#and she lets him know that hes fully capable of changing and being a good father and person

[judasgot-it]

I don't know if you're getting a request, but I have a request. Do you remember your post about how mushitarou and ango could be a father of a girl or a boy? Can you make the dazai and Fyodor version of that post?

Reread that post. I say bro so often, what is wrong with me?

Fyodor (girl dad)

Given that he is Russian and an old freak, he probably spoils the hell out of his daughter. But is also very strict - perfect grades, must learn 3 languages and play 3 instruments, and has to know how to shoot a gun perfectly.

I think he shows affection, but because he is just used to being manipulative, their relationship might be strained

He's not one to play games with his children. he's kind but he simply carries a serious energy; his daughter learns philosophy at a very young age thanks to this

doesn't mean he cant have fun. I think he would enjoy the silly things she makes, like friendship bracelets. he will keep it on for life I swear

Good chance she will turn out like him. Don't argue with her, it's like trying to argue with a lawyer. Fyodor is undeniably proud of this though

I think that he would let her get away with being a total bitch quite often. He has limits, but he also just can't take her complaints seriously. For him it's like a chihuahua trying to be a guard dog

Doesn't matter if she's 4 or 34, he sees no difference. It's never something worth taking seriously for him

Due to his age and experience, I think he would be freakish about some things. Like there is a 0% chance that he would let her have a boyfriend, and all of her friends would have to be vetted through him

I don't think he would really introduce her to the 'normal' world - he's lived for centuries, so he's seen empires and their laws fail time and time again. In his mind, there is no 'normal', since that definition can change quickly. he does no expect her to have children nor does he expect her to be married. but that might also be because he can't picture anyone being worthy of marrying his daughter

He also wants her to be able to defend herself. If she has an ability then he's even more concerned; that's probably his worst nightmare as a parent

If her mother is in the picture I think that would cause his relationship with his daughter to be even more strained. I don't think he would be an active father, since distance might be the best way to protect them

Fyodor knows more about his daughter than she knows about him. just a fact.

Nikolai might be an 'uncle' to her. Or at least somewhat active in her life.

Gonna be honest, I think Fyodor would make her think that he's a better person than he really is.

If she ever gets involved in the world of crime and abilities like he is then 100% he is stalking her every move and will be there to protect her if necessary. Is it weird? yes. but he's just being a dad.

I dont think his daughter would ever fully know him as a person. then again, does Fyodor even know himself?

Boy dad

If you thought he was strict before, then now it's even worse

He knows what he is capable, so he would expect the same from his son. Which is dangerous, because Fyodor knows the extent of his own crimes

Not to say that he doesn't love him. No, he obviously does

but there is a high chance that they would not get along together. even though his son might be exactly like him; smart, manipulative, and a little crazy. perhaps they're just too similar.

his son will likely be a total mama's boy. I just feel it in my bones.

it would be cute when he's young, but once he's older Fyodor would start to hate it. perhaps because he wont have full control over him

I feel like in general Fyodor would struggle to be a good parent to his kids; they know too much about him, and because of that, they don't fall easily for his tactics. They are his strongest enemies

A positive; Fyodor would have the same hobbies as his son. And it's one of the best ways for them to bond. catch them playing some songs together and you'll understand just how they're related

I think Fyodor wouldnt view his son as an equal unless proven wrong. He has high expectations, which would likely strain their relationship

he loves him though. but i think because he's so aware of his own cruelty that he almost lives in fear of someone just like him. almost.

Dazai (girl dad)

He'd struggle. like, a lot

Unlike Fyodor, who doesn't take his daughter too seriously, Dazai 100% would

to a scary amount. like, she might threaten to stop talking to him ever again because she's 4 and having a tantrum and it might actually cause Dazai to have a breakdown. good luck getting them both to calm down

Fatherhood might actually kill Dazai. because he hates himself and he would be convinced all the time that his daughter hates him

Is it healthy? no. absolutely not

he'll gladly play along with her games though. he'd probably play along with her too well; he'd have his own dress and everything for tea parties. he also is a big fan of her 'girl' shows

are they good? absolutely not but its fun to tease her about it. unironically watches bad dramas with her

cried when she made him a bad drawing of them holding hands. its stupid but he never could picture someone calling him 'best friend' genuinely.

the agency is 100% involved with her life.

Kunikida would probably be more responsible for her then Dazai. doesn't mean he's a bad father, but I think Dazai would struggle with the simple childhood joys

The agency is like her second family; everytime she comes back from school she'll right there. she's a near permanent fixture in the office

She might want to grow up to be just like them. Dazai absolutely shuts this down; he dgaf if she has an ability or not. although she will continue to try anyway

Dazai has no idea how to encourage a child to be better though. I feel like Kunikida and Fukuzawa would encourage her to go through higher education more than Dazai would

while not always there, I think she'll be aware of the port mafia. Does she know Dazai's connection with it? one day yes, but by god does she never tell her father

He knows that she knows, but that conversation would probably be extremely difficult for him. I think there's a lot of "I know that you know" between them, but they're both too careful to do anything

if she starts a fight with him then it's an absolute nightmare for the both of them. I think his daughter might have a sense of hyper independence and will start to argue with him very early

They both get over it. eventually. but there would likely be a long period of where his daughter will know the right things to say to hurt him. Dazai knows to be better now, but he isn't sure of the right alternative.

there might be a chance that his daughter would have mental health issues like him. which is terrifying, and might be the one reason why Dazai tries to take care of himself more. It's not a good example for a kid to see their father try to drown himself afterall.

gonna be honest though I think Dazai would use his daughter as a way to connect with Odasaku. while she might not be an orphan, he'll find that he can understand the pain Oda went through before his death

That probably terrifies him even more honestly. because now he knows just how bad that feeling is. like it's the shit that keeps him up at night

but all in all, I think he would have a good relationship with her. they both can bury the hatchet at least.

Boy dad

I think it's mostly similar to raising a daughter

But it's just a little easier; he has experience in shaping young men, so at least when his son is older he knows he won't struggle so much

He is kind to his son. but also more distant

unfortunately a lot of his experience works with those who are already broken. which means that there is likely a long period in his son's early years where he won't know the best answer to a person who never experienced the torture he did

there's a critical age in his son's life where they empathize with one another though. probably after a stupid breakup.

I think his son would make the bad mistake of assuming that his father knows nothing about his life or how bad he has it. which ends soon enough, but that doesn't mean it bridges the gap it caused

His son might end up more like Kunikida, which is both a blessing and a nightmare. a blessing because he is responsible and makes sure that his father is alive everyday, and a nightmare because he is far too capable as a person and can see Dazai's flaws as clear as day

There is a strange thing where his son is simply different from his father. Kind of like Atsushi, who wants to assume the best in people first. And will find that he cares little for romantic pursuits.

he might not care enough. Dazai knows how attractive he is, and his son certainly inherited it. but his son cares little for it, becoming rather serious and focused on his own pursuits

is it a bad thing? not necessarily. but its a tool to Dazai, one that's helped him time and time again. for him it feels like his son is throwing away opportunities that could only favor him

not to say that his son is incapable of manipulation. but he values the truth far more, which leads to him preferring to brute force his way through problems and situations

in a situation where Dazai would manipulate his way to the top, his son would simply slam the truth in front of him and expect everyone to follow the solution he sees as best

i can imagine it being very frustrating for them both. His son sees through his manipulation and Dazai knows that his son is right about how to solve his problems

its like telling a smoker that smoking is bad for them. its a constant struggle

they get along though. they have their differences but in the end of the day, dazai knows his son could survive without him and doesn't see the need to watch over him like a hawk

[jackass-jones]

Rebecca gales has bpd she told me herself

[amazinglyashy]

hello, idk if you're open but if you dooo, can you do HC of lads seeing MC being more...brutal? since we all know our mc is badass but kind right, but what if sometimes she slipped and her darkness come forth more than she usually let on? hahahah idk it just after all mc been through she's more than validated to be villain u kno. so yea! thankchuu

Just a heads up, I am ALWAYS open, it's just a matter of when I get to the request, so as long as you're patient, anyone can send in anything anytime!! :D And ooh, this is an interesting one, but something I've definitely thought about haha. MC's been through a lot, and I feel a lot of readers also have too, and there comes a point when you gotta say screw it, I'm mad now. (I'll also say I'm still really grumpy about how little we get regarding MC's grieving during certain points of the story, and the lack of how the Li's all react as well to the news, no matter how little they know about the situation :/) Thank you for the request <3 hope you enjoy!

Love and Deepspace Li's reaction to seeing you finally snap

Rafayel -

He's somehow... not surprised.

But can you blame him?

The amount of rage Rafayel carries in his heart is constantly, constantly threatening to bubble up to the surface and boil over the edges of his last remaining ounces of humanity. The amount of cruelty on the basis of pure rage that he could commit is not a volume that he is proud to carry, but something he carries heavily though.

So seeing you finally snap is... almost cathartic.

He knows what he's been through, hell- he knows a great deal of what you've been through. Even in the distant past. It would be a wonder if you weren't angry. If you weren't seeing things. If you hadn't 't been simmering up to your breaking point from microaggressions and trauma stacking up and up until-

Here you were.

And for him, it feels like you're doing something of your own volition- feeling something that was entirely your own. Devoid of any outside influence or need to be the kindest person in the room. To keep your head down, path straight and narrow.

And despite the sheer amount of power he possesses in comparison to you, he will admit if asked- that he was just a little bit afraid at first. Even if just for a moment.

And damn, he was proud of you.

Zayne -

Calmly, he watches you.

It's out of character, sure, given how you usually are. Even when you're rude or abrasive, it's never anywhere near... something quite like this.

But the other thing is- he has a good grasp on the human psychic, just from his medical knowledge, even though it isn't his main area of study. He knows what it takes to truly make someone snap, both from personal experience and from his findings in research.

He also knows the extent of things you have been through that have been building up, cumulating into this moment before him where you have finally just broken.

Depending on the level of rage and cruelty you reach, he may stop you, or he may let you go. Either way, his actions are calm and calculated, no matter how he might disagree with, agree with, or fear your actions. He knows someone needs to remain levelheaded in this situation, and he's more than capable of taking on that role.

Gods forbid once you calm down that you feel guilty. If what you did was uncalled for or wrong, he'll discuss it with you, but if there was justifications to your actions or experiences and trauma that had led you to your moment, he'll just pull you into a hug slowly, his expression even.

He'll say it if he needs to, but his actions will hopefully tell you that nothing, nothing you do will ever change his love for you.

Xavier -

He's startled.

He himself is used to having complete control over his emotions, to the point where he can disguise them exceedingly well to maintain a calm aura. So seeing you fully snap and head down a warpath, it's... shocking.

But he's not entirely surprised.

Honestly, he would be more surprised if you had never got this angry at all, given the things you had told him under the covers in his bed, after a particularly late night in his apartment watching movies together.

You've been through a lot.

He knows that.

He knows how it hurts.

So when you finally rage, it takes him a few moments for even the thought of stopping you to enter his mind. And even when it does, he first has to have a small battle internally on whether or not letting you go off and have your cathartic moment is better, even at the cost of a little bit of destruction.

He'll stop you if it's particularly dangerous though, even if it means having to wrestle you away from whatever it is that was taking the brunt of your anger.

Otherwise, he'll just let you go.

Whenever you're done though, if you dare try and steal a glance back towards him, afraid that you may have scared him or made him scared or angry with you-

He'll just flash you a small, comforting smile.

Sylus -

Sylus spends the majority of his time in a cesspool of seething rage, backstabbing psychopaths, and fake smiles that take advantage of the weak and needy.

Anger for himself, anger towards others, anger to benefit others who can't seem to get angry themselves-

If anyone knows what fury is, it's him. Whether secondhand, personally, or just being around it for so long, he knows the emotion intimately well and every single shape or form that it could possibly take.

Still, seeing you suddenly lose it is... surprising.

He likes it.

Not in a way where he's turned on necessarily (though it is an additional feeling), but the enjoyment stems from constantly seeing you put others before yourself- watching you make yourself small so that the people around you could be big- and now finally watching you take what you deserved in his eyes.

He won't intervene unless you're doing something he knows you'll deeply regret later, instead favoring watching you until you've burnt out and finished to the end.

He's mostly quiet, he knows it's probably not something you want to talk about, like most people wouldn't want to after a particularly vicious outburst in an argument. But he can't help a few small comments.

"I'm surprised. I never thought the kitten had such big claws. You really surprised me, sweetie."

[cosmos-coma]

My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

Like what I do? Consider buying me a Coffee!

________________

Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat. 

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him. 

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup. 

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.” 

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.  

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’  you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send. 

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held. 

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner. 

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation. 

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?” 

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again. 

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.” 

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened. 

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried. 

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.  

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms. 

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet. 

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten. 

He should have listened. 

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung. 

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn. 

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake. 

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over. 

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.  

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him. 

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.” 

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be. 

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click. 

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend. 

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead. 

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence. 

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door. 

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”  

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached. 

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise. 

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.  

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour. 

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently. 

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question. 

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

 You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away. 

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more. 

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal. 

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body. 

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin. 

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning? 

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him. 

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better. 

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin. 

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission. 

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not. 

“Oh. I-” 

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere. 

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on. 

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands. 

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, 

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way. 

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you. 

“Мое солнц�� [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room. 

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden- 

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet. 

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways. 

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid. 

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again. 

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air. 

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team. 

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again. 

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце  [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive. 

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive. 

“I can’t do this without you…” 

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.” 

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].” 

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague. 

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…” 

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab. 

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work. 

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly. 

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?” 

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

 It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss. 

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….” 

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head. 

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…” 

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye. 

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well. 

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began. 

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry. 

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

And You Were Brighter Than The Light Pt. 2

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Pt. 1

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, fluff, angst, no use of y/n, mental health issues, canon-divergent au, smut (p in v sex, oral both receiving, fingering)

Summary/Warnings: There are a lot of Avenger's at the compound. And you never leave your room. It's a good thing you did, though. Just once. Otherwise you never would've met Bucky.

Author's Note: Let's get horny and emotional!

Word Count: 7.7k

You’re staring at the devil. 

She’s in the mirror. She has your face and your voice, and her breath falls in perfect time with yours as you look her in the eyes and try to work out how to pull her out of your body.

But she’s always there. When you hole up in your lab and keep yourself out of the Avenger’s orbit, when you keep your hands folded into each other and your existence as small as possible, when you speak and she’s bitter and harsh on your tongue, because her voice is your voice, and there will never be any hope of pulling her from your body.

Because you’re the same. You are she. You’re the one who needs to keep yourself locked up like an animal—the actual animals seem to be freer than you are, because they feel safe in your lab, but you mostly feel just on the wrong side of contained—and you’re the one who makes the Avengers flinch away from your presence.

You know you’re a burden. You’d even come to terms with it, before him. You’d known Tony had built your lab to keep you distracted and placated, and Steve doesn’t push you to join group actives or missions because he doesn’t really want you there. You make everyone uncomfortable, just by existing where they know you could touch them and ruin their lives. Stop their hearts or read their minds—you can’t read minds, you can only sense their stress because their muscles tense and their brains start to fire and their blood smell of fear—with barely a thought. 

Natasha was nice to you, but you think it’s because she knows you won’t do anything, and she recognizes what it’s like to not fully like what you’re capable of doing. Wanda is your friend because neither of you know how to pretend you’re something you’re not—even if you wish you could—she understands what it’s like to exist on the outskirts of the whole world. 

And he-

He’s perfect. 

He’s been perfect since the first time you saw him. Half-unconscious and being carried off a Quinjet, his body wracked by the poison FRIDAY had informed you needed your attention.

That was how you’d know it was serious. You could cox flesh and organ to heal itself without effort, but no one ever asked you to because they had other methods that were more trustworthy. If Steve had specifically requested your attention on Sargent Barnes, it had to be horrible.

And it had been. Your heart had broken at the sight of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen—matted hair and bloodless skin and drenched in sweat—rolling around in pain, then your whole body had mended into something stronger than it had been before when his dilated, dazed eyes met yours, and you felt the rush of dopamine and oxytocin hit his brain was almost akin to a brilliant, hazy and pink high. 

