodic, murmurs; even through the darkness, you can feel their gaze pinned onto you intently. “Such a shame it had to go this far.”

Before you can react, a thunder-like sound fills the empty walls of the church, cracking loudly and causing you to flinch, ducking down and covering yourself instinctively— through your eyelids that remain screwed shut, you see light filling the room around you, the flickering warmth of the candles glowing against your lids, beckoning you to look— after a moment, you give in. 

Your hands tremble as you put them down, straightening up and taking a look around you: the candles have been lit up, from the chandeliers and lanterns above you to the small, worn candles at the sides of the altar— your eyes squint, trying to adjust, rubbing the sleep out of them and blinking slowly as you finally take in the figure that awaited your arrival. 

A familiar face smiles down at you sweetly. 

A loose, white shirt, a corset that ties tightly around the waist, flowing sleeves that pool around his delicate hands— your shaking pupils take it all in, lips parting to speak, only to close once more when you’ve found that nothing can come out. His hair is mused and curls at the nape of his neck, long strands falling into his kind eyes that watch you carefully. 

Behind him, two vast white wings stretch out, the grand sight making your eyes widen in wonder. 

Before you can control yourself, your knees buckle in shock. 

Beomgyu laughs at you, the sound tender to your ears; placing his hands on the table of the altar, he leans forward, looking down at you and tilting his head in curiosity. 

“What’s wrong, my lamb?”

All you can do is stare, left speechless and shaken as you remain silent— he laughs again, eyes crinkling in amusement, bright smile on display and adding to his otherworldly appearance. 

“Do not be afraid,” he says, cradling his face with his palm, cooing softly at the way you still remain paralyzed with shock, “I only want what’s best for you, little lamb.” 

You blink; shifting, you’ve found your clothes have become soaked at the knees, realizing belatedly that you must’ve fallen into the puddle from earlier— glancing down, you wince, only to freeze at what you see. 

A striking crimson soils your clothes. It drags into a path that leads off into one of the rooms on the side, your heart sinking and a cold fear striking down your spine. 

The scream that rips though you echoes and burns your throat. 

Beomgyu frowns. He’s not surprised, nor is he confused; he simply continues to watch you, beginning to round the altar table the moment you begin to crawl back from where you kneel, your legs refusing to cooperate as hot tears brim your eyes. 

“Oh no,” he tsks softly, wings folding inward so he can make his way down the nave, brows knitting together as he watches you, the intensity of his gaze keeping your eyes pinned on his as you cry in confusion, attempting to stand shakily, only to fail— he pouts, stepping in the puddle that startled you, watching as you flinch at the sight of the brilliant droplets that splash out and cling to his once pristine, white boots. “Why do you run?” 

“That— the-the blood—” you sob, hysterical, unable to get your words out through stuttered breaths, “What—”

“Shh,” he hushes you hastily, closing the distance between the two of you and stepping on your delicate nightgown, forcing you to be still as he towers over you— he leans down, hair framing his face beautifully, mischievous eyes twinkling as his face hovers inches before yours— his wings cage around the two of you, a sight to see as you merely stare up at him in utter consternation, “don’t bother with him.”

A chill runs down your spine, electrifying and forcing you to sit ram-rod straight— through the small cracks beneath his wings, you take in the streaks that have dried against the tiles, the implication of his words causing a feeling of dread to pool within you, feeling as though you might vomit with the next words you speak. 

“Who…” you breathe out, shaky and helpless as you stare up at Beomgyu; he had already been watching you, apathetic expression bringing sheer horror to your system, finally noticing small details you had been so eager to gloss over in your earlier haste— the tainted sleeves of his shirt, the messiness of his clothes, his empty, dark eyes— and your face screws into an expression of sorrow, your nails digging into the soiled carpet beneath you. 

“What have you done?”

Beomgyu doesn’t react to your question. He remains still, eerily so, before he finally stands up straight, wings spreading proudly behind him; he stares down at you, hands held behind his back and voice flat as he speaks. 

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Beomgyu thinks this might be his favorite part; he allows himself to watch as you force yourself to your feet, eyes blown out with horror as you stumble back, afraid he might come after you— when you see he has yet to move, you turn and run, the sight familiar as a grin grows on his face; he allows you to slam against the doors, watches confusion flood your actions as you attempt to force the door open, only beginning to take steps to go after you once you’ve begun to pound on the door hastily, hoarse voice screaming and crying for help, hoping for someone to hear your pleas and rescue you. 

“You know, there’s no one that would be out on a night like this,” Beomgyu calls out, his voice booming effortlessly over your painful attempts to seek rescue; his steps are slow and cruel, and you look over your shoulder, tensing at the sight of him nearing you, refusing to give up as you try slamming your body against the wood, only to no avail. “No one stupid enough, that is.”

Your body is well beyond bruised by now, pausing your attempts to break down the door in a desperate hope to check the handle once more; you’re rattling it roughly, crying out when you’re met with resistance. Defeated, your forehead slams against the wood, allowing your sobs to wrack through your body, fingers tightening around the handle hopelessly. 

“Now now, don’t be like this,” Beomgyu’s soft voice coos into your ear, much closer than you anticipated him to be; you flinch, feeling his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, his chest pressing firmly against your back— his arms wrap around your waist slowly, bringing you in and forcing you to remain pressed against him, “is this not what you have been seeking all along?”

Effortlessly, he pulls you away from the door. Maybe it’s the will to fight that ebbs out of your being, or maybe it’s his superhuman strength, pulling you off and forcing the two of you to walk backwards, your hands falling limply at your sides and your head falling back to stare at the ceiling, glossy eyes barely processing the words he speaks next. 

“Come with me,” he murmurs, the searing touch of his hands searing through your clothes, burning your skin, “your heart has been searching for me, you know.”

Allowing him to walk you backwards, you whimper at his words— a sharp reminder of what it was that kept bringing you back here, unwavering guilt sinking your stomach at the faint fire that flickers within. 

“No. Please,” you breath out, hushed and hurried as you shake your head, “Please, I beg of you, have mercy—”

Beneath you, you hear the familiar splash of liquid; you yelp in panic, jumping against Beomgyu’s body and trying to look down on instinct— you’re stopped before you can successfully do so, his heated palm pressing against your eyes, forcing you to be left in the dark. 

“Don’t.” he says softly, his arm tightening around you, feeling tears pool beneath his skin, “you’re alright, I’m here with you.” 

“Such a poor thing. Life has treated you quite unfairly, hasn’t it?” Beomgyu speaks aloud, feeling you hesitate and stumble as he leads you up towards the elevated altar, listening to your jagged breaths with a slightly pitied look. “Perfect and pure all your life, a devoted follower of god.” 

“Don’t worry,” Beomgyu says, hand coming off your eyes for just a moment— not that you even noticed, your eyes had been screwed shut all along— only to wrap a cloth around your head instead, deft hands making a careful knot at the back of your head; sliding your clothing to the side, Beomgyu ignores the way you jolt when his soft lips press a kiss to your shoulder. His breath tickles as it fans on your skin. 

“You’ve done well, my lamb.”

Beomgyu knows that you will never be able to grasp what is happening; especially not in this stunned state you’re in, the cloth around your eyes already soaked through with silent tears, hands limp at your sides as he takes in your face curiously, noticing your lips that move with silent words. 

Even now, you pray. 

My Lord and my God, your lips read, whispers of the faint words slipping from you, in my acceptance of the type of death you plan for me, I join your sufferings on the Cross. 

Beomgyu watches you hesitate. Your bottom lip wobbles and your throat swallows thickly. 

All I ask is that you stand beside me and never leave me.

Even through the veil that has been put over your eyes, a stray tear manages to slip through. 

Beomgyu should feel bad for laughing, he supposes— but he can’t help it, taking in the melodramatic sight with thorough amusement, watching you flinch and press your lips together tightly. He shakes his head softly, finding himself becoming fond of your antics as he takes a hold of your hand, ignoring the way you startle so easily as he guides you to where he wants you instead. 

“Oh dear,” he sighs, leading you to press back against the altar table, stiffening at the unexpected feeling, “I fear you may have misunderstood me entirely. See, I don’t want to kill you, my lamb.”

Your brows furrow; he’s confused you, he can tell. 

“There’s something your pretty little heart has been curious about, isn’t there?” he asks, a grin stretching across his face as you shiver, already aware of what he may be hinting at— but even so, you try to remain clueless, even if you’re quite terrible at it. “Something… you want.”

“There is nothing,” you reply, quickly, albeit shakily, “please, I just— just spare me—”

“Now, there’s no need to lie.” Beomgyu coos, placing his hands on your waist, hoisting you up on the altar table in one swift motion; you gasp, hands reaching blindly for something to stable yourself on, one landing on Beomgyu’s shoulder and the other on the marble beneath you— the hand on his body quickly slips off, and Beomgyu finds himself craving for more. 

“You’ve been denying yourself for so long,” Beomgyu murmurs, his voice a hypnotizing lull that causes you to gulp. His fingertips dance across your waist, trailblazing a fire that refuses to die down, mixing with the fear that pounds your heart against your chest. “You must feel so, so trapped.”

“There’s no need to pretend here,” he smiles, reaching up to caress your cheek, watching you gulp, fists clenched tightly in your lap, “I’m aware of everything. It’s only human nature, after all.”

Fervently, you shake your head. Your consistent denial is almost impressive to Beomgyu, the facade of confidence you try to exude with your voice both evident and pity-inducing. 

“I refuse to give in to the temptations of sin,” you say, the words like a recited script at this point; Beomgyu’s lip curls in distaste. 

“It is not sin,” he whispers softly, hands beginning to wander down from your sides to your hips, grasping softly at the skin before moving down, to the tops of your thighs and over your hands that remain clenched tightly, “it is merely the human experience.”

His hands feel hot over your own; you can feel him press against your body from where you sit, undoubtedly looming over you and caging you in as he speaks. His actions are absentminded as he caresses your hand, stroking the skin soothingly as he continues to invade your senses, whispering things that only the deepest, darkest parts of your heart have considered. 

“You’ve worked so hard to live a pious, pure life,” Beomgyu says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches you frown, finally beginning to listen to the words he feeds you, “even at the face of danger, you remained loyal— even now, you continue to refuse me.”

“But, don’t you see? The lord has brought you here for a reason.” His eyes shine the moment you shift restlessly under his grip, pressing himself tighter against you, “your dreams, your thoughts, they have led you here for a purpose only you can serve.”

You try to refute him yet again; your lips open, but you hesitate, unsure of what to say. You remain quiet instead. 

“Will you deny the fate god has bestowed you?”

A soft pout forms on your face; your heart is racing, and your mind must be too, because you don’t bother to react when Beomgyu’s hand leaves your own, trailing down your thighs and prodding your legs open so he can stand between them— too deep in thought to realize that he’s lifting your nightgown up, bunching it at your knees tentatively. 

Beomgyu watches you carefully, taking in your silence and smiling triumphantly as he speaks, “Here,” his other hand slides to place itself on the bare skin of your inner thigh, watching with sadistic pleasure as you jolt and yelp in surprise, “I’ll show you what it is you’ve been searching for.”

Your skin is tender as he begins to trail forward, eager to touch you and familiarize himself with you— only to get stopped by your trembling hand, his eyes darting to your troubled face, brows furrowing with confusion as he watches you muster the courage to say something. 

“N…Not…” it feels as though nerves and fear have swallowed you whole, having to take a deep breath in order to continue your sentence, “Not here. Not like this.”

“Hmm? But where else could this possibly happen?” he asks teasingly, much too desperate to heed your half-hearted request, “my lamb, it is perfect here.”

“Beomgyu, this place, it’s sacred,” your lips pressed together, using all the courage within you to speak up, “It is a home to me, I couldn’t bear to desecrate it—”

Beomgyu’s fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, able to feel his face hover over yours as he speaks through gritted teeth, eyes burning holes into your skin. 

“This was my home too.”

It all happens so suddenly; you’re pushed to lay back against the table, legs forced open as Beomgyu gets closer still, your lips parting in a soft gasp as he successfully bunches your nightgown at your hips, looming over you so he can undo your coat. 

“And our lord has decreed that it is here where I finally take you.” he hisses, watches as you can only let our a broken whimper and shift restlessly beneath him; the fire has consumed you wholly by now, he knows, the seeds of lust planted within you far too much for a person like you to bare— even the graze of his fingertips against your bare skin is enough to have you gasping. 

“I’ve waited long enough to taste you.”

Your body is alight with nerves, buzzing at the sensations around you— though you see nothing, it heightens your other senses, forced to take note of every motion and touch Beomgyu leaves on you, from his deft hands that undo your coat to the warmth of his body between your thighs, lips pressed together in a mix of anticipation and dread— all you can do is lie and wait. 

When Beomgyu’s hands slither back down to your core, you’re a squirming mess; he’s done nothing to you, yet you already seem so broken down and pliant— you’re a sweet sight, bitten lips parting eagerly in surprise once he suddenly plants his hand firmly against your core; your panties are pathetically soaked through, a soft cry escaping you at the heat of his touch against you, hands flying to grab at his wrist— unsure of whether to press him closer of pry him off. 

In the end, you do neither of the two. Beomgyu grins at your hesitation, a clear battle still ongoing inside your mind as you allow him to slowly rock his palm against your cunt, rubbing at your clit and causing you to sob softly at the unfamiliar sensation; your back arches and jolts of pleasure strike through you, the underlying guilt of it all causing tears to quickly well up at the corners of your eyes— though, from pleasure or shame, you’re no longer sure of. 

“Poor thing,” he coos softly, applying a sudden pressure against your cunt, all to watch the way your back arches in surprise, “it’s quite easy to make you cry, isn’t it?”

“This must all be so new to you,” he hums, rubbing at your cunt until your panties have begun to stick uncomfortably to you, your arousal soaking through and coating the heel of his hand thickly, “so pretty. Like an angel.”

His words cause a wave of heat to wash over your body; you feel restless, desperate for more, yet unsure of how to communicate as you find yourself hesitating each time, the undying guilt within you forcing your fingertips to dig into Beomgyu’s forearm a bit deeper.

“Hmm? What is it you need, my lamb?” he asks, even if he can practically see the thoughts running through your head, reading your body and the way your hips fight to cant against his hand, “Tell me, what do you want?” 