You’d asked the chemicals to stay in his brain, as you lain a hand on his white-hot skin. To ease the pain of this tangible god, who’d only looked at you and let out a low, incoherent moan that echoed through the air like a hymn.

You’d fixed him. And when he’d woken up and looked at you, nothing in his brain had changed. The chemicals had only lingered, starting to seep deeper into his skull, and you’d almost been able to see them re-writing his whole body chemistry in quick moments as he spoke to you, and you smiled, and he stared.

Barnes had stared right into your fucking soul, and the second rush of oxytocin hadn’t been his.

It had all been yours. 

———

You’d started to leave your lab, just to find reasons to see him. 

He ate breakfast in the kitchen, so you’d been there every morning, waiting just to see him, shuffling around with his hair still over his eyes but his whole body already awake.

You hadn’t needed to speak, at the start. You’d been able to feel the endorphins—running through his whole brain and sparking whenever he glanced up at you over the table—but it might have been simply infatuation. You weren’t ugly to look at, but you were hideous to know. 

And you didn’t want to be hideous to him. You hadn’t been ready for Bucky—you’d allowed yourself to call him Bucky in your head, because it made him seem more real—to look at you and realize exactly why you were more like a phantom that haunted the compound, rather than a real member of the team. And you’d been able to learn so much just by sitting with him, every morning, in the kitchen.

His breathing was always even. Always controlled. Everything about him was controlled, but set on a thin line that could snap every moment. It wasn’t like how Steve or Natasha were controlled, where they had mastery over their bodies you could sense with their every movement. It wasn’t like how Bruce was controlled, either. Like he was pushing himself down.

It was purely, entirely Bucky. Control that was deliberate, but not forced. Careful, but not painful. It seemed more like it soothed him that strained him. Every flex of a muscle or movement of his body completely his, in a way that slowed his heartbeat and made his brain fire with a little less frantic tension.

That was another thing. Bucky’s brain was always moving. More than most people you’d met before. Assessing everything and turning over every shift in the wind, his eyes scanning with that same control as if he was checking everything was in its place. When it was, he’d relax slightly. If it wasn’t, his spine and gut would go taut, and it felt wrong. Strange. Like seeing a star out of place in the sky, or a withered rose in a garden.

You’d given yourself a task. Silently make sure Bucky stayed relaxed, without ever manipulating his body or saying a word. Learn what he found to be out of place, even if he didn’t really know himself, and put it back where it was meant to be. 

Because then the star would glide back to its rightful spot, and the rose would bloom, and everything would be fine. 

Then it would grow and twine and blossom over your bones when you finally spoke to him—the hot sauce felt like it had been out of place, and you’d needed to fix that for him, because vengeful and soft gods should not have hot sauce on their face—and fixed the frozen and panicked explosion in his head, and he didn’t stop joining you in the kitchen.

He’d stayed where you could feel him. And the oxytocin hadn’t faltered or died.

It had only become golden, and grown.

———

You’d started to break your self-inflicted, punishing rules for him. You’d said you’d never attend the group-bonding nights, because your time would be better spent helping the animals with whatever they needed, and you were almost certain you wouldn’t be really, truly welcome.

But you’d known Bucky would be there, and you’d wanted to see him in lighting that wasn’t fluorescent. 

He’d been even more beautiful than before. His body hadn’t had the same ease from the kitchen, but the chemicals had spiked when he’d seen you—you’d been staring at your cards, but you’d felt it, known who it was from, and had to bite down a smile at just the fact that Bucky’s eyes had found you so fast in the crowd, like he’d been looking—and when he’d spoken to you in a full, real conversation, you’d lost track of the whole world.

Nothing had been attention on the other guy in Bruce, or the intensity of Steve’s heartbeat, or the overwhelming rush of Tony’s brain. It had all just been Bucky, speaking to you like you were both human. Like you weren’t only one level above an animal, and he wasn’t something powerful and brilliant, captured into a body that you’d realize you’d be able to recognize if you were blindfolded and shoved into a pit of hell.

And he was funny, in a dry and sarcastic way. He was handsome and funny and smarter than he seemed to think he was, and when you got him to laugh it was a perfect, deep sound that was born so deep in his body you knew it covered his whole world. You’d learned he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to, and that including laughing and speaking, but he was laughing and speaking to you.

So you’d come back.

And it had still only gotten better.

“You’re here.”

You’d looked to find Bucky standing above you with his arms crossed, a small smile on his face that had made the whole world hum and buzz with ease.

“I am.” You’d tilted your head, returning his smile. “Should I not be?”

He’d shaken his head, standing a little taller. “You can, uh, I think you’re allowed to be wherever you want. Here is good.”

You’d hummed, glancing between him and the card. “Are you going to sit down?”

Bucky had blinked, but nodded, and his legs had already started fold under his body before he’d stopped himself. Frozen above you and stared at you with wide eyes, and you’d been able to feel the gears of his brain turning. You’d been about to ask him if he was okay—been about to damn all the risks about how all the other Avengers were shooting you weary looks, and reached out to touch Bucky, to ask his body to calm the hell down—but he’d turned on his heel and walked away.

And for a brief, horrible moment, you’d been lonely again. You’d been missing him, and you’d been lonely and you’d felt as if the ground could swallow you and it would be nothing, because Bucky had wanted you but then he’d frozen and you may be just that hideous-

He’d returned within a minute, dropped across you on the floor, and pushed a drink into your hands. 

“For you.” He’d muttered, his entire face red and eyes trained on yours as he seemed to monitor your reaction. “I made Natasha mix it.” 

You’d blinked at him, and the neurons firing in his brain had still had that iridescent, bright, firework quality, but his heart had been a beat off it’s normal pace and there had been nothing else in his body.

He’d just been watching you. And when you’d taken the drink and started to shuffle the cards, it had been as if he’d been given permission to go at ease. His body had slumped slightly, and his breathing had grown deep, and you’d wanted that more. You really did want all of Bucky to be relaxed all the time, because it once he was the fireworks drew out in larger patterns and the oxytocin didn’t seem to be blocked my anything, and fuck it was good to see and sense and smell-

“I asked Steve for a computer.” He’d said, watching you flip over your next card. “He said he’d get me one, but he couldn’t teach me how to use it.”

You’d frowned. “Why-“

“Apparently, he kept downloading something called a virus. He wouldn’t be a suitable teacher.”

You’d snorted, glancing to where Steve was in a deep conversation across the room. “I believe that.”

“Would you teach me?”

Bucky’s words had been quick, and his eyes had still been locked on your hands as you stared at him. You couldn’t tell if he was serious. You’d hoped he was—if he was he trusted you, if he was he really wanted to see you, and maybe this could be something that lasted—and he really wasn’t the lying type, but maybe he’d misspoken-

“I-“

“If you want.” He’d added, words quick and tight. “I’d, uh- I could get you another drink.”

You’d nodded slowly, unable to stop yourself from asking, “Why me?”

He’d glanced up, eyes finally meeting yours, and the small grin he’d given you had detonated across your heart like the birth of a star. “Nobody else I’d trust, doll.”

“Nobody?”

“Nah,” he’d shaken his head, sitting a little straighter as he held your gaze, and flipped another card from his deck. “You taught me how to play war, and that worked out. And I like hearing you talk, doll. Worse ways to spend my time.”

You’d felt your face heat, and your whole body had felt a little shocking jolt, making your movements stutter slightly.

His words had been slow. Careful. Still slightly restrained and measured, like he’d been testing the waters of what you’d allowed him to say to you.

And you’d let him say anything. Even then, you’d have let him do anything to you. You’d let him dive into you and take whatever he wanted, because he was so handsome and his voice was deep, and he’d started to sit close enough to you that you could smell him, and that itself was like an aphrodisiac. 

Too much. Too fast. He might not be ready.

So you’d just nodded, tilting your head at him with a soft half-smile. “Can I teach you a new card game as well?”

“You can teach me whatever the hell you want.” He’d breathed, returning your half-smile, and the rush this time had been even. Matched. A tsunami of endorphins, so strong you couldn’t tell which were his and which were yours.

And you broken more and more rules, just for Bucky.

You’d asked Natasha to move your training sessions to the daylight. 

She’d only shrugged when you’d asked. “That should be fine. We’ll meet at one tomorrow.”

“Actually,” you’d swallowed, staring at your hands as you dragged the words up from your heart. “Can, um, I need to check something before we-“

“The America Boys train at one thirty.”

You’d blinked at her. “The America-“

“Steve, Sam, and Bucky.” She’d smirked, not looking up from her phone. “You’ll be well and warmed up by the time they arrive.”

There had been no point in arguing or protesting. You’d only nodded and flushed, and ignored Natasha’s smug grin after Bucky had arrived, and you exchanged silent words and smiles. 

Then you’d let him into the lab. You weren’t supposed to let anyone in the lab. Tony only came in if there were technical issues, Steve barely moved past the threshold, and everyone else would ask FRIDAY to talk to you if you were needed. It wasn’t like the animals liked anyone but you. It wasn’t like anyone but you liked the animals.

But you’d been talking about Bucky too much. You’d been doing what had been—rightfully, but annoyingly—labeled as rambling. And you’d promised to introduce to him to the cats.

So you’d let him into the lab. You’d let him into your bed. Not like that, but more than you’d ever really had before. It might be more intimate, because usually when people slept near you—moved into REM where you could sense it—they’d infect you and it would send you into something like a catatonic state. Everything would be too much, and you’d scream and thrash in your head as the feeling overwhelmed you, and you’d end up hurting something. Pulling them forcefully out of their rest because you’d been begging their brain to stop, sending than into night terrors because their minds had felt your distress and responded in kind.

But sleeping near Bucky was easy. After you’d soothe him into sleep he’d stay there without strain or discomfort—as if his brain didn’t even consider resisting your pleas to just let this immovable man rest—and you’d match the chemicals in his body with ease. 

Then the morning would break, and the flood of bright, gold and pink and blue chemicals would hit you like a drug, and you’d know. 

Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin were love chemicals. 

And that is what this is. What it had started as, and built upon, and bloomed into so powerful it was entwined and grooved onto the pathways of your entire being. You could admit, just to yourself, that this is love. You’d swallowed the word from the start, because you didn’t know how long it would last. If it would rewrite your body in the way it had, or if it could be something that faded and passed.

It hadn’t. The devil in the mirror wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but she had, and now you’d bend and stretch and fold any way Bucky asked you to for the rest of your life.

But you didn’t want to be the one to say that. 

So you’ll  just wait until he knows himself, and until then, you’ll be whatever he needs you to be.

———

“Your presence is requested in the infirmary.”

You look up at the ceiling with a frown. “Why?”

“Mr. Wilson appears to have strained his hamstring.” FRIDAY hums, and you didn’t know an AI could sound so amused. “Although I assured him that our usual team would be more than capable of treating his injury, he specifically requested that you make sure there is nothing else of concern.”

“Is there something else of concern?”

“Not that my scan was able to find. He should be fine with some ice and rest.”

You frown. “Then why- Does Sam even know how my powers work?” 

“I believe Sargent Barnes has informed him. I have additionally been instructed to inform you that he believes Mr. Wilson is being a baby, and that Sargent Barnes can handle this himself, doll.”

You flush, and curse your breath for fleeing your body so fast. “Bucky’s there?”

“Yes. He helped Mr. Wilson to the infirmly, though he also threatened to drop him several times.”

You sigh, glancing around the lab. It’s most silent, with most of the animal engrossed in their own work and conversation, and Sam—the little shit—has done this five times in the past month, but it always works. You always go to the lab to fix a minor injury—you’re starting to think he’s hurting himself on purpose—and Bucky’s always there, and you don’t even notice when Sam leaves the room because you’re too busy drowning in the high of Bucky. Grinning at you and calling you doll and looking more handsome than anyone should have the right to be-

“Should I inform them that you recommend ice, and cannot join them in the infirmary, Doctor?“

“You know I’m not a real doctor, FRIDAY-“

“Mr. Stark has included your doctorate within my records-“

“Yeah, but I’m not a medical doctor-“

“I am instructed to refer to everyone by their highest title. Besides,” FRIDAY doesn’t have a face, but it sounds like she’s smiling. “You are my favorite.”

You mock gasp. “I’m gonna tell Tony.”

“You are welcome to, but I think he already knows. What should I tell Mr. Wilson?”

You run a hand through your hair, and let out a long, slow breath. The smart thing to do would be to tell Sam to fuck off, and stop trying to very obviously and strangely set you and Bucky up. It’s not like you don’t see him every day, and night. Like he doesn’t often wake up on the other side of your bed, and make you coffee in the kitchen, and arrive early to train so he can circle around the gym and jump into talk to you at any given opportunity. 

But he feels so good. Being near Bucky feels so good, and he looks at you like you might be more than just a demon or problem, and love makes you a fool that caves to Sam Wilson’s stupid ideas.

“Tell him I’m on my way.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Sam is grinning at you when you walk through the door, but you barely see him. You’re looking at Bucky.

Most of the time, you’re looking at Bucky. Handsome. Strong. A little sweaty but with high adrenaline in his body that makes you feel awake, and watching you right back, grinning and red-faced and full of love, everything in him is full of love and it’s so hard to wait but it’s all you can do-

“Took you long enough,” Sam almost whines, and when you finally give him more than a spared glance, he’s cradling his leg like it’s a crying child. “Were you just gonna let me die?”

You lean forward, tilting your head at his leg with a blank expression a dry voice. “You should ice that.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Why should I when I got miss miracle worker-“

“Doctor.”

You and Sam both stare at Bucky with wide eyes, and he only shrugs.

“She’s a doctor, Sam.” He mutters. “Doctor Miracle Worker.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, you raise your chin higher, and Sam sighs.

“Fix my leg, Doctor Miracle Worker-“

Bucky scowls, crossing his arms. “Say please.”

Sam scoffs. “Are you suddenly my fuckin’ father, Bucky-“

“If I was your father, I would’ve made you just ice it.” Bucky nods to you. “Say please, or I’m breaking your leg.”

“C'mon, man, you can’t be serious-“

“He is.” You fold your hands behind your back, bouncing slightly on your feet. “That’s his serious face.”

Sam looks between you and Bucky with disbelief, Bucky takes a firm step forward—he won’t actually break Sam’s knee, you’d been able to sense the lie twist in his stomach—and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“Please, Doctor Miracle Worker.” Sam mutters, giving you a half-pleading look. “Fix my leg.”

Bucky nods with satisfaction, and you step forward, humming softly until Sam’s muscles agree to patch themselves together.

You can feel Bucky the whole time. Right behind you, watching you with a silent fascination that’s still a little foreign. You’re not used to it. The borderline awe that’s light over his heart, whenever you’re near. At first, you’d thought it to be an illusion or mistaken read of his body, but you don’t make mistaken reads of bodies. 

And Bucky really is in awe of you. 

You really want to say it. Right now. With Sam drinking apple juice and grumbling about how that’s the last time he does Bucky a favor, you want to turn and scream it, scream that you love Bucky, and you didn’t know it could be like this but you never want it to go away-

“What’s it feel like?”

You blink over your shoulder, and find Bucky only inches away. You don’t know how you hadn’t sensed him. 

Your body might be starting to count him as yourself, and that would be dangerous if you didn’t think you could hand him your heart and lungs and he’d keep them safer than they are in your chest.

“Feel like?”

He nods to your hand, resting lightly on Sam’s leg. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” You tilt your head at him, and you think that if you could crawl into his eyes and always be under his attention, you would. “It feels like speaking. But louder.”

Bucky glances at Sam—who’s doing a very good job pretending he’s not listening—and lowers his voice. “Even when you, uh- Do the thing. For me.”

It’s not a question. You know exactly what he’s referring to, and it’s more like he’s asking for reassurance. 

But Bucky’s like an ailment or anchor or shield. He couldn’t hurt you if he tried.

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “Never.”

“Good.” He grunts, his gaze never breaking from yours. “You- uh- your hair looks nice.” 

Your smile grows, and you might be floating. “Thank you. The monkey’s did it.”

Bucky nods, and you don’t know if he realized how close he’s leaning to your body. “Tell them I think they did a good job.”

“I will,” you hum. “They want to do yours, you know. Ellie asked me specifically.”

“Huh.” Bucky’s mouth tugs into a grin, his eyes flashing slightly. “Only if they agree to let us watch Risky Business again.”

You sigh. “You’ve seen that movie five times, Buck-“

“And it’s good every single time-“

“But we could be branching out. You still haven’t seen Fantasia-“

Bucky’s brow wrinkles. “What’s Fantasia.”

“Big orchestra thing.” Sam interrupts with a shit-eating grin. “Super calming, Buck. Got dinosaurs.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head, shooting Sam a glare.

“The dinosaurs die, Sam. It will make him sad.”

“Sad?” Sam’s grin is going to split his face. “Man, do you get all sappy when dinosaurs die?”

Bucky scowls. “No. Shut it or I’m breaking your knee.”

“Nah, that threat ain’t gonna work on me twice, you cry to dinosaur movies-“

“FRIDAY?” You cut Sam off with raised brows. “Please tell Tony that Sam’s been using Redwing around the compound again.”

“Of course, doc-“

“Hold up!” Sam shouts, words quick and frantic. “FRIDAY, you keep to yourself-“

“I am afraid the doctor has given me an order.” FRIDAY hums, and you’re almost certain she’s smiling this time. “Mr. Stark is currently in a meeting, but-“

Sam says your name, his eyes wide. “Tell her to stop, I’m not tryin’ to give Tony a reason to kill me-“

You tilt your head at him for a long second, feeling his lungs start to tighten in his chest, and then shrug like nothing’s happened at all.

“FRIDAY, don’t tell Tony anything.”

“The message to Mr. Stark has been redacted.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters, scowling between you and Bucky. “You know, you’re meaner than I thought you’d be.”

Bucky tenses behind you, but you wave Sam off with a smile.

“Sorry.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, you’re not. But I’m gonna forgive you, you were just tryin’ to make the Tin Man have a heart.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You’re a saint.”

“I know. You know, I think you already did the job, cause someone’s been a real big sap about shit lately.” Sam lowers his voice to a whisper, wiggling his brows at you. “I didn’t know he could cry. Or watch movies. Or have a cru-“

“Sam.” Bucky grunts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Didn’t say anything, Buck.” Sam shrugs, giving him a toothy smirk. “And you should watch Fantasia. It’s a classic, big mops dancin’ around-“

Bucky gives you a weary look, and you shake your head.

“No, we won’t. But we’re not watching Risky Business, either.”

He frowns, but before he can protest you cut him off with an easy smile.

“We’ll watch Night at the Museum. You’ll like it.”

There’s a rush of endorphins through his body that’s so powerful it almost knocks you over, and you don’t know how he manages to stay upright and steady-voiced, only giving you a wide, blinding grin. 

“Whatever you say, doll.”

———

He’s in your room again. Asleep with low sores and even breaths, and you didn’t do a single thing to force him down. 

No gentle words to his body, asking them to do you a favor and let him exist easily, as he always deserves to. All you’d done is stroke your fingers through his hair, and sat at his side through an admittedly dull movie, and realized that the usual race and force of his mind had eased.

And now he’s asleep. In your arms. 

And if this is love, you never want to be anything else. If you could only become a mass of chemicals without a body, you would because it would be stars scatted across Bucky’s sky, and you wouldn’t need to devote yourself to loving him because it would be all he’s ever feel.

Your love. For him.

The same way right now, even when he’s fast asleep, you can really only feel his love for you.

It’s become harder to not say it. You need to say it. You don’t know when it changed or shifted, but the words have to be spoken aloud or the moon will crash to the earth and the oceans will rise and the world will fall. It may have been when he made you food, and it was horrible, and nothing had ever tasted better. It may have been when you agreed to go to the city with him, but ended up spending the whole day on the law because neither of you really wanted to attend Tony’s stupid meeting, and the sun was warmer than any conference room. It was likely at another team meeting, when he’d taken one look at you, offered you his hand, and led you back to your lab before you’d even had a chance to tell him you wanted to go home. 

But now it’s venom on your tongue. Venom that will so easily morph into honey or spit that you can share with him, because all you’d have to say is Bucky, I love you, and so much of the world would heal. You think you could make everyone in the universe invincible—asking every piece of their bodies to remain static and healthy, because you’re in love and nothing has ever been better—if you’d just say it. 

Yet the fear still lingers in your throat. Bucky loves you too. You know he does, everything in his body tells you he does, you don’t know if he knows he does. It’s not romantic to tell someone they love you. It could be damaging to tell Bucky he loves you, because he’s spent so long being told what he is, and you’d like to be something he chooses. 

It doesn’t stop the need—hunger, thirst, craving, demand—to say it. You need to say it. You’ll implode if you don’t say it. The world will shatter before you get the chance, if you don’t tell Bucky you love him.

You trace light, careful fingers over his face, still not sure how he got here. How he managed to crawl through time and push out of the earth only to end up here, in your bed. 

You don’t deserve him. You don’t know why he’s never been afraid of you—he should’ve been, you should’ve been his worst nightmare—but he hasn’t. He’s never been anything but good, and you’d be a great demon for him. You’d be the kind that keeps it word and makes exception just for Bucky, you’d shift the way the world functions for Bucky, you’d plead with every bit of life you come across to spare him a little more, so he never has to know pain or grief or death again. 

You’d be a monster for him. Or a ghost or phantom or spirit or form of pure, brilliant light to keep him warm and safe for a lot more than always.

He shifts against your body, wrapping his arms around your torso and burying his face in your stomach, you can’t hold it in. You brush hair from his brow and keep your voice soft, letting the words spill out into the air. There’s nowhere else for them to go.

“I love you,” you whisper, smiling into the dark because the words sound right. “So, so, so much. All the time.”

Bucky grunts—the whole sound rolling through your body–and shifts over to meet your eyes. Rolling onto his side with his arms squeezing around you and a small smirk on his lips, and his eyes are so pretty. Every piece of him is pretty, but his eyes could end and build worlds with their focus, with how they’re like a drug that sparks and calls you to move. To do anything because as long as his eyes have light behind them, you need to keep moving.

And he’s awake. 

Which means-

“I love you too,” He says your name—that’s your name, he’s referring to you—and his is voice gravely and rough as he scans over your face, and you can only gape at him.

“How did you do that?”

“Been practicing.”

“Practice- Why?”

His smile grows a little, even as he flushes. “You talk in your sleep. And you never sleep ‘less I’m sleeping, doll. And I like listening to you.”

“I-“ You swallow, and you’d bury yourself into the sheets if Bucky wasn’t holding you so tight against him. “What do I say?”

“Does it matter?”

You nod, and he lets out a long breath.

“Nothing. I just- uh- sometimes you mumble something that sounds like my name. Always want to see if I can get more of what you’re thinking.” His hand squeezes slightly on your waist, and you lean a little further down. He’s magnetic. You couldn’t stop yourself if you, for some cruel and masochistic reason, wanted to.

“It’s a mean trick.” You mumble, but there’s a smile on your face that you couldn’t scratch off if you tried. “You could’ve just talked to me.”

“I talk to you all the time. You never said, uh-“ Bucky clears his throat, his grip almost crushing your ribs. You don’t care. It means he really is real. “You don’t say that.”

“No,” you whisper, and if you go just one more inch, you’d be able to taste him the same way you can smell him. Everywhere and perfect. “I don’t.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes. Did, uh-“

“Meant it.” He mutters. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I know.” You swallow, giving him a weak smile, because you think you might be about to pass out—or wake up from the most beautifully torturous dream of your life—and you need to use your energy cling to this a little longer. “That’s- that’s good.”

“Yeah.” He nods in half agreement, and there’s a long silence where you’re just watching each other before he breaks it with low, uncertain words. “Why?”

You frown at him. It’s a ridiculous question. There are a million reasons you could give, starting with I don’t know how not to, made of even if I had a choice, I’d still end up back here because it’s where I want to be, and ending with I think I’d rage my way through the world if the chance to love you was taken from me, because I want to love you, Bucky Barnes, when there’s sunshine and when there’s fire, and when the sky is falling but if spares us, because it know you’re holy and that I’d raze the very foundation of the universe to get to you. 

But that’s too long. And wordy.

So you say the only other thing you can think of that’s still so fundamentally true. 

“Why not?”

Bucky stares at you with wide eyes as the words sink into him, and then they snap something. You see it. It clicks into place and triggers him into action, and you know you’d been right when he leans up to kiss you, and everything in the world becomes Bucky.

You don’t have words for how he tastes, or feels with chapped but firm lips on you, with a hand cupping your face and his body pressed right against yours. Time is slow but you can’t really tell, and there must be other things outside of Bucky kissing you, but they don’t matter at all. Right now you can’t think of anything but his name, over and over and over on loop, and it means more than anything else could. 

It’s the sunlight and soft breezes and everything sweet but mixed with some sort of spice that spurs you further on shoving your tongue down his throat, and the spell breaks into something better.

Reality. 

This is real.

Bucky surges forward, pinning you back against the bed as he cages you between his arms, and you can feel it everywhere. Fire over your skin wherever he touches and color in your blood whenever his teeth graze over your lips. The cool metal of his hand is like being cleansed, like being dunked under water and reborn as he picks up his speed, ripping your clothing off and pushing his body so close to yours you think he’ll leave a dent.

You hope he leaves a dent. You hope that the way your whole body is singing—for his metal fingers tracing over your inner thigh and for his lips wrapping and bruising over your skin—echoes through you forever. You know this moment is going to end but you need this feeling to be permanent, and you think it will be.

You have a sense that Bucky had been a depression on your soul that you’d been waiting to fill, that had lit a fire so strong in your body that it spread, and now he was everywhere.

And he is everywhere. He’s sucking and biting a line down your jaw and throat and over your shoulder, find every part of you he can see—which is most of it—and kissing it until you’re grinding up into him with needy, loud pleas of his name.

“Bucky-“

He leans back with a heavy, darkened expression, and that just makes you claw at his chest, trying to stake a mark on him that he can feel as well as you can feel this. Feel him. Feel how much he loves you and wants you and-

“Need you,” he grunts, pressing his metal hand right over your aching cunt, teasing two fingers right over your slit as his attention never wavers from your perfectly broken expression. “Need to taste you, doll. Please.”

It’s a miracle you can manage a soft, breathless laugh. It’s a miracle you manage to speak and the words aren’t I love you. “I guess, if you’re, fuck-“ You cut off your own words with a loud moan as Bucky pushes his fingers into you, setting slow, torturous pace as he pumps them in and out brushing his thumb over your clit and making your back arch as your fingers pull at his hair-

“Fuck.” Bucky hisses, his cock twitching against your thigh. “Words, baby, need to hear words-“

“Yes.” You moan, not even sure of what he’s asking. But you trust him, and you love him, so the answer is yes. “Please, need you, need more-“

You don’t know how such a large man can be so fast. How one second his kissing over your breasts and swirling his tongue over your nipples, only suddenly be right between your legs and-

That sound has never left you before. It’s screaming, wrecked, desperate mix of Bucky and fuck and more and something a language you don’t understand, but you know just means yes.

There’s nothing else to say but yes. Not as Bucky’s tongue plunges in and out of your pussy, and his nose bumps and presses on your clit and his stubble scratches at your thighs, and yes, this is heaven—better, it’s Bucky and he’s devouring your cunt like he’s been deprived of it for a million years—so fucking, yes-

He flattens his tongue right over your clit and groans against you, and you’re right there. A tight coil in your lower gut wound as tight as it can go and your head high in the clouds as Bucky metal fingers push back into your cunt and start to move at a brutal pace that make pleasure shoot and spark all over your body-

Those same fingers crook and rub right on an impossible deep spot inside of you, right as Bucky sucks your clit fully between his lips and flicks his tongue a quick, uncontrolled frenzy, and you make another new sound.

Deep from the back of your throat and soft and almost angelic, in that same language of just noise and love, but this time meaning Bucky. 

Rubbing his hand over your fluttering pussy and muttering your name—tangled in with swears and low praise—as he rises back over your body and lowers himself down to give you a long, deep kiss.  

You moan that same sound into his open mouth, and he grins.

“So fucking beautiful,” Bucky mutters, that same, strange awe covering his voice. “All mine-“

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, pulling at his hair again until he groans down your throat and gliding one hand down his bare chest, palming at his cock with desperate, uneven movements. “I- Feels so good, Buck, wanna make you feel good too-“ 

“I will, baby.” Bucky moves your hand away, guiding your arms to wrap around his neck as he shifts his body above you. Moves until you’re secure beneath him, and his dick is pressed right against where you’re aching for him, rubbing between your folds and bumping at your overly sensitive clit. “Gotta have you, I- didn’t come ready-“

“’S okay.” You mumble, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “On the pill. Just- Go, Bucky, please-“

You make another squeak of yes against his skin as he ease himself slowly into you. His big, and thick, and you feel so fucking full you don’t know how you survived without this, without Bucky, buried deep in your cunt and breathing ragged in your ear, his voice hoarse and choked and the best thing you’ve ever heard.

“I- fuck, doll, you’re so tight, need to start slow-“

You nod stupidly, squirming below him and drawing a loud hiss from his throat that brushes over your ear and sends shivers up your spine. “I know- I- Please-“

Bucky tugs on your hair until you draw back to meet his gaze, and no one’s ever looked at you like that. Like you’re the northern lights and rainbow mist at the base of a waterfall. 

And you couldn’t feel it, you could see it.

Bucky loves you. 

It’s why he clears the hair from your face with such careful hands, and why he moves down to kiss you with such a fervor you’d think he was worshipping at an altar. 

And then he starts to move, and the whole world is glowing.

He starts slow. Long and firm thrusts that press the head of his cock right against that sensitive spot inside of you, right before he pulls almost fully out and eases back in. And it’s good, it’s so good, and he’s word stop making low grunts with every movement or cradling your body against his or kissing you, and it’s so good but it’s not enough-

You roll your hips to meet his movement, squeezing slightly around him, and he pulls back with a glare.

“You tryin’ to kill me-“

“More.” You whine, starting to jerk and rut against him in a play for more, you need more. “Bucky, please, just- God, you’re so sweet but just fuck me-“

He raises his brows and does the slow drag of his cock out, right until only the tip is still inside you, and then, right as your about to scratch at his back with need, he slams back forwards and knocks everything but another sound of good from your body.

“Like that, doll?” He drawls, repeating the movement with a firm but gentle squeeze of your waist, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “Want that.”

You nod, make the sound that means yes, and he understands it. He starts to pound into you an unforgiving pace, his skin slapping against yours as he makes low and sinful noises in your ears, and you can see the stars but he’s somehow driving you higher-

“God, you feel so good,” Bucky grunts, dropping his head to rest of your chest as he ruts back into you. “So fucking wet and warm, need to-“ He looks back up to you, crashing his mouth into your with a groan of your name. “Close, doll, need to come with me-“

You whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as Bucky abuses your cunt, and you’re close too but you can’t speak in anything but moans and whines, so you just make a choked sound of his name and pray he understands-

“Got you, baby, I got you, just-“ His metal fingers find your clit and start to twist and press against it, and fuck, you’re going to explode into flowers and starlight and color-

“Bucky-“

“C’mon,” he grunts, cock bruising against your cervix as he hammers into you. “Cum for me, so fuckin’ close, so good, c’mon-“

Your orgasm rips through you with a light head and scream, and Bucky slams himself home with a roar of your name. 

You’re vaguely aware of him pressing a gentle kiss to your brow and muttering how well you did before climbing off the bed, but it’s still all just good. There are so many chemicals and colors but they’re really just Bucky, so it’s the only word you need to know.

“I’m here.” He says from somewhere to the side, and you must have called out to him. “One second, doll.”

It’s more than one second, that he’s gone. But he returns with a warm cloth and kiss pressed to your thigh, so you only let out a happy, gentle hum and let this feeling linger.