The way you shake your head petulantly brings a huff from Beomgyu; he watches as you heat up at his question, lips trembling with embarrassment, chin tucked down into your chest as though it would be enough to hide from his gaze— chuckling, Beomgyu allows a few more seconds to pass, letting you sit with your own confliction, before he finally decides to take pity on you; a shaky gasp escapes your lips as Beomgyu’s hand shifts, middle and ring fingers trailing up until they press against the fabric of your panties, pushing in and teasing your leaking hole. 

“Why do you hold back still?” he asks softly, his hand that isn’t teasing you incessantly smoothing down your thigh, stopping at your knee so he can wrap it around his slim waist, “there’s no need to continue this act of yours; do not lie under the eyes of god.”

You cry softly, a cacophony of emotions raging within you as your nails dig deeper into your palms, cunt throbbing and sending sparks of electricity as Beomgyu presses his fingers further into you, stretching the fabric and soaking it with your own arousal— through hushed, trembled words, you finally gather the courage to speak. 

“I want…” you hesitate, shifting on the cold marble of the altar table, turning your head to the side in a faux attempt to avoid Beomgyu’s scrutiny, “I want more.” 

“I don’t believe you.” Beomgyu immediately chides, his fingers moving to ghost over your clit, a satisfied smile growing on his face as you feel the shocks of pleasure from his movements, already too much for your innocent body, “you expect me to take such a weak request seriously?”

You gasp in surprise as Beomgyu suddenly takes a hold of your chin, forcing you to face him once more as you feel him hovering over you; his breath fans across your face, eyelids fluttering behind your blindfold at the sensation. 

“Tell me again,” he says, his fingers applying just the slightest more pressure on your clit, watching as the pleasure breaks you effortlessly; his lips brush against the corner of your mouth, able to feel his coy smile as he speaks. “Tell me like you mean it.”

Beomgyu waits for you eagerly; his touch on your cunt is almost nonexistent, applying just enough pressure here and there as a reminder of what it is you so desperately wish for— it’s so easy to get you to where he wants, he thinks, watching you become overwhelmed by his presence, by the pleasure he continues to give and take away. After a mere few seconds, you finally cave. 

“Beomgyu…” you trail off, the sudden use of his name bringing a shiver through his body, the sound sweet and pure like he dreamed it to be, “Beomgyu, I can’t— I feel so strange, please help me— I need more.”

He chuckles lowly at your words; placing a gentle kiss at the corner of your mouth, Beomgyu straightens up, leaving you for a moment in order to hook his fingers under your panties, ready to drag them slowly down your hips. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he sighs aloud, watching with fond eyes as you startle at the sensation, legs jumping to close back together— but he won’t allow it, standing firmly between them and forcing your hips to lift, all so he can pull off the only article of clothing standing between him and what he’s desired for so long; his eyes darken at the string of arousal that follows the seat of your panties, eagerly taking in your puffy, needy cunt, body becoming alight with a carnal need to consume you whole. “You’re perfect. Truly a gift from god.” 

He can’t help but grin at his own comment, eyes flickering back up at the altar above him, the candles that flicker wildly— then he looks back down at you, your puffy, tear stained face and your hands that remain tense at your sides, lips pressed together in fear of letting a sound escape— but Beomgyu is much too eager to let you have what you want. 

This ashamed and reserved attitude of yours will be no more— he’s determined to have you melt under his touch, fingertips curious as they finally begin to caress your bare cunt, teeth sinking into his lip as he takes in every gasp, arch, and tense your body gives him. 

It’s slow and oh so cruel, the way he swipes the pads of his fingertips along your slit, bringing the arousal to your clit and circling it softly, all so he can watch you pant and shiver at the sensations— your hands have moved to grasp at your clothes, jaw clenched as your mind tries to keep up with all these new sensations: you feel so hot and restless, a fiery itch settling deep in your core, only alleviated with the stray sparks of pleasure Beomgyu gives you— it’s too much, yet not enough at all. 

“Won’t you let me hear you?” Beomgyu asks, fingers beginning to prod at your entrance, circling it leisurely as he observes you, “it’s no fun like this.”

You can hear the pout in his words, petulant and teasing as he coos out your name, “C’mon, I know you sound as sweet as you look.”

You’re given no warning when his fingers breach your entrance; a yelp escapes you before you can process it, the sudden stretch bringing chills down your spine— it’s just his middle finger first, lithe and calculated as it curls and prods at your walls, feeling you flutter and clench around him as he adds his ring finger in next— you’re letting out a cry at how fast it all happens, a hand reaching down to grasp at his wrist, a mixture of shock and pleasure filling your being. 

“Beomgyu…!”

“Again,” he murmurs, fingers beginning to stretch your walls, pumping steadily and curling, listening to the quiet mewls and moans you let out, “louder. Show me how much you like it.”

“Beomgyu… oh–! N-not there, ah–!” You’re a squirming mess, shifting beneath his hold and shaking your head, the feelings far too much for you— Beomgyu doesn’t bother to heed your requests, abusing the soft, spongy parts of your walls that seem to make you react the most; you choke and hiccup pathetic moans, thighs tensing and spasming around him, hands shaking from the tight hold you have on your nightgown; it gets difficult having to chase your hips after a while, Beomgyu’s eyes narrowing as he places a harsh hand down on you, pinning you down against the table, fingers digging into the soft skin as you gasp. 

“Stay still.” is all he says to you, palm pressing against your clit as he slowly fingers you, drinking in the miniscule changes of your expression eagerly, “Don’t fight it.” 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks, punctuating his words with a cruel curl into you; you gasp, chest heaving as a tight coil builds up within you, “doesn’t it feel so nice?” 

“So sad, you’ve been denying yourself such bliss for so long,” Beomgyu utters softly, cooing at the way you cry and struggle to remain sane, overwhelmed by everything Beomgyu does to you, “won’t you let me take care of you?” 

Carefully, he hovers over you, strands of his hair brushing against your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your jaw, lips caressing the column of your neck as he smiles softly. 

“Wouldn’t you like for me to taste you?”

He’s sure you don’t fully grasp what it is he might mean— but you’re eager nonetheless, a gasp escaping your lips, so soft he might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so close— the tight clench of your cunt around him is enough of a sign anyway. 

You can only hear shifting; your ears perk up as you try to decipher what could be happening, feeling Beomgyu’s hand wander down your thighs, the loss of his heat above you, the flickering warmth of the candles around you— you lay still, with bated breath and buzzing nerves. 

Your mouth falls open, a loud moan falling from your mouth and bouncing off the walls. 

It’s all too much for your poor, inexperienced body; it’s overwhelming, the pleasure wrapping you up and burning you alive as your thighs attempt to shut, only to close in on Beomgyu’s head that remains steady, large hands splayed on your hips as he holds you down, his mouth continuing his assault against your cunt. 

The chants of his name and your broken moans are enough to keep him motivated— he’s lapping at your clit hungrily, moving down to suck at the arousal that leaks from your entrance, perfect nose bumping into you as he sighs and groans against you. 