More than linger. It’s going to be permanent. Bucky crawls back over you and wraps his body around yours, his heartbeat even and his presence intoxicating, and you know that nothing is forever but this. You can bend nature.

You’ll ensure with everything you power that this gets to be permanent. Because you love him.

You must have said that aloud as well, Bucky grins against your skin as he hums, “Love you too, doll.” 

His voice rumbles through your body, and it shakes most of the darkness out of the spaces between your organs, and coated over your bones, or grown along your veins. Something bright and colorful grows in their place. Something you’re going to spend a while tending to, because think Bucky’s always looked at you and seen it there, so it’s what you’d like to be. If not for him, for the fact that it’s possible. For the fact that something you’ve always wanted but never looked for fell right into your lap, and the devil doesn’t feel like a devil anymore. 

She mostly just feels peaceful. Like she’s found an out of the rotting cycle of alone, and she’s more than happy to take it.

You’re more than happy to give it to her.

“Do you think we should get up?” Bucky mutters in your ear, and you shake your head.

“No. I think I like it here.”

End Note: Sam in his matchmaker era (he's not good at it).

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

@megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @foolinthera1n @sheneedsjesus

@bonkydarnes @whimsicalcherry @charliethemanticore @cats-chaotic-mind @ampedvamptalyn

[kirain]

Sigh....Galemancers really love to move the goal post when it comes to the grooming accusations huh? You found out Gale was a fully grown MAN when Mystra slept with him so now you have to say, "Well then he was emotionally groomed and the power dynamic is too vast." Mystra is a neutral good goddess because she's Midnight, who was a neutral good human. She hates that her magic has to be used for good and evil. Ao makes her share it evenly but she'd rather not. She would never do anything to hurt Gale. The writers of the game even confirmed she's not a groomer. People like you also downplay the point of Gale's entire story arc, which is he should've listened to Mystra! The whole point of his personal quest is he needs to learn to humble himself and listen to his goddess! He has no one to blame for his downfall but himself.

There's no "post" to move, anon. The game and lore give us all the context we need. Grooming doesn't only apply to children, and people have proven right and left that Mystra is terrible at relationships. She's petty and abusive when she isn't obeyed by her partners, and that's been the case with all of her iterations. Even the narrator describes her as a "jealous goddess" when you visit her shrine. Plus, your information is wrong on many accounts; the most pertinent being that the Mystra of BG3/5E isn't technically Midnight. Cyric and Shar killed her, reducing her to her godly essence (lore-wise that means she died). The current Mystra is an amalgamation of the vestiges of Mystryl, Mystra, and Midnight, as told in the novel Elminster Enraged.

Now, this is about to get complicated, as it always does with Mystra, so from here on out I'll be referring to Mystra #1 as Mystryl, Mystra #2 as Mystra #2, Mystra #3 as Midnight, and Mystra #4 as 5E Mystra. Alright, let's get started.

Elminster had to reform the fallen goddess by giving her fragments of all three iterations of Mystra. Since all three iterations are combined, our current 5E Mystra embodies the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. There's even a conversation with The Simbul (one of the Seven Sisters and a Chosen of Mystra) where the newly reformed 5E Mystra speaks of Elminster as her "longest lover". This puzzles The Simbul because that was something of the old Mystra (Mystra #2), not Midnight. The new 5E Mystra replies that she has become a combination of the memories of Mystryl, Mystra #2, and Midnight. This is all in chapter 25-30 of Elminster Enraged. I know it's confusing, but in short: 5E Mystra is not Midnight anymore, and the leading mind is clearly that of Mystra #2, hence her extremely poor judgement—a recurring theme with her character.

Mystryl and Mystra #2 were originally lawful neutral. The alignment changed to neutral good when Midnight took up the mantle, because Midnight herself was a neutral good person. But now it seems 5E Mystra is true neutral, because you are right, anon; Ao won't allow her to do whatever she wants. Midnight tried and was forbidden. 5E Mystra absolutely does not have the same level of humanity or kindness as Midnight, and that may be because Mystryl had no human consciousness and Mystra #2 was a mess.

Regardless of her alignment, she must embody her domain by Ao's decree, which means she needs to spread magic across all Realmspace. Since she has to maintain the balance, she approaches good, neutral, and evil mages with potential opportunities. This isn't a criticism (that's just how godhood works), but rather proof that Mystra is absolutely capable of good and bad. I don't want to hear any more of this "she's a precious little bean and Gale's victim" nonsense. Even if she wants to be, she's not. As Kikitakite said in their post, she's done some fucked up things.

Whether or not the writers intended to make Mystra a groomer, that's exactly what they did. Sometimes writers don't realise they've written an abusive character until they're criticised. Take writer of The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks, for example. He didn't realise he'd written Noah to be an abusive piece of shit until Ryan Gosling pointed it out himself. Gosling has gone on record many times to say he hates Noah, and experts have labeled him an unrealistic and emotionally abusive/manipulative character. The same can be said for Stephenie Meyer, who wrote some of the most celebrated toxic relationships in recent media—with a dash of borderline pedophilia on the side. Therapists have weighed in extensively to tell people that Bella and Edward's relationship isn't healthy and shouldn't be emulated in real life. Indeed, perhaps the best thing to come out of the entire franchise is Robert Pattinson's hatred of Edward and the series as a whole. Jacob's actor, Taylor Lautner, even argued with Meyer's on set because of how weird the "imprinting" segment was and he didn't want to come off as predatory. Meyer argued it was "romantic". 😕

Even if you don't agree Gale was groomed, Mystra is flagrantly responsible for his insecurities and she never should've put her hands on him. The power dynamic is too vast, and even god Gale (conceited as he is) realises it by the end. He only stays in a relationship with Tav if they allow him to ascend them alongside him as his equal. He recognises that anything else would be unhealthy and unacceptable. Also, I researched high and low regarding your claim, but none of the devs have dispelled the idea that Mystra is a groomer. In fact, the most I could find was one dev simply saying, "To Gale it was love, but he didn't know any better." If anything, that only confirms he was confused and didn't know what to do. Their "relationship" was a stunningly horrible idea from the start and that's not on Gale, it's on the literal cosmic being who initiated it.

Moreover, Gale was very likely 17 when Mystra revealed herself to him. This perfectly fits into the 5E Forgotten Realms timeline. If so, no, he absolutely wasn't a grown man. He was a teenager. Mystra may not have slept with him until he was in his 20's, but that still makes it a disgusting teacher-turned-lover situation. Gale even tells us he was "young" when she took him into her fold, and he was only eight years old when Elminster started their lessons. Remember, Elminster is Mystra's biggest apologist. He would've taught Gale to revere her, which means there was almost never a point in his life when Mystra wasn't the main focus. You can tell by the way he speaks about her in Act 1. He's in awe, he's excited, he's proud she chose him. That does something to a child. Something irreversible. If anything, Elminster is complicit in what happened. I've said this before, but he couldn't even be bothered to visit Gale himself. He sent a simulacrum.

As for your accusation that I'm "downplaying" Gale's story arc—you're damn right I am, because the writers made me! Most D&D players I know aren't very happy with how Mystra is portrayed in the game, and that's probably because even they know she isn't presented in a very flattering light. If you really think about it, it's obvious what the writers were going for, but they failed. For example, you said Gale should've listened to Mystra, right? Well, in Act 1 he admits his ambition was his undoing, blames himself for his downfall, and by Act 2 he's literally ready to off himself for her. In fact, he's the only one who sees her ultimatum as justified. Every other companion says she's being cruel and unreasonable. If Gale actually blows himself up at the end of Act 2, the results are catastrophic. The brain is destroyed, yes, but the tadpoles, free of the Absolute's control, complete their transformation and infect/enslave the entire Sword Coast. Anon. She. Is. Stupid. Even the Narrator is like, "You wanna ... you wanna try that again?"

The entirety of Act 2 is Gale learning he shouldn't listen to Mystra. And then she has the audacity to lecture him in Act 3? If he'd listened, it would've been the end of everything. Maybe if Mystra was as infallible as she pretends to be, she would've put her three brains together and came up with a better, less vindictive plan. Because make no mistake, she wanted Gale to blow up in Act 2, which is ridiculous. I know this is an uncomfortable topic for some people, but gods aren't perfect, especially in fiction. They're flawed. They're selfish. Some of them are straight up assholes. The real irony of Gale's arc isn't that he has no one to blame but himself, it's that Mystra should blame herself. At no point does she even consider if she's being unreasonable or unfair. There's no self reflection whatsoever. And the writers expect me to think Gale's full of himself? I wonder where he got it.

Probably from his teacher. ✋🎤

[theatricalmage]

The brainrot took over and so here's a vat7k hadestown au!! Don't know if I'll develop it fully but I liked designing it at least!

More info under the cut:

- Varian, the Coronan royal alchemist, tasks himself with deciphering an incantation capable of bringing the world back into tune. Times are tough, and the royal family + Quirin are doing their best to cope with the meagre crop yields and desolate weather (Corona not really being the sunshine kingdom - hasn't been for a while). He wants to help and do good and I think he'd be a good Orpheus.

- Hugo, having moved about from place to place, still has his interest in alchemy and does what he can to get by. He plans on temporarily staying in Corona before looting, but he encounters a certain like-minded scientist at the Snuggly Duckling. I think him being selfish works especially well in Eurydice's role, having a more pessimistic view of the world. It also works with how he gets drawn to Donella's offer of working for her later on, leading him to his death.

- Ulla as Persephone! I was initially stuck on whether to have Rapunzel (and either Eugene/Cass) as her (and Hades) but I was drawn to the connection that Hugo has to Donella and the Donella/Ulla relationship in vat7k just works too well. In this case, Ulla won't be Varian's mother. She's still gonna be somewhat of an inspiration to him though, being the previous Coronan royal alchemist and for her intelligence. For half the year, she'll return to Corona with food, drinks, and alchemical compounds/inventions, bringing Spring and Summer to the world, if only for a bit.

- Donella would be such an interesting Hades, losing sight of her love for Ulla, heart filled with fear and hurt, leading to bitterness and cruelty. Ingvarr being Hadestown and how by being the esteemed Ingvarrian engineer, she'd be in charge of major technological advances across the kingdoms and so would wield a significant amount of power (like how Hades is literally the ruler of the underworld). Ingvarr essentially being a near death sentence for its workers while also displaying its technological prowess, all still shrouded in mystery and corruption - a place so otherworldly compared to the rest of the kingdoms.

I didn't want to modify the outfits too much nor the personalities,, if anything I imagine the general plot beats being the same as the original musical/story but with slight differences that'd you get inherently as a result of these characters. I wouldn't want it to be the case where it's just the show but the names are changed. I'd want this to still make reasonable sense in this AU, with the actions being understandable for this particular cast of characters.

For Hermes, I ended up picking Xavier, as he's most knowledgeable of old legends and stories, which would work in reference to the Hades and Persephone myth (and so Donella and Ulla)! He'd act as a mentor figure for V, someone who can guide him in uncovering the forgotten incantation. Quirin would still be the good supportive dad he is (even if he doesn't fully understand his son's project).

Last but not least, the fates!! often lurking in the background, I'm still a bit stuck on who it could be? I'm tempted to have it be Raps, Cass, and Nuru as they've had celestial connections at some point (and ya know how stars can represent fate), but I also love the freckled siblings dynamic so much. Also Team Radical... Maybe Raps and Cass can be their normal selves but their Sundrop/Moonstone counterparts are the manifested physical forms of the fates? They wouldn't be visible to the characters though, just voices in the wind.

Anyways yeah!! Those are my thoughts. Do let me know if you've got any cool ideas or questions. I'm really combining my interests at full force and there's nothing anyone, not even myself, can do about it quite frankly. 😮‍💨

[its-luna-noel]

sun & shadow | gojo x reader

01. SUN: six-eyed dragons

summary: satoru gojo is one of the most powerful and prolific mafia bosses in tokyo. he's ruthless, murderous, and absolutely insufferable. you've been his personal assistant for the past year, perfectly content with your current dynamic. but there's change on the horizon and shadows lurking in every corner. being a mafia boss's assistant comes with its perks... and its challenges.

contents: 18+, MDNI, f!reader, mafia au, crime boss!gojo, smut, fluff, mafia dynamics, blood & violence, implied torture, guns, drinking, dangerous but infuriating gojo x capable and baddie reader, it's giving tony stark/pepper pots from iron man 1

word count: 7.5k

chapter: 1/2 next chapter

masterlist | link to ao3

notes: hi there! i've been reading jade city by fonda lee, so i've been wanting to write a mob/gang au since! i'm really happy with how this turned out, so i hope you enjoy! xx additional warnings for this chapter: eventual smut, oral (f! receiving), squirting, pulling out, cum eating, reader is bossy

Timid footsteps pad across wooden floors of Satoru Gojo’s lavish penthouse. Unfamiliar eyes searching, prying into corners, examining the modern art on walls and abstract sculptures on shelves.

Finding…you.

You’re standing in the living room, dressed in loose-fitting slacks and a sweater with a leather portfolio folder held in the crook of your elbow as you watch her freeze, caught snooping. You smile professionally at the young woman in front of you, who blinks at you in surprise. She’s pretty, exactly Satoru’s type, with her striking features and model-like legs that go on for days. But, unfortunately for her, she’s outstayed her welcome for the night.

“Good morning,” you say, keeping that respectful, almost clinical smile on your face. You hand her a garment bag, keeping your eyes respectfully off her body as she leans forward and grabs it. She’s dressed in Satoru’s button-down shirt, rumpled and wine-stained, and nothing else. She, in turn, averts her eyes, fidgeting and looking slightly embarrassed to be standing there with you. “I had your clothes dry cleaned overnight; your belongings and shoes are by the door when you’re dressed and ready to go.”

Her eyes stay averted. “You his girlfriend or something?” she asks.

You let out a little laugh; it’s not the first time you’ve been asked, but it never fails to amuse you, the idea of dating that obnoxious man. “No,” you say, smiling kindly. “I’m just the help.”

She nods and seemingly relaxes, now that she knows she wasn’t just caught being the other woman. She turns over her shoulder and looks back towards the bedroom. “Can I… say goodbye?”

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. Gojo is very busy this morning.”

She looks strangely disappointed, and you feel a little bad for her. Every girl comes in here, even knowing Satoru’s history, and hopes she’ll be the one to change him, to make him want to see them again.

It never turns out their way.

You gesture to a guest bathroom near the entryway to the penthouse. “Please, take anything you need from the bathroom. There’s toiletries there for your use. There’s a car waiting for you outside to take you wherever you’d like.”

She just nods and turns away to get dressed. She shuts the bathroom door behind her, and you leave her to it.

As you make your way towards the dining room, the surrounding bodyguards make sure the girl leaves through the front door and gets into the car.

Satoru’s head pokes out from around the corner. “Is she gone?”

You turn to him and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. “You’ve gotta start taking care of your own problems, Satoru. I can’t keep kicking them out for you.”

He grins and finally fully emerges from the hallway, coming towards you dressed in only his form-fitting boxer briefs, his hair tousled with sleep and sex. You avert your eyes as he comes to join you in the kitchen. “You can do whatever I want you to. You’re my assistant, my little shadow; you’re supposed to do all the shit I don’t feel like doing.”

You grumble under your breath as you sit at the breakfast table, “Wasn’t in the job description.”

He just laughs and sits across from you, stretching his long legs under the table. He leans back against his chair and watches you for a moment with a slight smirk on his face. He nudges your leg with his foot. “You’re not really mad, are you?”

You sigh and look up at him, examining his insincere expression, and still finding that you can’t be angry at all, because this is, indeed, what you signed up for. So you just huff and look back down at your breakfast, and Satoru grins, taking it as a no.

You eat your breakfast in companionable silence, like you have ever since you were hired and moved into his penthouse. 

When you first started as personal assistant to Satoru Gojo, you tried to keep your old apartment, citing that it was only a twenty minute commute by train so why would you relocate your entire life to revolve around him? It was even nice to get your mandated time away from him. But one month into your new job, you realized how the odd hours were affecting you; you weren’t leaving until late into the night, and rising to be at his place before his morning alarm woke him up was exhausting.