You think you might’ve gone mad; sounds you didn’t think were possible are escaping you, each more pitiful and helpless than the last. Your hands wander absentmindedly, not realizing what it is you’re searching for until they’ve finally curled into his thick hair, tangling strands around your fingers and tugging rashly— you can feel him moan against you at the actions, the feeling bringing a shiver down your spine. 

“B-Beom…gyu!” you whine out, hips attempting to wiggle out of his hold, hands tugging his head closer— your eyes remain screwed tight behind your blindfold, tears pricking at them as your mind races to process what is happening to you— between your legs, Beomgyu grins triumphantly, nails digging into your delicate thighs as he licks a long stripe along your slit.

In times like these, Beomgyu can’t help but be reminded of who he is, what his existence is for— his tongue is long, abnormally so, as it enters you, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he laps up your essence and fucks you with it, listening to your startled cries morph into nothing but wanton lust, choking on the syllables of his name and brokenly pleading for him to not stop— as if he could ever be capable of doing so.

You’re delicious, like a ripe fruit that has been eyed for too long, too high on a tree for anyone to take— victory feels sweet on Beomgyu’s tongue as you clench and leak around him, allowing you to grind against him and take the reins of what you want, giving you the pleasure you seek— and he can feel you getting wound up quite quickly, your keens and cries loud enough to rival the screams of fear you were letting out only moments ago— but then again, none of that matters as long as Beomgyu has his hands on you. 

You’re almost there, a climax strong enough to wreck you approaching quickly— and as much as Beomgyu would love to feel it, to swallow your cum as it drips out your fluttering cunt— he can’t. Not yet, and certainly not like this. Though it pains him, he pulls away from your cunt that attempts to suck him back in. 

The sob you let out almost makes Beomgyu regret his decision; you’re a broken, confused mess, panting like a dog as you cry and wonder why it is that Beomgyu stopped so suddenly— gently, Beomgyu pries your hands off from where they tug at his hair, listening to your disoriented mumbles of his name, reaching blindly for him as he rises to his feet. And you’re left in the darkness once more. 

Before you can react, Beomgyu’s hands lift your head, quickly undoing your blindfold, letting it fall against the altar next to your face; your eyes flutter open from the action, brows furrowed as everything slowly comes into focus. 

Beomgyu hovers above you, the flickering candlelight around the two of you casting an ethereal glow around his face; it is warm and fond as he looks down at you, plump lips pulled into a gentle smile as he caresses your cheek, letting out a breathy chuckle at the way you fluster immediately, unable to hold his gaze. 

“Look at me.” he says, his voice compelling enough to have you following his command, the feeling so natural you haven’t realized you’ve obeyed until you’re meeting his dark eyes— there is no light in his pupils, despite the many sources that continue to fall onto the two of you. He smiles, a hand continuing its reassuring strokes against your skin, the other moving down to grab your thigh, wrapping it around his waist once more. “Don’t be afraid— keep your eyes on me.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance; you stiffen, breath hitching and hands instinctively reaching up to place themselves flat against Beomgyu’s chest— with wide eyes, you stare back at him, unable to break this entrancing spell you’ve caught yourself in, lips parting in a silent gasp as Beomgyu’s eyes soften. Slowly, he pushes in.

The feeling of his cockhead breaching your walls has you gasping sharply, shock painting your face and nails digging into your chest as your back arches slightly— the stretch is new and unexpected, the feeling of him inside you causing your stomach to twist in pain and pleasure— it’s so sudden, you feel as though you’re not ready, yet your body cries for him to continue, feeling him pause and still inside you. 

The smile on Beomgyu’s face is practically permanent; words could not explain the satisfaction he feels, the twisted victory he gains from every inch he pushes inside you, virgin walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice, your wide, doe eyes glazing over with pleasure the longer he takes, the more he allows you to adjust. 

Your chest heaves by the time he’s fully inside you, face screwing up as you feel him bottom out, his tip pressing firmly into you— your voice breaks as you call out his name, searching for comfort he will not be able to provide. Instead, he coos softly at you, empty, sugary words and reassurances that are merely practiced in his mind, feathery caresses against your temple as he shushes you, telling you that everything’s okay, that you’ll feel good soon enough.

“I’ve got you,” he purrs, even if you continue to tense every time he shifts, legs twitching at the sheer stretch you’ve suddenly been forced to take. “It’s okay, don’t be nervous.”

When he begins to pull out, criminally slow and teasing, you gasp— and he grins, fully expecting it as he hovers over your lips, only to press a chaste kiss to your nose as he moves to stand straight, only the tip of his cock left inside you. 

The sight of you is nothing short of divine; just seeing you like this is enough to bring him energy, greedy gaze taking in your broken expression, eyes flickering to your parted lips that tremble and gasp out his name. He groans softly, the eyes fluttering shut as he takes a moment to appreciate the way your cunt clenches around him, warm and wet, nothing like the scraps he was forced to feed on as punishment. You’re perfect, pure, full of life. 

Before he can second guess himself, his hips slam back in. 

The pace he’s set is nothing short of cruel; his feather-light touches and chaste kisses had been nothing but a show, all an attempt to lower your guard and allow him to seize you at your weakest; you yelp in surprise and attempt to cling onto him, overwhelmed by the harshness of his cock as it pounds into you, aiming for the most sensitive spots within you that leave you begging and crying out— but whether it’s for him to stop or continue, you’re not entirely sure— your reasoning blurred into one big mess long ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Beomgyu to lose himself in the feeling of you; greedy, rough hands grasping at your skin, groping the soft skin of your thighs, your hips, wandering up to squeeze and toy with your breasts— and you can only lay there and take it all, watching him use you to satisfy himself, unable to help the way your cunt clenches and drools at the sight. His hips angle and his cock slams deep against you, hitting a spot he’s never hit before— and you stiffen, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cry out. 

“Oh!” you yelp, tears pooling at your eyes, a hand slamming over your mouth at the sudden noise— but even so, your muffled cries still slip out from the cracks of your fingers. “O-Oh my—! ah—!”

“Why silence yourself?” Beomgyu laughs softly, slightly out of breath as he continues to cling to you, hips rutting wildly into you, chasing that familiar bliss he grew addicted to; he proceeds to aim for that particular spot over and over, watching tears ebb from the corners of your eyes, flowing down the sides of your face and dripping onto the pristine white marble of the altar table. “Go on, say it.”

“Say it, call out their name, let this whole sanctuary know how good it feels,” he hisses, face hovering over yours once more, eager to watch you crumble. 

“Call to your god,” he whispers, a soft moan falling between heavy breaths, feeling the way you squeeze and suck him in, your peak approaching much too fast for you to handle, “go on, pray that they forgive your sins and look past the way your tight cunt begs to keep this demon inside you.”

His cock feels like heaven inside you; it’s relentless, slamming into you as his hand falls from its tight hold on your thigh to your clit, rubbing tight circles that cause your body to tighten until it can no longer hold back. 

“Oh my God— Beomgyu!” you’re a drooling, tearful, pitiful sight as you finally crash down, sobbing and babbling words that blend together, your hands pulling at Beomgyu’s shirt until you’re bringing him down to you.

Beomgyu’s kiss is celestial. His lips slot perfectly against yours, a soft grunt escaping him as he finally cums inside you; thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your cunt, filling you until you can no longer hold it in— you tremble and you hold Beomgyu close to you throughout it all, your mind emptied out and craving nothing but him. 

Your eyes flutter shut; your body tingles, your hold on him weakening as you begin to slump back against the altar. It’s getting harder to move, sluggishly trying your best to keep up with Beomgyu’s sloppy kisses, your chest beginning to cave in as your lungs burn and beg for air. 

You want to pull away. You want to stop— yet, you find with a delayed horror that you can’t. 

Beomgyu won’t pull away; Beomgyu can’t pull away, feeling his arms snake beneath your figure, one wrapping around your waist tightly, the other slithering up your back and cradling the back of your head, holding it up so he can keep you as close to him as possible. 

Your vision has begun to blur; your hands have fallen limp at your sides. You feel weakened, only your lips able to move as they mindlessly follow after Beomgyu, sluggish and messy movements that go on whether you want to or not. 

Behind him, a crackling sound emits; the candles around you flicker wildly, divine feathers that were once proudly on display above you beginning to darken and fall, burning off and becoming a charred black— blood seeps from the crevices where feathers slip away, landing on top of you and on the altar you lay on. 

His wings are a shriveled, grisly sight. He’s transformed entirely before your very eyes, pulling away slowly and sighing softly into your parted lips. Slowly, his hands slither off you, laying you gently and standing straight to take in the mess he’s made. All you can do is stare back through bleary eyes. 

“My lamb,” he says affectionately, bringing a hand up to cup your face; it is only then that you’re able to notice the state of his hands, charred and injured, just like his wings, animal-like claws replacing his nails. They dig slightly into your skin as he smiles down at you, utterly enamored.

“I will cherish this ‘till kingdom come.”

His enchanting expression is the last thing you see. His claw moves faster than the human eye can process as it slices cleanly across the canvas of your neck. 

Your body jolts at the action, not a single shift in your expression as your body relaxes against the altar table. Your eyes remain open and dazed with pleasure.

Blood flows from the deep crack of his cut; it flows from your mouth as well, and all Beomgyu can do is watch as the color slowly fades from your skin, the light in your eyes no more. He looms over you in silence, lingering on even when he knows there’s nothing left for him there. A pool of your blood has formed around your head, a twisted halo that stains the marble. 

Beomgyu’s eyes remain transfixed on your wound, emotionless eyes watching the blood drip out steadily. Then, they begin to wander, trailing down until they stop at a certain point, hypnotized by the thought that suddenly enters his mind. 

Before he can second guess himself, Beomgyu’s hand hovers above your chest. 

It is not easy to reach your heart. It is an obscene and difficult process, though Beomgyu doesn’t bat an eye throughout it all; blood coats his forearm once he finally succeeds, a happy hum escaping him as he examines the item in his hands with fascination. 

It’s just as transcendent as the rest of you. Taking your life force was enough to make Beomgyu feel normal again, but with this, he’s sure that you would fuel his energy for the rest of his miserable eternity. 

His eyes soften; it’s so fragile, it drips onto his skin and sings to him, the last of your innocence begging to be released, to be given peace; instead, Beomgyu brings it closer to him, sighing slowly as he gets one last look at it.

And he bites. 

He can almost hear your voice, the memories trapped within as he closes his eyes, chewing and swallowing and biting again. Tilting his head back, he all but groans in satisfaction. 

His eyes slowly flutter open. He’s met with the chandeliers above him, the looming altar to his left calling his attention. Apathetically, his head lolls to the side, getting a better look at the statues that stand over him. Taking another bite, he feels blood leak onto his lips that curl into a sickly sweet smile.

He’s never tasted anything purer.

[onlyforsebastianstan]

What Can’t Be Fixed

Pairing: Cheating!Steve Rogers x Reader || Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You were in love, pregnant, and trying to hold on to something fragile with Steve Rogers, until betrayal shattered everything. When you discover he’s been unfaithful with a colleague, your confrontation spirals into violence, ending in a tragic loss that leaves you broken and bleeding. Through it all, one person never left your side: Bucky Barnes. Loyal, quiet, and harboring a love he never dared to confess, until Steve’s jealousy brings the truth crashing into the open. In the aftermath of heartbreak, loss, and long-hidden emotions, you must choose what remains when everything else has fallen apart.

📎Genre: Tragedy | Hurt/Comfort | Drama | Slow-Burn | Love Triangle | Unrequited Love | Emotional Angst

⚠️ Warnings: → Miscarriage / Pregnancy Loss → Infidelity → Physical Assault (shoving, mild violence) → Medical trauma / hospital scenes → Emotional abuse / gaslighting → Grief and emotional breakdowns → Language and shouting → Mentions of manipulation and sabotage → Implied emotional neglect → Unrequited love / jealousy

**Please read with care—this story deals with sensitive and emotionally intense themes.

The late afternoon sun poured through the glass panels of the compound, golden and warm, but you felt none of it. You sat quietly in the shared quarters you and Steve once called home, fingers gently curled over the edge of your favorite mug. The tea inside had long gone cold.

Your other hand rested over your belly, a small but protective gesture. Barely twelve weeks. You hadn’t told anyone yet, not Bucky, not Natasha, not even Wanda. Especially not Steve.

You weren’t showing yet, but you felt it. Every wave of nausea, every strange ache, every flutter in your chest that wasn’t quite you anymore, it reminded you there was someone growing inside you. Someone innocent. Someone who had a right to a family.

You thought Steve would be happy.

But he hadn’t even looked at you properly in weeks.

His hands hadn’t touched your waist in nearly a month. His kisses were brief. His smiles dim. There were no more stolen glances or lazy mornings tangled in sheets. Instead, there were late nights. Canceled dinners. More and more missions that seemed too conveniently timed.

And every time you asked, he said the same thing.

“It’s just work. You know how it is.”

You did. You knew exactly how it was. But this time, you could feel it, he wasn’t just drifting.

He was already gone.

Bucky found you on the training floor one evening, fists pounding into the punching bag so relentlessly that the seams had started to fray.

He stood silently for a moment, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. You hadn’t noticed him.

“Y/N,” he said softly, stepping closer. “You’re gonna break your wrist like that.”

You looked up, breath ragged. Your eyes were red, "had you been crying?" You didn’t answer, just ripped off the gloves and let them fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

Bucky didn’t believe it for a second. “You haven’t been fine in weeks.”

His voice was gentle, but firm. It cracked something in you, but you held it in. Your body was trembling, not from exhaustion—but from holding everything in for too long.

He took a step closer. “Talk to me.”

You bit your lip, hard. “I think Steve is cheating on me.”

The words didn’t feel real, even as you said them.

Bucky went still.

His eyes darkened, expression unreadable. “What?”

“I saw a message on his comms log. Late night transfer to the lower quarters. A woman’s name I didn’t recognize. He said it was nothing.”

“Who?”

“Alliah. Tactical Analyst.”

Bucky swore under his breath. You looked at him sharply.

“You know her?”

He hesitated. “Everyone knows her. She’s... ambitious.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “She’s fucking my boyfriend.”

Silence stretched.

Bucky reached out, his metal hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on your arm. “You don’t deserve that.”

You blinked, and tears finally fell. “I’m pregnant, Buck.”

His eyes widened.