So, you took his offer to move in, getting your very own ensuite and walk-in closet. It was a pretty good deal in return for dealing with his aggravating ass all day, every day.

“What’s the plan for today?” Satoru asks when he’s done eating, fingers interlocked behind his head, showing off his carved chest and biceps.

You keep your eyes firmly on the binder in front of you; you are all too aware of what kind of teasing one moment of staring could get you. “You have a meeting with the elders this morning about safety for local business owners. The higher ups are concerned that, with the rising tensions between us and the Hellhounds, businesses will take a hit.”

Satoru grumbles and grits his teeth. “This is a clan war; of course numbers will be down. At least we promise them safety and don’t throw them out on their asses to defend themselves.”

You give him a stern look. “Their loyalty and tributes pay our bills, Satoru. You need to respect their wishes.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had several times. Satoru, part of the recent movement that believes businessmen should honor the clan’s wishes and not the other way around, has never been soft on the wealthy populace like his father and grandfather once were, which frustrates those businessmen who feel they’re not being represented. Which, in turn, frustrates the leaders whose pockets they line.

He huffs and pushes away from the table. “I’ll go to the stupid meeting and put their minds at ease. Like I’ve done fifty fucking times.”

Despite his attitude, you relax into your chair. “Thank you.”

He nods, walking back to his bedroom to get dressed. You take the opportunity to watch him go, watch how his back and thighs move as he leaves…

“Stop staring!” he calls over his shoulder, and you curse under your breath as he laughs.

~

When Satoru returns, he’s dressed in his typical crisp suit, trying to cinch a silver watch on his wrist.

You set down your folder and come over, taking his watch and helping him buckle it. Your fingers brush against the warm skin of his wrist. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he grumbles, pulling away to fix his cuffs. “Is Suguru here?”

You shake your head. “He’ll meet us at the office, he said.”

You hear Satoru swear under his breath. “Can’t even meet him to brief on what we’re supposed to say?” he asks rhetorically, sounding more frustrated than he actually is.

“You know what to say,” you tell him. “Assure them that their profits will be protected while you and the Hellhounds battle, and everything will be fine.”

“I can’t guarantee that!” he argues, not for the first time. “I’m not a medium; I can’t see the future.”

“Neither can mediums, technically. Mediums only talk to the dead.”

He waves his hand. “Whatever. You know what I mean. I can’t tell them I’ll make sure they keep making money, not when there’s so much hostility from the Hellhounds. What I can guarantee is I won’t let them be slaughtered in the crossfire.”

You sigh and follow him down to the private garage, where his favorite cars are parked and free from threat of damage from tenants of the condos below his. He walks over to the black Bugatti and climbs in, the engine rumbling sensually as he turns the key.

You get in the passenger seat and sigh, clutching your portfolio to your chest as he rolls out of the garage. You stare out the window at the passing city. Abruptly, you ask, “Why do you hate them so much?”

“Hate who?”

“The businessmen, Gakuganji and the others. Even Senator Yaga.”

He takes a deep breath, eyes on the road. He says, “I don’t hate them. I hate what they stand for. I hate that they get to live in their pretty estates and watch my men put their lives on the line, and yet complain about inflation rising and profits falling. I hate that I have to bury some of my best fighters, and they get to dictate which rulings pass, which bills are signed. It’s not fair. They’re not out here dying for the clan. Why do they get to be the ones making the final calls?”

You can see the storm in the ocean of his eyes, the turmoil in their blue depths. It’s clear what the problem is; if he’s inherited all this power as clan leader and crime boss, why is he still beholden to everyone else’s wants?

Why isn’t he the god of his own destiny?

You don’t have an answer for him.

Satoru continues the drive to the office building silently, the only sound between you the music playing through the speakers. Finally, when you reach the Six-eyed Dragons headquarters, a three-story office space above local government offices, Satoru kills the engine and looks at you.

“You must think me childish,” he says softly, “whining about fairness and justice in a world like ours.”

You slowly shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I don’t,” you admit, just as softly. “I don’t think you’re a child. I think… you have an ideal of what you wish this world was. There’s no harm in that.”

He huffs, a smile curling his lips as he grabs the keys. He glances back at you ruefully. “Let’s get inside before Yaga throws a fit and comes to find us.”

You smile back and follow him inside.

Suguru is there, dressed in similar finery to Satoru. Where Satoru wears a button-down beneath his gray suit coat, top two buttons undone to show off his white gold chains, Suguru wears a black turtleneck, form-fitting across his chest. You try not to ogle as you make your way over.

Satoru glances over and rolls his eyes. “Get it out of your system,” he sighs dramatically, nudging you playfully with his elbow before he walks over to his underboss. Suguru just gives you a friendly wink, and you roll your eyes at both of them before they duck their heads together and speak in hushed tones all the way to the board room.

You follow after them, stopping right before the threshold of the meeting room. Then, as always, Satoru holds up a hand to you and shakes his head. “Not today,” he tells you, and you simply nod before retreating and taking your seat at one of the desks outside.

He wasn’t telling you that you were incapable of listening or understanding. Instead, he was protecting both you and the clan; you weren’t trained to sustain torture like other clan members were in the face of questioning. If he allowed you inside these meetings, you could be a weakness to the Dragons, and you could get yourself killed.

So you sit, and you wait, like a good little assistant as Satoru and Suguru attend their meeting.

~

“Sir,” Satoru says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m saying–”

“I understand what you’re saying, young man!” Gakuganji snaps, pointing one gnarled finger at him from across the board room table. “You’re saying you can’t protect us in our time of need!”

The rest of the higher ups sit there, watching the argument unfold. Senator Yaga seems uncomfortable with the display.

Satoru tries again. “If I may–”

“This is the thanks you give us, those who push your legislation on drug control and violence?” Gakuganji continued. “Those who have paid tribute to your father, and to your grandfather before him? Those who–?”

Satoru stands abruptly and slams his hands against the table, shaking the wood with a low creak. This, finally, is what stuns the old man into silence. “It seems,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “that you and the others have forgotten why you pay tribute in the first place. It is not to garner favor from us, or to convince us to let you run free. It is in return for our protection during war time. It is to keep you safe, to save your lives. Not your profits, nor your businesses. That is why you pay tribute to the Dragons.”

He can feel the unrest in the room, the disapproving glances thrown towards him. He knows they don’t like him as clan leader; they wish he was still a simple underboss, a man under the rule of another, simply a weapon with no direct say over what violence he committed.

They’d rather answer to his father, but unfortunately for them, he was dead.

Satoru takes a deep breath and continues, calming himself once more. “Ryomen Sukuna and the Tokyo Hellhounds killed my father. It would call down his wrath to not retaliate. But wartimes will not treat us kindly; civilian foot traffic will decrease, as will spending at large. I am sorry to admit that. But we cannot let that be what stops us from taking revenge for my father’s death.”

The table remains quiet, but instead of frustration and indignation, Satoru sees begrudging acceptance in their gazes. Even Gakuganji nods, grimacing.

Glancing at Suguru out of the corner of his eye, Satoru sees that he’s smiling.

Then he returns his gaze to the men in front of him. “If you have any questions, please direct them to my assistant, and she will get you in contact with either Suguru or me. Thank you all for coming.” And with that he excuses himself from the meeting room, breathing a sigh of relief.

Suguru claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well done. You had Yaga shitting bricks in there.”

Satoru lets out a huff of a laugh, but he doesn’t respond as you stand from your desk and gather your paperwork. His eyes are fond as he watches you approach. “What do you have for me?”

You dutifully hand over a stack of papers. “I need you to approve these for me, and Senator Yaga already called; he wants a private meeting with you about the charity auction he’s having this weekend. He wants you to attend.”

“Damn,” Satoru sighs, “that’s right. That hardly gives me enough time to find a date.” He looks quizzically between you and Suguru, like he can’t decide which one of you he’d rather see dolled up as his date for a charity gala. Finally, with a shake of his head, he turns back to you. “Guess you’re coming with me.”

You give him an unimpressed look. “I have better things to do on a weekend than be your unwilling guest. Find somebody else.”

“It’s your job!” he replies indignantly.

“Dressing up like your date instead of your assistant is not in the job description!” you insist, equally disgruntled.

“Like we already established, your job description is to do whatever I need from you.” Satoru crosses his arms across his broad chest. “And this weekend, I need a date.”

You huff, throwing your hands up. “I don’t even have a dress to wear!”

So Satoru reaches into his pocket for his wallet and takes out a platinum card. He brandishes it towards you. “Get whatever you like. Just be ready for the auction.”

You growl under your breath and throw a look at Suguru, searching for sympathy. He just watches the exchange with an amused curl to his mouth. You sigh in response and snatch the credit card from Satoru. “Fine.”

Satoru flashes a dazzling smile, all teeth. “Great.”

“But I’m taking Shoko.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but concedes. “Fine.”

You smile back at him brightly. “Great. Am I relieved of my duties for the rest of the day?”

He sighs, but takes the folder from your hands and starts flipping through the pages. “I guess we can hold down the fort for a while without you for a few hours.”

Suguru chimes in, “Which means I’ll–” he grabs the portfolio, “–take care of this.” He winks at you. “I’ve got it, little shadow. Go have fun.”

You thank him, tossing one last questioning look to Satoru: Will you be okay? He waves you off. “Go have fun,” he repeats Suguru’s words.

And so, because you’re not one to disobey your boss, you turn and head out of the building, digging through your purse for your phone.

You hit Shoko’s number, calling the gang’s medical doctor. She answers on the third ring. “Something happen?” she asks, her usual greeting for you.

“Yes,” you say. “Satoru gave me his card. We’re going shopping.”

Immediately her attitude changes; you can hear her voice brighten up considerably. “Oh. Great. Come pick me up from the clinic; I’m treating a few of the kids.

You sigh. You hate it when the gang’s soldiers – the young members on the front lines day to day – get hurt. “I’ll be there.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye. As is her typical routine on a busy day.

You walk downtown to the clinic, and you tell the receptionist that you’re there to pick up Shoko. She smiles at you and nods, letting you know she’ll go tell Shoko you’re here.

So you sit in the waiting room, scrolling through your phone as you wait. A text from Satoru pops up.

|| Satoru Gojo: Miss you~ :( Suguru’s a terrible personal assistant

|| You: it’s been fifteen minutes

He doesn’t respond. You just shake your head fondly before slipping your phone back into your bag.

When Shoko appears, her face is drawn. “Ready to go?” she asks.

“Yeah.” You stand, examining the dark bags under her eyes. Your brows crease in concern. “You doing okay?”

She waves you off. “Just need a smoke. Let’s get out of here.”

You follow her out, watching her shake free a cigarette from the box. “Rough day?” you ask.

She chuckles quietly. “You could say that.” She puts the cig between her teeth and pulls out her lighter. “Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki were all injured by Hellhound soldiers. I’ve had to stitch all three of them up.” She sighs, letting out a breath of smoke. “I’m just tired.”

You look at her sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Sho.”

She waves her hand, dismissing your apologies. You’re the only one who’s not actually involved in the crime organization, having no say or action to do with the Six-eyed Dragons besides doing the paperwork and scheduling meetings.

You're not the one to be angry with.

“Anway,” she sighs, starting to walk down the street towards the shopping center. “What are we shopping for?”

You make a disgusted noise in the back of your throat. “A dress. Satoru’s making me go to a gala with him this weekend.”

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already?” she asks dryly.

You choke on your own spit.

As you cough and splutter, drawing attention from the passing people on the street, Shoko just smirks at you. Finally you croak, “What?”

“You heard me,” she says. “Why haven’t you–?”

“Don’t say it again!”

She laughs, glee written in her brown eyes for the first time since you picked her up. “I’m serious, though!”

“Shut up, Sho!”

She just shakes her head. “Aren’t you even a little curious?”

“Curious about what?”

“What he’s like in bed! Christ, you guys even live together, don’t you ever hear him with someone else and wish it was you?”

“No!” you cry.

She laughs again. “Fine,” she says, waving off the topic, “I’ll drop it. For now.”

You groan and lead her into the dress shop, listening to her chuckle under her breath the whole way in.

~

“Satoru!” you call from your bedroom.

“What?” comes his muffled reply.

“I need help with my zipper!”

There comes a begrudging sigh from the other room, and then you hear Satoru’s dress shoes on the hardwood floor as he comes down the hall. When he walks in, he’s adjusting his cuffs, looking at them instead of you. “You know, for my personal assistant, you sure are–” And then he looks up, and the words die in his throat.

You’re dressed in a mauve dress, with your hair down and makeup expertly applied. The sleeves of the dress are off the shoulder, accentuating the expanse of your throat to the top of your chest. The bodice fits you perfectly, and at the waist the fabric spills over, running off of you like a waterfall. You’re reaching backwards to try and tug the zipper further up, but it’s caught around the bottom of your rib cage.

You huff. “Can you stop ogling and just help me?”

He shakes his head free of the thoughts swirling there and steps up behind you. He wiggles the zipper a little. “Damn, you really got this stuck.”

“Don’t force it, you’ll rip the dress.” You try to ignore the sensation of his warm hands at your back, his skin brushing against yours.

Now it’s his turn to scoff. “You think I’m stupid or something?”

“Sometimes,” you tell him.

“I should punish you for that, you know.”

“Please, spare me,” you say dryly.

You can’t see him smile behind you, but you can hear it in his voice when he says, “That’s more like it.” Finally, with one last little wiggle, he gets the zipper free, and he slowly slides it up, his fingers tracing up your spine as he does.

You shiver.

He likes that, it seems; he leans a little closer, his warm breath tickling the hair at the back of your neck. “Shadow–” he says, using his little nickname for you.

You step away, trying to catch your breath. “We should go.”

His hands, frozen in air where they had once been resting on you, slowly fall to his sides. He nods and clears his throat. “Let’s go, then,” he says, and he gestures for you to lead out the door.

You do, grabbing your clutch on your way out. Your heels make an impressive sound on the hardwood. “Is Ijichi driving us?”

“Yes.” Satoru, who would usually be chattering about god knows what, is unusually quiet.

You don’t have much to say, either. So your ride in the backseat of the sleek black sedan is silent. You watch the city as it passes by.

When you pull up to the charity auction, it feels like a red carpet event. There’s journalists and photographers lined up along the entrance, and suddenly you feel a swarm of nerves in the pit of your stomach. But Satoru puts his hand on yours, and when you look at him, his ocean eyes are soft and encouraging. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “I got you.”

Then he comes around and opens the door for you like a gentleman, and you can’t help but think of what Shoko said.

“Why haven’t you two just fucked already? Aren’t you even a little curious?”

Well, now you are.

He holds your hand tightly as he leads you past the photographers, a dashing smile on his face as you head into the venue.

The entranceway leads right into a grand ballroom.

Satoru leads you to the front of the room, where a table is reserved for him and other notable members of society, including Senator Yaga and Gakuganji. Satoru pointedly ignores them in favor of speaking to you instead.

The dinner goes by quickly, with Satoru slowly learning more about you than he ever has, about your family and your childhood and your friends outside of work. 

You find that, despite the fact he likes to run his mouth, he’s actually an attentive listener.

Then, once the dinner is completed, the auction starts. Satoru himself bids on a couple art pieces for the penthouse and his office, and once the last piece is sold, the ballroom starts to fill with dancing people.

Satoru looks at you. “You wanna dance?”

You shrug, holding your wine glass. “Not really a dancing person.”

He grins. “Liar. I’ve seen you at the club.”

You scoff, smirking. “That’s different. I’m not drunk.”

“I can change that.” And without another word, Satoru grabs your hand and tugs you up from your seat.

“Satoru–”

“Shh. Just trust me.”

And so, because you do, you follow him. And he buys you both a round of shots, letting you slowly sink into a tipsy stupor.

Once you’re happy and swaying to the music, he smiles and takes your hand, leading you to the dance floor. “I don’t think those moves of yours from the club would really match the vibe here, shadow,” he says, smirking at you as he wraps you up for a slow dance.