“I haven’t told him,” you whispered. “I wanted to. I wanted to believe he was just tired. That it wasn’t what I think it is. But I saw them yesterday. He had his hand on her waist. They looked... familiar.”

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist. “Tell him. Make him look at you.”

“I’m scared to,” you admitted, voice small. “Because if I do… and I’m right… then I’ll lose everything.”

Bucky looked at you with a kind of sorrow that only deep love could carry.

“You won’t lose me,” he said quietly.

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t plan to confront Alliah. But when you saw her in the mess hall, laughing at something on her tablet, acting like she hadn’t destroyed the foundation of your life, you snapped.

You walked up, calm on the outside but vibrating with fury inside.

“I hope it was worth it,” you said flatly.

She looked up, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“Fucking my boyfriend,” you said. “I hope it was worth it.”

Some heads turned. Alliah smirked.

“You think you own him?” she sneered. “Please. Steve’s not a child. If he wanted to be with you, he would be.”

Before you could stop yourself, your hand struck her face. The slap rang through the hall like thunder.

She lunged at you, and everything blurred. Nails scratched. Fists landed. You pinned her quickly, your training kicking in. You were straddling her, arm raised to hit again, when shouting broke the haze.

“Y/N, STOP!”

You turned your head just in time for Steve to shove you off her.

The world tipped. You lost balance.

Your back hit the floor hard. A sharp pain sliced through your abdomen. Your breath caught.

And then you felt it.

A pop. A tear. A warmth.

You looked down.

Blood.

“NO,” Bucky shouted, running toward you. He dropped to his knees, cupping your cheek with his warm hand. “Y/N. Look at me. Don’t close your eyes, okay? Just breathe.”

You were gasping, clutching at your stomach. “Something’s wrong. Bucky—Buck—my baby…”

Steve was frozen, staring at the crimson stain growing on the floor beneath you.

Bucky turned, voice venom. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Steve flinched.

“I didn’t mean to—”

Bucky scooped you up into his arms like you weighed nothing and bolted for the med bay.

Your tears soaked Bucky’s collar as he ran. Every step jostled your pain. Your hands gripped his shirt, your voice weak and wet. “I didn’t even get to tell him, Bucky…”

“You don't have to.” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Steve was running behind, panting. But before he could catch up, Alliah grabbed his arm.

“Steve—don’t go after her. She attacked me. She’s unstable—”

He ripped his arm away from her like she burned him. “Get the hell away from me.”

By the time he reached the med bay, Bucky was laying you down on the gurney, shouting for Dr. Cho.

You were slipping in and out, eyes fluttering, lips pale.

“Stay awake,” Bucky begged. “Please, Y/N.”

Steve stood there, horrified. Watching the love of his life—his partner, his responsibility—bleed out because of him.

He stepped forward, choking. “Is she… ?”

Bucky turned on him like a storm.

“You don’t get to ask that,” he said, low and furious. “You don’t get to act like you care now.”

“I didn’t know—”

“You shouldn’t need to know that to not hurt her,” Bucky snapped. “She was scared. She was angry. And instead of listening to her and talking to her, you ran to protect your side piece.”

Steve swallowed hard, shame in every line of his face.

“I love her.”

“You Fucking cheated on her!" Bucky growled. “You pushed her,” he said. “She was trying to protect herself, and you pushed her.” he paused, trying to compose himself. Seeing you bleed because you chose to love the wrong person killed him. “You chose someone else. And now she’s here, bleeding, because of you. You don’t love her, Steve.”

Steve didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, pacing like he didn’t know what else to do with the rage boiling in his chest. He stopped suddenly, head bowed.

“I love her, Steve. And you knew that.”

That made Steve look up.

Bucky laughed bitterly. “You know what’s funny? I kept my mouth shut. Every goddamn day. I stayed back because you loved her. And I thought if I said anything, if I tried anything, it’d just mess everything up.”

“She chose me,” Steve said, but it wasn’t defiant. It was hollow.

“That's the worst part. She trusted you,” Bucky corrected. “She loved you. And I thought you deserved it. I backed out for you thinking you're better for her. I was wrong, and I can't forgive myself for that.”

They both looked toward the medbay doors when a light blinked red, signaling surgery was in progress.

Steve stepped forward.

Bucky blocked him.

“No,” he said. “You don’t get to go in there. Not yet.”

“She’s—she’s still my—”

“She’s not anything to you anymore,” Bucky said. “You made that decision the second you put your hand on her instead of holding it.”

Steve stood there, stunned, as Bucky paced the hall with his arms folded tightly to his chest like they were the only thing holding him together.

It was hours before the light turned green.

Dr. Cho emerged, her face worn and eyes heavy.

“She’s stable,” she said. “We were able to stop the hemorrhaging. There was a partial placental abruption, which triggered the bleeding.”

“And the baby?” Bucky asked quietly.

She paused. “The baby is alive. But it’s touch-and-go. We’re monitoring fetal heartbeat closely. The next 24 hours will be critical.”

Bucky let out a breath that sounded more like a sob. He scrubbed his hand over his mouth and nodded.

“She’s asking for you.”

He was at your side before she even finished the sentence.

You were pale, hooked up to monitors, an oxygen tube in your nose, and more tired than he’d ever seen you—but alive.

You looked up at him, and your lip trembled.

“I thought I lost it.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky whispered, sitting beside you. He gripped your hand like it was the only thing anchoring him. “You held on. You’re so strong.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I was so scared, Buck.”

“I know.” He bent forward, resting his forehead against your hand. “I know. And I’m so sorry. I should’ve said something. I should’ve never let you face all that alone.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you asked softly, “Is he here?”

Bucky hesitated.

“He was. I didn’t let him in.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “He shoved me.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t think he’d ever... I mean, I know he doesn’t love me anymore, but I didn’t think he’d hurt me.”

“He doesn’t get to be part of this anymore,” Bucky said, lifting his head to look at you. “Not if you don’t want him to be.”

You met his gaze. “And you?”

“I’ll stay,” Bucky said, without hesitation. “I’m here. I’m always gonna be here.”

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Your fingers curled around his, holding tight.

And for the first time in a long time, even with tubes in your arms and a baby still fighting for its life inside you, you felt safe.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because he was still here.

Because Bucky never left.

The days after your emergency surgery passed in a haze of IV lines, beeping monitors, and whispered visits.

You barely left your hospital bed.

Bucky rarely left your side.

He sat with you through the pain, through the fear, through the quiet ultrasounds where the heartbeat of your baby flickered like a candle in the dark. Some days it was strong. Others… the silence between the beats made you hold your breath, afraid to hope.

The compound had changed.

Steve had gone quiet. His presence still loomed, he still lived in the quarters down the hall, but he rarely emerged except for missions. The team knew something had happened, but no one spoke it aloud. Not even Natasha, who’d been the first to bring you flowers. Not Wanda, who sat with you silently some mornings and wiped away tears without asking questions.

And Alliah? She didn’t take the breakup well.

Steve ended it the day after your surgery, cold and final. He showed up outside her lab, jaw tight, eyes distant.

“It’s over,” he said. “Don’t come near Y/N again.”

She’d laughed at first, disbelieving. “You’re serious? After everything?”