You smile and let him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d probably give Gakuganji a heart attack.”

“Actually, on second thought, I think you should.”

You giggle and rest your head on his chest as the two of you sway back and forth. He tightens his arms around you. “Thanks for bringing me tonight. I was a little pessimistic but…I had fun.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for being my date on such short notice.” He bends down to put his lips near your ear. “And for looking so beautiful doing it.”

You let out another giggle, not moving from his chest. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tell him.

He huffs a small laugh, and he rests his cheek on your head. “I know.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Ever the humble one.”

“You know it,” he teases warmly. And as you continue to dance, you feel yourself sinking into him further.

It’s over too quickly.

He nudges you lightly, breaking you out of your thoughtless dancing. “C’mon, my pretty girl,” he says, and your heart flutters with the compliment, and the ownership of what he said. “Let’s go home.”

As he does, his words wrap round and round your drunken, fuzzy brain.

My pretty girl.

~

It’s quiet between you as you walk back into the penthouse.

Satoru quickly sheds his shoes, and you reach down to do the same, but he stops you with a hand on your arm. “I’ll do it,” he murmurs, his voice hushed in the darkness of the penthouse.

He kneels down and starts unstrapping your heels, his fingers warm and gentle on your ankles. You hold his shoulder as you step out of your shoes, finally letting your aching feet rest bare on the hardwood.

Satoru looks up at you, blue eyes shadowed. His hand trails up your ankle, up your leg, feeling the muscles of your calf. His touch is warm, like a blaze of fire up your leg, burning into your core. Looking at him down there, on his knee for you, if he wanted to he could just lean in and–

“Satoru,” you breathe, hand moving from his shoulder to his hair.

His breath catches, and he removes his hand from your leg and stands, rising to his full height in front of you. He pulls you close, his hands on your waist. “Little shadow,” he whispers, his lips pressed against your ear, “I need–”

You’re breathless. “Satoru–”

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips. “Please.” 

“We shouldn’t–”

His hands come to cup your cheeks, and your breath catches as he leans in, his eyes fervent on yours. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. I need to touch you, to feel you, I need–” His words break off, his shoulders heaving with each breath, pupils blown wide.

You stare at him for a long moment, long enough that he’s starting to look desperate, aching. Finally, you whisper, “Okay.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

His lips crash against yours, claiming and totalitarian. It’s like he’s trying to merge the two of you into one entity, to crush you so hard into his chest that he swallows you whole. He moves his lips so deliciously against yours, so dextrous, so demanding, that it makes you weak in the knees. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as your legs threaten to give out. His tongue brushes against your lower lip, and you open up for him readily, breathing a soft moan into his mouth.

He grins at the sound. At the proof that you want this as much as he does. He threads his fingers into your hair and holds you there, opening your mouth further for his exploration. You sigh softly, letting him hold you right where he wants you.

His other hand roams your body, gripping at your hips, your waist, your thighs. Gathering up your long skirt and inching beneath it. Then both his hands move back to your zipper, slowly inching it down and opening the back of the dress.

“Satoru,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“I never should’ve even zipped this dress up,” he says, letting the fabric fall down your shoulders, off your body, pooling at your feet. He helps you step out of it, right back into his arms. “I should’ve laid you down and fucked you when you called me in, shouldn’t have gone to the stupid fucking auction in the first place.”

You huff a laugh, tilting your head back as he starts kissing down your neck again. “You had to go,” you say, eyes falling shut.

He grumbles, “I don’t have to do anything. I’m the leader of this fucking clan; I can do what I want.”

You smile at how petulant he sounds. You don’t say anything, you just let him believe he has his own free will as boss, and let him lick down your neck, sucking little marks into your flesh. He takes a step forward, forcing you to take a step back, then another, until he’s guiding you down the hall to the bedrooms. He shrugs off his suit jacket and drops it in a heap on the floor, then moves his hands to cup your tits, kneading them and thumbing over your nipples.

He steers you into his bedroom, nudging you backwards onto the bed.

You crawl backwards up the bed, watching as he undoes his tie and tosses it aside, before climbing up after you. He returns his lips to yours in a mess of tongue and teeth, and you both laugh when your teeth catch in your fervor.

“Sorry,” you whisper, head falling back as he starts kissing down your throat again.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl.” He pushes you down against the mattress and kisses down your chest, starting to suck on your nipples.

You hum, fingers dipping into his hair. You tug softly. “Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you,” he mumbles around your nipple.

You shiver at the vibrations of his words. “You know what I mean.”

He hums and lets go with a pop, before looking up at you. “I don’t know what you mean,” he teases. “Can’t know if you don’t use your words.”

You groan and tug on his hair. “Kiss me on the mouth.”

He moans as you pull his hair and willingly comes up your body to kiss you. His mouth is fervent on yours.

He kisses you for a while longer, tongue tangling with yours, before he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths as he breathes heavily. “Can I go down on you?” he asks.

Your pupils dilate. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles, leaning in to quickly kiss your mouth one last time. “Yeah, baby. I’m sure.” And then he slowly inches his way down your body. “Can I?”

You nod, watching him as he kisses his way down your stomach, towards your pelvis. He slowly drags your lace panties down your legs, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Then he tosses them aside, and he’s kissing up your thigh, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he mouths his way closer and closer…

Then he slowly licks a line up your pussy, stopping when his tongue gently nudges your clit.

“Fuck,” he groans, his tongue flicking over your clit again, “your cunt tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re starstruck, barely able to comprehend what he’s saying. And yet, “Y-you imagined this?”

“All the time, pretty girl,” he says, sucking at your clit, gazing up at you through thick white lashes. “All the fucking time.”

Your head falls back, a soft cry escaping. Your hand tightens in his hair. “Oh, fuck, Satoru.”

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he teases. “Like when I suck on your clit like that?”

“Y-yes!”

“Such a good fucking girl.” He wraps his lips around your swollen clit and sucks again, repeating the same amount of pressure as before. He continues to babble between slowly working you up, eating you out like he’s savoring you. “Fuck, so goddamn pretty like this.”

“You really are, you know?” he asks after a moment.

You stutter, “A-are what?”

“A good girl. Such a good girl. You always do exactly what I need, when I need it, don’t even have to fucking ask you twice. And you take my attitude and throw it right back at me – fuck that’s so hot. You’re perfect, little shadow, just perfect.”

“Satoru?” you say, gripping his hair.

“Yeah, pretty?”

“Shut up and eat me already.” And with that you shove his face further between your legs.

He groans loudly, lapping animatedly at your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “So fucking bossy all the goddamn time, so fucking sexy.”

“Satoru, stop talking.”

He glances up at you, showing off a shit-eating grin. “I’m talking to her, not you,” he says, and then he presses a kiss to your outer lips, and it’s clear he means he’s talking to your pussy.

You go to roll your eyes, but then he moves one of his hands and slowly pushes a finger inside you.

You yelp, not expecting the intrusion. His finger is long, and it’s immediately searching, trying to find a spot that’ll make you see stars, to make you cry out his name over and over…

When he finds it, curling his finger up against the top wall of your pussy against the spongy tissue there, you gasp. Your hips jump at the sensation. He chuckles quietly. “There it is,” he whispers, diving back in to start flicking his tongue against your clit again. He adds a second finger and starts gently stroking your g-spot as you writhe and cry out, hips bucking. His free hand comes to steady your hips. “Now, now,” he teases, eyes glinting as they gaze up at you again, “behave, pretty girl, or I’ll have to put you over my knee.”

You scoff and say, “Like to see you try– ah!” Your words cut off when he starts fingerfucking you with fervor, moving his hand hard and fast against your g-spot until your body is writhing beneath his. He keeps you pinned to the bed, grinning at you as he laps at your clit, riding each wave of pleasure with you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, “cum for me.”

His fingers don’t stop working, and neither does his tongue, and all of a sudden you gasp, head flying up to look at him in panic. “Satoru, stop, I-I–”

He shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“Satoru, I’m gonna–”

“Give it to me, pretty.”

And as his fingers hit your g-spot again, and again, your back arches off the bed, and you’re shaking so fucking hard, and he’s wearing that same grin, and then–

A rush of white-hot pleasure, and then your thighs feel hot and wet.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers in surprise.

“S-Satoru, I tried to warn you,” you pant, body still locked in ecstasy, eyes rolled back.

“Warn me? Baby, that was so fucking hot.” He licks his lips. “Let me see it again.”

So he starts slamming his fingers, the same way he did before, into your g-spot, until your walls are fluttering and you squirt again, orgasming so hard your vision goes black for a moment.

He groans, and he looks like he might cum right there in his pants. “Fuck, baby, so fucking good.” He pulls out his fingers and licks them clean, keeping his ocean eyes locked on yours.

Your gaze is hazy, pleasure-ridden. Dazed.

He grins again and crawls up your body, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. You moan and kiss him back enthusiastically, sucking on his tongue.

He groans back before pulling away, panting. “You think you can take my dick now, pretty?” he asks.

You nod, already reaching for his belt.

He huffs a laugh and lets you unbuckle the belt, one hand coming up to gently stroke your jaw. “Such an eager thing, huh? You want my cock that bad?”

You growl under your breath. “You’re getting a big head.”

He winks. “I’m big everywhere else; it’s only fair.”

And when you finally get his pants down his thighs, you realize he’s not lying.

He is big, long and girthy and beautifully imprinted against his tight boxer briefs. You’re practically salivating at the sight of it, and your fingers dip into the elastic band of his underwear and slowly push those down, too. 

His cock springs free, hard and blushing a pretty shade of pink.

You moan at the sight, eyes flickering from the pink tip to his face, where he’s still smiling down at you. “Ready for it?” he asks.

You nod again.

So he grabs your hips and puts you where he wants you, on your back with your legs hitched around his hips. He takes his dick in hand and slaps your clit with the tip, watching your body jolt at the stimulation. Then he gathers your wetness and slowly pushes in.

Both of you moan in time with each other, heads bent together as you both watch the intrusion. He pushes past the first ring of resistance slowly, gently, and then the rest of his thrust is effortless until he bottoms out.

You feel like he’s about to come out of your mouth with how deep he is.

Then he starts moving his hips, and it’s like he’s ravaging you.

He’s moving so fast it’s nearly blinding, drawing cries from your lips as he fucking demolishes you. Pleasure arcs up your spine as he thrusts into your dripping pussy, pornographic sounds filling the bedroom as he pulls out and slowly pushes back inside, groaning and praising you the entire time.

“Good girl,” he grunts, hands roaming your body. “Good fucking girl.”

Satoru grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder, stretching you out until your hips are perfectly aligned. At this angle he hits something fucking devastating inside you, thrusting his beautiful cock up against your g-spot with every thrust. Each roll of his hips draws another cry from between your lips, another “Oh yes! Fuck, Satoru!”

He’s wearing a cocky grin as he fucks you into the bed.

He turns his head, licking a line up the side of your calf before leaving a quick kiss to your ankle. “That feel good, pretty girl?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.

You can’t even reply at this point, fucked so good on his dick that you’re seeing stars. You just reach down and grip his muscular forearms, nails digging into flesh as you gaze at him, eyes hazy and lips parted.

He grins a little wider, clearly pleased with himself.

“F-fuck, Toru,” you whine, eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna cum. I-I’m gonna cum again!”

He’s never heard you call him that before. He can’t deny that he likes it. “That’s it, pretty girl, cum for me. Cum for your Toru.”

Your Toru.

At his words, your body convulses and shudders as you orgasm again.

He groans as you grip him so fucking hard it almost milks him dry. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grits through his teeth. “Feels so goddamn good.”

You whimper, eyes still rolled back. “Oh please.”

“Please what, baby?” He kisses your ankle again.

“Want you to cum.”

He laughs softly, his hand coming down to rub at your clit again. “Give me one more and I will, okay?”

You sob, head falling back. “I-I can’t,” you cry.

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice low and soothing instead of mocking. “You want me to cum, you’re gonna have to work for it. Now, give me another.”

As if he commanded it, you climax, your thighs shaking around him as you squeeze him once more. He throws his head back, the rhythm of his thrusts finally starting to falter.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes screwed shut. “Gonna cum. Where you want it, pretty? Can I cum on your gorgeous face like a good girl?”

You just nod, eager to give him whatever he wants in return for him fucking you so goddamn well. And so he shuffles up your body until his knees are by your shoulders, and you watch him jerk himself off as he moans over you.

“So fucking pretty,” he whines, and he pumps his hand up and down his length over your face. “Close your eyes, pretty girl, close your eyes and open your fucking mouth. Open it, please open it–”

You do, letting your eyes fall closed and dropping your jaw to stick out your tongue. You hear him moan again, high and pathetic, before he cums, spurting heat over your cheeks and mouth. “Fuck, good girl, good girl, baby,” he chants as he fucks his fist over your face, squeezing out the last few drops of cum onto your lips.

You can hear him panting, and you open your eyes slowly to see him staring down at you. He groans. “Close your eyes, baby, I can’t take looking at you; I’ll cum again.”

You giggle softly before reaching up and dipping your fingers into one of the strings of cum. You gather the sticky warmth from your cheeks and dip your fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean.

He whimpers again. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

You smile up at him around your fingers.

He slowly lowers himself down beside you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tugs you towards his chest until your head rests on his shoulder. Both of you are breathing heavily.

“Satoru,” you whisper. “I have to clean my face off.”

He hums, closing his eyes. “Just give me a second; I’ll get you a washcloth. Need a second to recover.”

You huff a laugh, but let him take his breather. Finally, after a moment, he pats your hip. “Lemme up,” he says.

You roll over onto your back, letting him stand from the bed. He walks to the ensuite bathroom, gone for only a few moments before he comes back with a warm washcloth. He sits on the end of the bed and leans over you, gently cleaning off your face, quiet and thoughtful as he washes you off.

You watch him the entire time.

Then he tosses the washcloth into the hamper and climbs back into bed, tucking you against his chest once more. He takes a long, deep breath, closing his eyes once more.

“Satoru,” you whisper.

He opens one eye and looks down at you. “What, baby?”

“We’re not gonna…wake up in the morning and regret this…right?”

He lifts his head, suddenly realizing your question is serious. “Of course not,” he says, sounding a little stung. “Is that really what you think?”

You examine the look in his eyes. “I-I don’t know. It’s just…you’re my boss, you know? I’m just your assistant, I–”

He takes your jaw in his hand and tugs your face towards his. You blink in surprise. His eyes are hard and emphatic. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Get that thought out of your mind now. You’re special, and I already told you I thought of doing this for ages. I should’ve done it before, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He throws up his other hand, laughing. “Cause you’re you! You’re perfect and beautiful and give me shit all the time, and I didn’t want to ruin what we had. But you, in that dress tonight… I couldn’t not.”

You giggle.

He smiles at the sound and pets your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear. “I want you, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Trust me on that.”

And so you do, and he holds you for the rest of the night, crushed against his chest. And every time you start to doubt his feelings, he tightens his arms around you, holding you a little bit closer.

You suppose you can trust him, just this time.

thanks for reading! -luna link to ao3 | next

(taglist: @heyl820)

[ofteacupsandclocks]

I have a lot of thoughts about the murder family.

Don’t get me wrong I wish Abigail could have had a happy ending and I do think the idea of the murder family is super sweet. However realistically I don’t think it would’ve been good for Abigail. It just could not have ended well.

First up even if Abigail hadn’t been killed in Mizumono and somehow Will, Hannibal and Abigail ended up on the run together as a family it wouldn’t have lasted long. Sooner or later (probably sooner rather than later knowing them) Will and Hannibal would’ve gotten into a fight. Because that’s just how their relationship is - unstable, volatile and explosive. And sooner or later in one of their fights Hannibal would’ve let his impulses get the better of him - he would’ve wanted to hurt Will. And Abigail would’ve been a perfect tool for that. So even if Abigail had survived Mizumono I don’t think she would have survived long after.