“I made a mistake,” Steve said, looking away. “I love her. I—I still do.”

Alliah’s face twisted. “You don’t get to love her now. You already ruined her.”

Steve didn’t reply. He turned and walked away, unaware of the fire that began to burn in her eyes, sharp, calculating. Humiliated. Rejected.

She wasn’t going to be erased like a footnote in someone else’s love story.

Not without a fight.

You were moved to a private recovery room on the third floor, your condition stable but fragile. Bucky stayed close, barely leaving except to get fresh air or food he could coax you into eating. You were still in pain, still haunted by fear, every ache in your abdomen made your heart race.

Dr. Cho warned you about stress. That emotional trauma could trigger another placental complication.

Bucky became your peace. Quiet hands brushing your hair back. Gentle jokes whispered into the stillness. He talked to the baby sometimes, his voice low, protective, even hopeful.

You started to believe things might turn out okay.

Then the monitors began to beep.

It was late.

Bucky had stepped out to refill your water. You’d dozed off. And when you woke, someone was in your room.

Not a nurse.

Not a doctor.

Alliah.

She was standing by your IV line, fingers toying with the drip.

“What are you doing here?” you rasped, fear curling in your throat.

She looked over her shoulder with an icy smile. “Just checking on the woman who ruined everything.”

You struggled to sit up. “Get out. Now.”

“You think Steve actually loves you?” she spat. “He pitied you. You were weak. Soft. You broke down, and now he’s playing the hero. But it won’t last. He’ll forget you again.”

You reached for the emergency button, but she moved fast—ripping it from the wall.

“Oops.”

A burning sensation shot through your veins. You looked at your IV, realized she had tampered with it. Your body started to shake.

“Alliah—what did you do?!”

“You don’t deserve to have anything he loved,” she hissed. “Not even his mistake.”

Your screams brought Bucky running.

He barreled through the door just in time to see you seizing, blood blooming under your gown.

“Alliah!” he roared.

She fled, but he didn’t chase her.

He was already grabbing you, lifting you into his arms again, shouting for help like his voice alone could summon life back into your body.

The med team descended in chaos. Bucky wasn’t allowed in the OR this time. He was left in the hall, fists bloodied from punching the wall, breathing like he couldn’t get enough air.

Steve found him there.

“She did it,” Bucky choked out. “Your mistress. She poisoned her. She killed her baby.”

Steve went cold.

Security caught Alliah later that night. The footage was undeniable. She was fired and arrested. Dr. Cho confirmed she’d slipped a blood thinner into your IV line. Just enough to undo everything your body fought to protect.

By morning, your womb was empty.

Bucky sat by your side when you woke, eyes red.

You knew the moment you saw his face.

Your hand drifted to your belly.

“Why does it feel so empty?”

And Bucky, sitting in the chair beside you, eyes rimmed red from a sleepless night, broke right in front of you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “We lost the baby.”

Your breath hitched.

And then everything shattered.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. Not at first.

You just turned your head away.

And whispered, “I didn’t even get to meet them.”

Bucky moved to hold you, and this time, you didn’t push him away. You buried yourself in his chest and sobbed until your body shook. He held you through it, letting every tear soak into his shirt, letting your grief tear both of you open.

Just grief. Shared. Raw. Real.

And the beginning of a long, aching silence that would change both of you forever.

Steve didn’t speak for a long time after Dr. Cho told him.

He just stood there, staring through the glass of your room. You were curled on your side, the blankets pulled high, Bucky’s arm cradling your shoulders as you wept into his chest. You didn’t even notice Steve was there.

He wanted to knock. To come in. To say something that would make it all go away.

But he’d already done enough.

The baby was gone.

And he hadn’t even known.

When he finally worked up the courage to enter the room the next day, you didn’t look at him.

You were sitting upright, slow and exhausted, spooning cold oatmeal from a tray while Bucky quietly read something beside you.

Steve cleared his throat.

“I brought flowers,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“I… I know they don’t fix anything. I just wanted—”

“Leave them,” you said, not turning around.

Steve faltered. “Y/N…”

You finally looked up, tired eyes bloodshot, voice cold. “What do you want me to say, Steve? That it’s okay? That I forgive you?”

“I never meant for this to happen,” he said desperately. “If I could trade places—”

“You don’t get to rewrite this,” you cut in. “You cheated. You shoved me. And you protected the woman who poisoned our child.”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it.

“I didn’t protect her. Not after—”

“But you did,” you said. “And that’s the part that doesn’t leave.”

Steve looked helpless. “Let me fix it. Let me make this right. I can do better. We can try again—”

You shook your head. “No.”

It was quiet. Devastating.

Steve blinked. “No?”

“You don’t get another chance,” you said softly. “Not with me. Not after this.”

Behind you, Bucky silently stood and left the room, giving you space.

But Steve followed him.

“You think this is your moment?” Steve snapped once they were in the hallway. “You think you get to step in now?”

Bucky turned around, expression unreadable. “She needed someone. I was someone.”

“She’s mine,” Steve growled.

“She was never yours the way she deserved to be,” Bucky said flatly.

Steve’s fists curled. “You were waiting for me to mess up, weren’t you? You’ve always been right there. Lurking.”

Bucky’s voice cracked, not from rage, but from something deeper.

“I’ve been in love with her since before you ever looked her way.”

The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Steve stared at him, stunned.

And behind them, you stood frozen in the doorway, your hand on the frame.

You’d heard it.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to you, wide, guilty, caught.

“Y/N…”

You didn’t speak at first.

You walked slowly to him, still weak, your hospital gown dragging slightly across the tile.

You looked between them—Steve, shocked and furious. Bucky, heart in his throat.

“You loved me?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

Bucky swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I—I didn’t want you to know now, not until after you're all healed.”

You looked at Bucky for a long, heavy second.

Steve stepped back, as if the weight of the moment pushed him away.

Steve didn’t fight it this time.

He just nodded once. Then walked away.

And Bucky stood beside you, staring at you.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I wanted you to be happy,” he said. “Even if it wasn’t with me.”

Your eyes lingered on him, on the man who held your hand through blood and grief and heartbreak.

And without saying a word, you reached for him.

He came willingly, carefully, holding you like something sacred, broken but still beautiful.

No promises were made.

No kisses exchanged.

And somewhere in that silence, something new began.

Not perfect. Not whole.

But maybe, just maybe…

A beginning.

A/N: Helooooo! First of all thank you for reading my works, I really appreciate the interactions from you guys! awuuu. I might follow up with a part 2 for this venturing Bucky and reader's journey, but I'm still conceptualizing on the events of the next part. If you have any suggestions please don't hesitate to comment or DM me. would love to brainstorm with you! Love Lots!!! <3

See my other stories here >>> Masterlist <<<

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate: Chapter 18

Trigger Warnings: Violence, trauma, underage sex, coercion, childhood trauma, manipulation, grooming, implied non-consent, death, grief, magic, obsession, paranoia, abandonment, betrayal, forced breeding, torture, brainwashing, sacrilege, sacrifice, judgement, uncomfortable themes

The room was silent. No one uttered a word at the revelation. They were stunned into silence. Some of them even frowned, if not glared at the thought that Hyunjin was their omega's alpha. It made no sense. If Hyunjin was her alpha at some point it meant Hyunjin must have abused her too. He must have tormented her, assaulted her, abused her. There was no way he could justify it now, it was impossible. There were still so many questions. Why did Hyunjin not save her? Why did Hyunjin abandon her? Why did Hyunjin not confess to Chan at the beginning? Did he know that Y/N was Chan's mate? All of these questions were flying around the room silently. Some of them were accusations against Hyunjin. Most of which he did not want to answer nor did he feel he had to. Hyunjin had already explained his story once before to them so why should he reveal it again? They all knew why Chan had stolen Hyunjin, he was Chan's childhood best friend's half-brother that was given to Hongjoong because he was a bastard. Before he died he had begged Chan to find him and to save him. The older half-brother regretted every day what his mother did to Hyunjin. The younger alpha never deserved to be treated the way he was. It was never Hyunjin's fault his parents committed adultery.

Hyunjin was someone who didn't take it lightly when he wasn't trusted. It was an insult to him, but right now he didn't have much of a choice. Either way, he had to confess the truth and accept whether Chan would exile him or not, but Hyunjin was smarter. There was a way he could make Chan accept him and that was by threatening Chan with his omega. Chan would never let anyone take his mate away but Hyunjin couldn't abandon her now since she was back with him. No, she was Hyunjin's in more ways than one and Chan was about to find that out very quickly. Hyunjin could see it. The minute he revealed that it was him and not Wooyoung, Chan had pulled the omega into his arms. He feared the other alpha. If he let her sit there, Hyunjin would grab her and she would never be seen again. It made Hyunjin laugh to see the head alpha so worried. For someone who had such a high status in the werewolf community, he was actually quite vulnerable. Chan had an obvious weakness. Y/N. Without her Chan was nothing. He had the elders of the werewolf council but it was never enough. Chan was a stray who was kicked out of his pack for helping his uncle kill his older brother to be a more powerful alpha. Except that wasn't entirely true. Chan's uncle had coerced Chan as a young boy from the age of ten. He groomed Chan. Gave him everything he ever wanted. Mentored him. Helped him. Everything. It was also the reason why Chan could not stand to be seen as weak. He hated being dominated and he definitely hated being manipulated when he was out-casted by his pack. Still, Chan's older brother had died and Chan was blamed for it because Chan's uncle had to disappear right at the scene. There was no way of proving Chan was innocent so he left as a lone wolf and saved those who were exiled. He saved victims who were accused like Jisung, Minho, Hyunjin and Seungmin. The others chose Chan for his politics. Jeongin chose Chan because he trusted Minho and grew up with him. Felix and Changbin came from similar werewolf packs who left because they heard who Chan was.

Despite all that he has achieved, the need for a soul mate was the root of the problem that fueled Chan's early corruption. His uncle promised him a soul mate if he became an alpha. A soul mate so pure and virtuous. A soul mate who would breed for Chan and provide him with pups. A soul mate who would provide him with an apex. That was the sickest thing Chan learned as a boy of ten. He learned about breeding at such a young age. Even when it came to sex Chan learned it at the ripe age of fourteen with a female omega in his pack who was around the same age. He had to learn, that's what his uncle taught him. He needed to know how to please his omega. This was the reason Chan had such a bad obsession with finding his soul mate. He raided several packs trying to find her but all he did was cause more damage, and he became a threat to werewolf packs. He became a monster. It was only his best friend who could get the alpha to snap out of it. It was only him who could break it gently to his alpha that he was obsessing over something his abuser told him as a child. Minho was another wolf who knew some of the story and promised Chan's best friend he would protect the alpha from his uncle. Minho was the only wolf who had seen Chan break down at the sudden realisation there was no omega. Except his uncle never told a lie, because he found her and Chan would always protect her no matter what. Chan would fight to the death if he had to. He lost so much in life that all he wanted was one ounce of happiness and now that he got it, he wanted to consume it, with or without Hyunjin there.

So now Chan was left with a very easy choice. Banish him. Chan had already made up his mind and Hyunjin could read that, but Hyunjin wasn't going to walk away. Oh, he couldn't. Y/N was soul-bound to him. Her soul was linked to his. His soul was hers. Her soul was his. Hyunjin had used dark magic behind Hongjoong's back to keep her safe because he loved her. In spite of Hyunjin's actions towards her at the beginning, he loved his favourite little omega. His omega was the smartest omega he had ever met when she was his omega. His omega was the one who had found a way to block Hyunjin from her mind. She could even prevent him from feeling her. The reason was because of her perseverance and mental strength, but that wasn't how he fell in love with her. It was the fact she had annoyed him into liking her. Hyunjin was a strict alpha with her. Hyunjin was in charge of the omegas, Jongho, Yeosang and Y/N. To teach them, look after them, care for them. Hyunjin was even colder than he was now, his words were sharper, if not harsher. His defiant female omega had broken his ice-cold heart with her shameless attitude. Every time he made her stay with him as a punishment she would do something obnoxious. Steal his paintbrushes. Swap his books out. The worst she had ever done was swap one of his photographs with a naked one of her. Hyunjin was filled with rage that day and her shameless behaviour. He had never met a woman like her but there she was. It didn't help that Hyunjin was a massive prude back then. Still, Hyunjin learned to love her, which was why he wasn't going to let anything happen to her. He knew she wasn't Hongjoong or Ateez's soul mate so to protect her he bound her soul to his. Hongjoong learned Hyunjin was keeping a secret from him. He knew Hyunjin adored his omega more than anything so Hongjoong had him tortured. Hyunjin was beaten several times with wolfsbane and injected with mistletoe (a slow but deadly poison). Hyunjin was then dragged into a graveyard and was cursed with a dark aura that would be passed down through his bloodline if he did have children that was. The dark aura is the essence of evil that binds the werewolf to both life and death. The nature of their soul is used to feed lycans. Lycans were cursed werewolves who ate people, but there were very few left as most were killed. Hyunjin's soul was supposed to be damned and changed into a lycan but it never happened, much to Hongjoong's confusion. The main reason this never happened was due to the fact half of his soul was Y/N's. Y/N's half prevented the evil from being absorbed, however, the dark aura that was cursed upon him was also engrained into Y/N. She too had a dark aura inside of her, but she didn't know that.

Now that she was bound to him, Hyunjin couldn't leave her. Not ever. The only reason he abandoned her was because he was a selfish, angry coward. He wanted to use her to anger Hongjoong. He wanted her to breed Hongjoong's pups so they would be infected with the dark aura. That anger had eventually faded and then Hyunjin buried his head in the sand all those years as he waited for the pain of her death. He waited and waited and it never came. Which was why he reacted the way he did when he saw her. He was afraid of her reaction. He was afraid she would tell him she hated him and that she never loved him. He was afraid that she regretted binding their souls, but it never came. Y/N never knew who he was. To an extent he was relieved but deep down he was distraught. His little defiant omega was gone and was replaced with something Seonghwa had ruined. So now the story takes another dark turn. Something sinister is about to arise and now Hyunjin cannot leave Y/N. Chan cannot banish him, but that still leaves Chan and his pack of stray kids with a burning question. How the fuck did Hongjoong know Y/N was his mate? And what the fuck is coming for Stray kids.

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