Next up Will and Hannibal are both very possessive and very jealous men. It was basically outright stated that Hannibal doesn’t want Will to have anyone in his life except Hannibal. And based on how obsessed Will is with Hannibal, how he keeps coming back to him I’d say it’s a fair assumption that once he leaned into his dark side fully he would be just as toxic as Hannibal. And in that tight bond they share, among the obsession, and possessiveness, and jealousy, and greed, and gluttony they feel for each other, there would be no room for Abigail.

And adding on to my previous point Abigail is not like Will and Hannibal. She would never have been able to understand or accept or see them the way they both crave to be seen. Abigail tolerates violence because she has to, but she does not enjoy it. Not how Will and Hannibal do. Because it’s not in her nature. She is not the same kind of beast as Will and Hannibal. And not even Hannibal would’ve been able to change that, to change her nature (he only changed Will because Will was already a monster from the beginning. Hannibal never changed Will he only brought out into the light what was already there). Hannibal would become disappointed, and ultimately bored of Abigail. And Hannibal easily throws away his old toys once they are no longer entertaining. He would not have needed her anymore once he got close enough to Will and once Will leaned into his dark side. And once Abigail would stop being entertaining he would discard her.

And after Will takes off his person suit I simply don’t think he would really care for Abigail anymore. A big part of why he cared for her in the first place was out of feeling responsible for killing her father and of his desire for a family. Hannibal fulfils Will’s desire for companionship and family. And after fully giving into his darkness Will would have let go of the guilt and responsibility he felt for killing Garett Jacob Hobbs. So he would have no reason to care for Abigail anymore.

Finally while I do think Hannibal and Will are capable of love, and they do love each other, they do not love Abigail. And Abigail does not love them either. She depends on them for survival and for protection but she does not love them. And a real family is impossible without love. Abigail’s relationship with Will and Hannibal would be that of a captive and their captors. It would’ve been exactly like the scene @patchouii mentioned: The scene where Will says to the team “You bond with your captor, you survive. You don’t, you’re breakfast” immediately cuts to Hannibal making Abigail breakfast. So even if Abigail managed to survive Will and Hannibal, even if she got a thrill from that survival (like that one post mentioned), she would not have been happy with them. She would face every day as if it were her last, it would be tiring and exhausting and worst of all it would’ve been exactly how it had been with her father. She would never be able to heal, she would never be able to overcome her trauma. She would never be able to get away from her past, she would never be able to get away from her father. It would have been a life worse than death. Her quick death in Mizumono was far more merciful.

Realistically it was probably one of the best case scenarios. I would even argue it would have been kinder to Abigail if Hannibal had simply killed her when he was framing Will instead of keeping her as this messed up, twisted gift for Will like a cat bringing you a half-dead mouse it hasn’t fully killed yet.

Thank you to @patchouii for giving me the idea and the inspiration for this post in their reblog of my previous post on Hannibal’s and Will’s and Abigail’s relationship.

[nacreousor]

your Santos post about everything she had to endure and then choosing to give Whitaker a place to live because he hasn't been threatening to her is going to make me cry. i can't wait to see how their dynamic will have change in s2.

(also i may need a scene where he tries to defend her from a patient coming a little too strongly at her. he fails because, well, he's really not made to fight, and she's totally able to defend herself after his attempt. but i need her to see him try for her. that's her little pathetic white man who is turning into a best friend without her knowing how that's even happening)

AAAAA thank you for screaming alongside me! I'm obsessed with them both on their own so together I'm just a fucking wreckkk. Roommates era let's gooo! I fully support a whumpy defensive scene!!!!! BUT I will defend Whitaker's capabilities a little - we see him doing patient transfers with people a head taller than him, so his core strength is definitely accounted for. He's also running around the hospital with a cooler full of blood bags without any discernible effort, and that's got to be at least 40 lbs that he's swinging around. Farm work builds physical resilience too; he's got more torque and scrappiness than he's getting credit for. Plus the three older brothers torturing him growing up deal - you can't convince me Whitaker can't handle getting roughed up. I think between him and Santos being a tough nut and former athlete (not to mention valedictorian of the school of hard knocks), they'd be a pretty good team of dealing with a common adversary.

[clu-ven]

Better than Meditation

soooo I haven't posted in a very long time but I'm trying to get back into writing!!! (so pls bear with me xoxoxoxoxo)

Summary: you come up with an alternative (smutty) way for Crosshair to gain some control over his hand - based off S3 E08

Tags: SMUT, vaginal fingering, semi public fingering?? (technically it’s done in an isolated but public place), lil bit of plot + smut, smut, smut

Word Count: 2.8k

“He’s still down there, y’know” Omega’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as she slumps down beside you.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the rays of the afternoon sun wash over you. Pabu’s climate is one you could most definitely get used to. It’s inviting and comforting atmosphere makes you feel at ease, a sensation that has become rare since the rise of the Empire.

“Well, you know how stubborn he is,” you reply casually. 

While Hunter and Wrecker are gone to meet some bounty hunter they know, Crosshair has spent most of his time on a secluded part of the beach, focused on correcting his aim.  Everyone has tried to talk to him about it but unfortunately, that only made things worse.

Now Crosshair is more defensive than ever, determined to prove that he is perfectly capable of correcting his shaky hand by himself. 

“Yeah but AZI said it might be some kind of mental block,” Omega sighs, subtly copying you as she closes her eyes too “if he doesn’t open up and let us help him, then how is he supposed to get better?”.

Her concern for Crosshair makes you smile, impressed by how she’s able to delicately balance trying to help her brother without being too overbearing.

The question lingers for a few moments before you open your eyes and glance down at her “And he’s already shot down your meditation idea?”.

Omega briefly mentioned the idea to you that morning and although you were sceptical, you encouraged her determination to help anyway. 

“Of course he did,” she lets out a heavy sigh “saying he didn’t like it is an understatement”. 

A comfortable silence grows between you both as you consider the situation. But before you can speak, Omega quickly becomes restless and blurts out “Can’t you try speaking with him? He’ll listen to you, I just know it!”. 

It’s no secret that you and Crosshair were once close and you can only presume Omega has heard about this from the likes of Wrecker, who wouldn’t give a second thought about mentioning it.

"I can try but..." you trail off, hesitating to make a decision. Doubt clouds your judgement, stopping you from promising anything. After all, you know how stubborn and closed-minded Crosshair can be at times, especially when it comes to being vulnerable.

Omega's face lights up at your hesitant help. "Great! Sometimes trying is all it takes". She seems upbeat and enthusiastic as she stands “I was gonna go introduce Batcher to Mox, Stak and Deek anyways so it’s good to know Crosshair won’t be alone”.

Giving the girl a tight-lipped smile in response, Omega whistles for Batcher. With one last goodbye, she hurries off happily.

You wait until she’s gone before you sigh and slump down again. Although Crosshair has been back for a while now, the two of you have yet to have a proper reunion, leaving you both unsure of how to approach the situation. 

Knowing you can’t put this off for forever, you begrudgingly get up and start the long descent down to the secluded beach. 

The subtle change in weather appears to align with your mood, as the sun dips behind the clouds and a warm breeze begins to pick up. It causes the light fabric of your skirt to dance in the wind as if it has a mind of its own. But it’s only a momentary distraction as your thoughts swiftly return to Crosshair, focusing fully on him and the impending catch-up. 

You and Crosshair were always close during the Clone Wars, constantly laughing at each other’s snide remarks, bickering simply for the sake of it and always trying to get a rise out of the other. Even back then, you knew where the constant teasing would eventually lead to… but then it didn’t. 

Instead, the war came to an end and before you even got the opportunity to speak with Crosshair, the rest of the Batch had turned up at your door and told you that he had already picked his side.

Since then, you have been travelling with the batch. It took a long time to accept that whatever was between you and Crosshair was gone, whether that be a friendship or something more. That died the day the Republic did. 

But in a strange twist of faith, Crosshair is back and so are your lingering feelings. Although, if it was difficult to confront this emotion before everything happened, it’s become utterly impossible now. Neither of you have mentioned it and yet you still catch his longing gaze whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention.

When you reach the beach, it’s exactly how you pictured; Crosshair is alone, his sniper positioned steadily on a rock as he tries to shoot the far off target. A blaster bolt sprints across the water as he fires, missing his target by a few inches. You hear him mutter something under his breath as he tries again.

Flicking his chewed up toothpick to the ground, Crosshair notices you. “Yes?” He asks impatiently, lining up another shot.

“You’ve been out here all day,” you state the obvious “Omega’s worried about you”.

Crosshair doesn’t reply immediately, first firing (and missing) again before he turns around just to make sure you see his eye roll. “Oh, is she?” His tone is underlined with sarcasm. 

A huff falls from your lips and suddenly you know all too well why Omega was so irked after trying to help the man in front of you. Despite the scowl on your face, you refuse to fall into the usual bickering you once had with him. 

“You know she is,” you sigh “maybe you should take a break, come have some lunch and forget about target practice for a while”.

He watches you for a moment, studying you the same way you’ve seen from the corner of your eye “And when did you become mother hen?”.

Scoffing, you walk closer, hugging yourself with your arms “Don’t act like that, you know you’re overworking yourself… Crosshair, please, you need to take care of yourself”. 

The concern in your voice takes him by surprise but Crosshair quickly recovers as he mutters “Oh, so you’re worried about me now?”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bat back at him.

“You’ve hardly looked at me, nevermind speak to me since I’ve gotten back” he practically spits the words out. 

You no longer hold back your glare “Like you’ve made any effort to talk to me!”.

“How can I when you don’t even look at me?” Crosshair challenges, his gaze unyielding as your annoyance fades as quick as it came. 

Coming up to the rock he’s based at, you slide down against it to shield yourself from the wind. Crosshair follows suit and kneels beside you, waiting cautiously for your response. 

Your tone holds a sense of sincerity as you speak, your words now free of any reservations. "I do look at you… of course I do," you confess with genuine intent, all annoyance and restraint vanishing within you. 

“Then you must see me staring,” he almost whispers the words, watching you carefully “I thought you would have gotten the hint by now that I’m still interested”.

A soft smile graces your lips and as if taming a wild animal, you slowly reach out for his hand. Crosshair makes no attempt to stop you and you gently slip your hand into his before you tug him closer. 

Settling his hand on to your lap, you begin to trace your finger up and down his palm until finally resting your hand delicately on his wrist. “Let me help,” you offer “seriously, Crosshair”.

“And how would you help?” Though the question almost seems backhanded, you know that’s just Crosshair being Crosshair.

The mischievous glint in your eye paired with the suggestive smirk plastered across your face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“How do you think?” you question. 

He holds your gaze as if to challenge you to make the first move but you hold strong. This is your moment and you both know it.

A secluded beach? A chance for you both to finally reunite in a way you could only imagine? Both of your minds go to the same place.

You give his wrist a small yet reassuring squeeze and before you can make another comment, his lips are on yours. 

With an intensity fuelled by pure need, he slams his lips against yours in a heated display of passion. This isn’t just a build up of years worth of longing for Crosshair. No, it’s much more than that. It’s an act of rebellion against the time he lost with you because of the Empire, both in spite of his own misplaced loyalty to them as well as his time on Tantiss. 

The fiery kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity and yet the time seems far too brief when it finally comes to an end. The passion flaring between the two of you is intoxicating, causing you to crave more.

His fingers twitch on your lap, eager to do more for you. As if on cue, you both look down at his hand, your soft grasp still around his wrist.

“You have to be calm, be able to stay consistent with your shots if you want to hit the target, right?” you ask, trying not to smirk when you see his sudden confusion. 

In a moment like this, you seriously decide to give him some advice on shooting? Crosshair nods, silently waiting to see where this is going.

“Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective,” you suggest, noticing how his attention shifts to your lips “you’re focusing on your sniper abilities, looking to re-learn your techniques… but you need to re-learn how to use your fingers in order to effectively use your sniper”.

“And how do you propose I do that?” his voice is low, causing the skin on your arms to prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the effect of his voice in your panties.

With your free hand, you begin to bunch up your skirt, first revealing your thighs and then a glimpse of your underwear. Crosshair can’t help it as a groan escapes from his throat.

You guide his hand closer to your clothed core before Crosshair takes initiative and brushes his fingers teasingly against you. 

He can feel the warmth beneath your underwear, feeling more assured in his movements when he hears you take in a sharp breath. But even with the small boost in confidence, Crosshair can’t help it as a small tremor courses through his hand. 

“Take your time,” your voice is soft but firm in your reassurance “and if this is too much then we can stop”. Fearful that you’ve pushed him too far, you slowly begin to close your legs as you nervously fiddle with your skirt “I didn’t mean to push you so-”.

You stop your apologetic remark when his firm grip stops your legs from meeting. A brief look of disbelief flicks across your face as he spreads your legs to his liking.

“No,” there is no hesitancy in Crosshair’s voice as he takes control of the situation “you started this, don’t go shy on me now”. This time it’s your turn to nod silently.

His fingers glide down to caress you again, this time feeling the dampness from beneath your underwear. Each reaction you give, whether a sharp intake of breath or a slight quiver up your spine, only serves to fuel Crosshair’s determination. He savors these small responses, revelling in how you leave each reaction so bare for him to see.

Crosshair smirks “If this is how you react to such simple touches, do you think you could handle me touching you without anything between us?”. 

“You’d be surprised with how much I can handle” you taunt.

Oh how he has missed how you challenge him. Your snarky response is rewarded with a kiss but before you can melt into it, Crosshair brings both of his hands to your hips and swiftly pulls your panties down. 

The eager sight that greets him brings a smile to his face. Crosshair can feel his excitement growing but before he can get ahead of himself, he’s committed to take care of you first. 

Crosshair teasingly brings just one finger down to your core. A slight tremor causes his finger to waver but after a second, it stops as desire overtakes him. His finger teases you, feeling just how much you want him. Before he can make another teasing comment, you pull him in for another kiss, unable to help yourself.

Crosshair is quick to take control of the kiss, simultaneously pushing his tongue into your mouth as he sinks his long finger into you. You welcome all of him, moaning into his mouth. Taking your sounds as encouragement, Crosshair adds a second digit to your core. 

He pushes in until he’s knuckle deep, successfully finding that spot within you. Crosshair takes your advice to heart. He keeps a consistent rhythm, thrusting his fingers inside of you. He listens to each involuntary squeak and moan, adjusting his speed and pressure of each pump of his fingers to whichever makes you react the most. 

There’s not a slight tremble in his entire hand, his attention solely on you. There is no room for nerves or doubt to creep in and cause his hand to shake. That seems almost impossible now, especially with you like this in front of him.

There is nothing but you and him in this moment, the rhythmic movement of his fingers serving as proof that he has full control.

He buries his fingers into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit and delivering powerful jolts of pleasure into your body.

“That’s it,” he coos at your moans “you’re nearly there, aren’t you?”.

A flutter fills your chest as your breathing becomes more rapid. "Y-yes,” you manage with a strained voice, your mind becoming overwhelmed with arousal “keep doing that”. 

You squeeze around his fingers, feeling the tight coil in your lower stomach getting closer and closer to finally snapping.

Your body responds to his touch in the most natural of ways, your back arching and head bowing in a display of utter pleasure. Your hand instinctively searches for contact, grabbing hold of his knee as the overwhelming sensation begins to consume you.

Your legs twitch, eyes rolling back in your head and a rather loud moan escapes your lips as the satisfaction you feel begins to peak. 

Bliss floods your entire being and the mixture of your moans and whimpers blend together in a melodic harmony. Every movement of his hand guides you through the waves of ecstasy, sending shivers through your body. 

Crosshair hums approvingly as you come down from your sigh. Almost reluctantly, he takes his hand away from you and examines his sticky but steady fingers. “My hand hasn’t been able to do so much and remain so still since… well, ever since Tantiss” he comments.

Trying to give your shaky legs more time to recover, you fix your panties before you reposition your skirt. Stealing a glance at Crosshair, you’re glad to see you’re not the only one with flushed cheeks. You smile almost bashfully as you lean on the rock to stand. 

Crosshair is there to help, gently holding your upper arm as you steady yourself. Despite the sass you gave him earlier and the bliss he just brought you now, you find it hard to maintain eye contact. 

Clearing your throat, you try to regain some of that boldness from before “Well then… good luck with your target practice, I’ll go see if the others have made contact yet”.

“What?!” the sound is almost foreign to you; the sound of an utterly bamboozled Crosshair. 

Pushing yourself off the rock, you feel his grasp slip away from your arm. You continue to walk as you turn around to savor his shocked expression.

“What about me?” he asks, trying to be inconspicuous as he gestures to the tent in his pants “I thought this was about helping me?”.

“Yeah, I know,” you reply with a smirk “you’ll get your reward when you hit the target”. With a wink, you turn your back to him and begin the ascent back. 

Crosshair’s jaw hangs open as he watches you go, and he can’t help but laugh at your audacity.

[ilikekidsshows]

In general the stans just fully hate the idea of abuse victims that can negatively impact the "good characters" in the show so they start coming up with some bullshit reasoning to make it so that doesn't happen in the fanon version they made up and think is real.

Whether you like her or not, Chloe is 100% an abuse victim but the issue that people had with her is that her character arc was centered on her (which is a good way to go about it because change starts with the self), she didn't have people to immediately vouch for her "goodness" (coughfelixandzoecough) cause it's not her victims' jobs to help her if they don't want to, and she did backslide a bit cause old habits die hard. That is to say it was far too realistic for their liking (at least in the earlier seasons) and it didn't end with her being a Marinette dicksucker so they say that she deserves to be abandoned by the man who raised her (white male apologia is abundant in ML) and abused by her mother (yet another case of characters being abuse apologists). Compare that to what happened with Zoe and Felix. Just not a good look all around when you're only willing to think that only "perfect/good" abuse victims are the only valid ones.

And there is nothing wrong with Adrien reacting "badly" to any of the news he gets. I'd argue that at the very least him finding out about Gabriel being Hawkmoth doesn't really have anything to do with his abuse narrative and might even have more to do with him being Chat Noir. Him reacting badly to his dad being a terrorist would be just as natural as anyone irl finding out a family member they were close to was a serial killer. The real issue isn't about his "bad reaction" it's that it'll affect all the "good" characters that "tried their hardest" to keep him in the dark because "they love and care about him so so much." (Not enough to let him be his own person but sure. These people are on the verge of becoming his new abusers lbr.) It's about how his "bad reaction" will Make Marinette Upsette.

Honestly, I think the stans would even be on his side if canon didn't have Marinette insert herself in the family drama and stupidly keep it a secret because she doesn't want to be inconvenienced with the fact that her bf has real emotions and could possibly be upsette with her for even a second. She was the one that brought this on herself and for some reason people think that Adrien should take the blame for it?

Like ultimately they don't want to think about "abuse" as anything other than a buzzword but one that only applies to Marinette and maybe a select few but only if that select few is part of the "good character" group and if they immediately forgive her if she did something wrong and willingly become one of her on call servants.

---

Yeah, like, apparently, to Miraculous’ writers and fans, “no one deserves to be abused, even bad people” is a super-hot take, as is “sometimes, how trauma victims deal with their trauma is inconvenient to you, and you’ll have to accept it isn’t about you.” Like, how Adrien would deal with his dad being a supervillain is not a Marinette Crisis(™), but the Marinette standom can’t shut up about how bad Marinette is feeling and how much worse she’d feel if Adrien started on a recovery process.

Nothing the abuse victims do in this show will ever be good enough, unless it allows Marinette and her stans to ignore their victim status as a whole. This, I think, is why I haven’t seen many posts disparaging Kagami despite her also being a child abuse victim. Her trauma never has a chance to make things inconvenient for Marinette, so she’s okay. She’s strong and capable, unlike her fellow victims.

Frankly, I think the toxic Marinette stans just hate abuse victims period, considering the difficulty they have with getting through a single interaction with someone without slipping in something ableist. Like, I got the most asinine anon just this week and I didn’t need any details about what set them off to know it was from a Marinette stan just because of how ableist it was. These kinds of stans can’t even pretend to be normal about other people for five seconds. It's like they think they need to be awful or someone will come in and revoke their Marinette stan card.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Like That?

Summary: Would you like that?

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 684

Warnings: flirty reader, equally flirty grayson cus hes no longer depresso espresso woohoo 🥳

A/n: this was fun writing hehe i just sat down and almost finished writing it in one go lol.

BASED ON THE SONG 'LIKE THAT' BY BABYMONSTER 🥳 i love them yall and the song is like 😚🤌🏻

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYY 🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n could see the look on his face. Even when she turned away from him when her best friend Alana called for her, her mind could not erase the sight.

Stop staring.

If the two kept staring at each other, Y/n knew she would have to walk to him. She knew she wanted to hear what he would say.

But still, deep down she also knew wished for him to never stop, what with the way she could not help but preen under his gaze.

"He might have high standards. He’s a Hawthorne, after all."

Y/n hummed. She could never hide her true thoughts from Alana, having grown up together. The two were more like sisters than friends. Of course she’d noticed where Y/n’s attention was fixed as she leaned against the wall, a glass of something in her hand.

Y/n was too occupied with staring into his soul to care for what she held.

"So do I."

Y/n knew Alana only said that to protect Y/n. Being two months older, she acted like her mother, always taking note of things Y/n decided were too trivial to be bothered by.

"There might be a hundred girls who want him." Y/n could feel her intense gaze on her face.

She nodded. "And maybe they know what he needs. But, can they make him stay forever?" Y/n shot her friend a wink, finally looking away from his intense stare. "I don’t think so."

With that, Y/n slipped away, her drink shoved into her friend’s hands and already forgotten as she skirted the room’s perimeter, inching ever closer to the man on her mind.

And maybe the prize of her life.

But just as she arrived at the alcove he’d been standing against, his eyes fixed on her even as he conversed with well known businessmen, he was gone. Not even an indication that he had been there just moments prior left behind.

"Looking for someone?" A voice that was human reincarnation of seductiveness and authority whispered almost directly in Y/n’s ear

Y/n glanced back at the source of the voice, goosebumps already prickling the exposed skin of her arms.

His eyes gazed back at her, perfect brows arched and the slightest, barely there tilt to his full lips.

"Yes. Maybe you could help?" Y/n turned to face him fully, the smile that rose to her lips unbidden and full of mischief.

"Maybe. Who were you searching for?" He mumbled as he stepped closer, his intense gaze wandering down her figure for a moment before meeting hers again.

"A grey eyed prince charming. Or you know what? Scratch that. A warrior like physique. Straight out of fantasy books." Y/n eyed the straining muscles in his forearms and biceps as she changed her statement, wondering how good they’d look without the confinement of clothes. "He had hair like liquid moonlight, and looked ready to devour me whole."

Despite the way his smirk grew, Y/n delighted in the way his ears turned red. "Hmm. So a cannibal?"

Y/n huffed. "You’re funny too? My my. However will my heart survive?"

He grinned, shaking his head as he extended his hand. "Grayson Hawthorne."

She smiled back, letting the flirty personality go for a moment. "Y/n Fox."

He offered her a lopsided tilt of his lips. "I can see you take after your last name very well."

Y/n threw back her head and laughed, unable to control herself. "God, it’s been a long time since a man made me laugh."

He raised a brow. "You wound me. Do you think I am only capable of making you laugh?"

Y/n giggled. "Well then, show me what you’re capable of, Hawthorne, and maybe I will come closer. I might even let you be the father of my future children."

She leaned closer.

"Would you like that?"

He grinned, like this was the most exciting experience he’d had in quite a while, her hand still clasped in his as he mirrored her movement.

"I will."

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

permanent taglist: @berryzxx

The Inheritance Games Taglist: @dahliawarner @thena101 @yucanbmylxdy @sheisntyou @kitkatlover015

[okayninjago]

sometimes i still see people debating on why Lloyd was reaching out to Harumi and wasn’t even listening when his dad was trying to change in crystalized.

this is one of the most defining part of Lloyd’s character. he always believes people can do better, that people can change, that people are capable of good. he cares cares and cares.

because:

1. he knew the real Harumi and he knew her pain and where her anger came from. he knows she is not all evil, because she showed him, who she really is. and Lloyd knows there is something to hold on to, that there is something worth fighting for. when he reached out to her, she would do everything to push him away and show him or tell him something that told him “she is not listening, but hey, there is hope after all!”

2. his dad, on the other hand, until crystalized showed him nothing (not that it’s all Garmadon’s fault). Lloyd, fully believing, that the man Harumi brought back is his father, went to prison and his dad made sure he got the message that he is not the man he was.

Garmadon said “he has no son”, and i think this stuck with him particularly. but that didn’t make him stop trying to reach out to him. you have whole s9 and s10 for that! but when he, as Harumi, pushes away his son, he doesn’t give Lloyd any hope that other people do.

Lloyd shows him pictures -> Garmadon says sentimentality is a weakness

Lloyd and Omega ask why he helps saving Ninjago -> so that only he could conquer it

Lloyd explains that they just lost Cole -> Garmadon doesn’t think it’s worth delaying their mission

it’s also hard for Lloyd, because he knew what he was like before Oni trilogy. the fact that Lloyd will never have his dad again despite him being right next to him in flesh, hurts on another level.

and let’s bring in the fact that Lloyd is scared to death of what he can become if he lets himself be like his dad. Lloyd saw himself in Harumi, what he could be, if someone didn’t reach out to him. and Garmadon is someone he is afraid he could be, even when people are reaching out to him.

so all this mix gives us Lloyd, who is sceptical about his dad’s intentions. not because he is not willing to give him a chance, but because he’s afraid what will happen to him too if he does.

and Lloyd didn’t fully gave up on his dad. he still cared and listened to him, it’s just hard for him after so much hurting. he still gave him that chance.

as for Harumi, just because he tried to reason with her, doesn’t mean he forgives her or that he will treat her like nothing ever happened between them.

they are both completely different characters with different relationships and history with Lloyd. writing in crystalized lacked in some parts, but it wasn’t all nonsensical.

[xjeanmoreaux]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @transboybuckley @freewayshark @rewritetheending @devirnis

thank ya darlins! yalls work is just !!!!!!!! so good!

here's a snip from my sort of secret project :) (and sorry it's long, im just excited)

Eddie offers Maddie his hand, palm up, no trace of a fist in sight, and her brown eyes flicker with something that could be relief, that smile fading away beneath the weight of grief clouded breath as she takes Eddie’s hand, clasping onto him like he’s the only support she has, like maybe if she holds his hand hard enough then Buck will feel it too.

“Do you need anything?” he winds up asking, unsure of what else he can do but needing to do something for someone other than himself.

Maddie shakes her head. Stops. Shrugs her shoulders. Laughs a little at herself. “I guess saying my brother would be a bit too pathetic, wouldn’t it?”

“No,” Eddie answers truthfully. “No. Not at all. I–” he sighs and lets the rest of that sentence fade away.

I need him too isn’t what she needs to hear right now and it’s not like saying that would do anything anyway.

It wouldn’t alleviate the sickly crush of his bones or the despair hardening his heart or the death that’s more alive in his veins than anything else.

Maddie squeezes his hand as if she understands and maybe she does.

It makes Eddie ache for his own sisters, for their energy and comfort. It makes him ache for a way to heal the hurt splintering across them both. It makes him ache for a time when he and her worked together to bandage up a wounded Buck while he smiled a bloody smile.

The two of them were always enough then. Not so much now.

“Remember the time Buck busted his nose while skateboarding?” Maddie asks and it sounds a bit like she’s talking more to herself than to Eddie but he listens as she continues, the image of a young Buck with curly hair a few shades lighter than it is now hanging in his eyes and coated in the blood smeared across his face so vivid in Eddie’s mind he could touch it.

“He was on the sidewalk trying to race alongside the cars that drove past, waving and smiling like an idiot to anyone that looked at him.” She huffs, laughter clearly not something she is fully capable of at the moment, amusement not strong enough to burst fully out of her.

“Idiot,” Eddie agrees, forcing himself to say it, the word falling out alongside a weak exhalation that was meant to be an answering smile or laugh.

What he really wants to do is beg her not to do this. It sounds too much like the things people kept saying to Eddie after Shannon’s funeral.

Remember when Shannon set firecrackers off during that one football game? Remember how she used to laugh so hard she’d snort? Remember the time she thought she could fix the car by herself even though she knew absolutely nothing about cars? Remember how beautiful she looked when y'all got married?

Everyone was desperate to hand off their memories of her, remind him of who she was as if he had forgotten. Perhaps he had at some point. But each memory felt like a knife slipping beneath his skin, slick and edged with a sharp sting.

It took everything he had not to shout back, Remember how she used to love me? Remember when she left me? When she left our son? Remember the way she used to always want to be around me and how quickly everything changed until she couldn’t stand being in my presence? She was leaving again, did you know? She knew I wasn’t enough, did you know?

Eddie doesn’t want to talk about Buck like he’s already gone. He doesn’t want another love to leave him behind again. He doesn’t want to even consider the possibility that these memories are one day all he will have left, that when he speaks of Buck it will always start with Remember and a story that couldn’t even come close to encapsulating everything Buck is.

tagging @shitouttabuck @elvensorceress @try-set-me-on-fire @lemonzestywrites @spotsandsocks @daffi-990 @exhuastedpigeon @queerdiazs @jeeyuns @spagheddiediaz @queerdiaz @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @shyaudacity @heterosexistly @hippolotamus @dr-shortsighted-owl @lonelychicago @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @sibylsleaves @wikiangela @jesuisici33 and anyone else who wants to share!

[borkthemork]

Chapter Four - The Clash of Priorities

Chapter Four might be my favorite when it comes to the trial, the emotional impact, and many more, but the way Kirigiri and Naegi misunderstood each other throughout the chapter is another portion of it that is so fascinating to me.

It's like the big instance where their priorities clashed with one another on what they deemed as important during the Killing Game, and understanding this helped recontextualize specific dialogue that baffled me at first glance.

But before we do that, we need to go back to the beginning, when they first started talking in the theater room, and analyze the scenarios that lead to these perceptions of one another.

Since I'm still new in my progress of reading the books and analyzing the games, I am also happy to hear feedback so that I can get any clarifications, corrections, or additional information regarding the series.

With that out of the way, let us begin!

[Word Count: 3,806]

Part One - Miscommunication

Multiple things come into play before the discussion starts. We have two opposing viewpoints and missing information between Naegi and Kirigiri.

One is that Naegi knows about Oogami's encounter with Monokuma, and the potential assumption that Oogami might be the mole; someone who could compromise everything in their investigation, but could potentially be taken out of context and pitted against regardless of innocence if he acts impulsively.

The second is with Kirigiri, where, finally leting her guard down, decides to trust Naegi on letting him in. She has been investigating heavily into the school; the reason for why she kept quiet over this is from the high risk if any information leaked to the Mastermind.

They begin talking, and we see that Naegi did what Kirigiri ordered him to do. When Kirigiri asks him for his own secret in return, we get a dialogue choice that locks you into not telling her about Oogami.

Game design-wise, it's not great at giving the player agency within this scenario. Narrative-wise, however, it showcases a key difference in Naegi's priorities, and how it contrasts with the player's and Kirigiri's.

Naegi makes it clear that his first priorities are about the safety of his friends, and the consideration towards their feelings and thoughts. So even if the player wanted to tell Kirigiri about Oogami — the most beneficial choice to do in this scenario — Naegi is on a different page for good reasons. He doesn't know the context for why Oogami started to fight Monokuma, and believes in the idea that there's more to the situation than a simple betrayal of the group. He knows that if he fully accused Oogami as the mole, it would create more tension, and change the survivor dynamics drastically where everyone can side against her if he doesn't have solid evidence. He is careful towards his friends' lives, and averse to risk-taking since he doesn't want people to get hurt.

From a player's perspective, this wouldn't make much sense due to how capable Kirigiri is towards the investigation, but it becomes more understandable in the context of the conversation before Naegi refused to tell her.

When Naegi talks about him getting attacked by his assailant in the secret room, Kirigiri admits that she suspected the potential of him being endangered. Naegi, understandably, points this out. After all, he trusts her, and he didn't realize beforehand that she was okay with the potential of having him get caught, or have the Mastermind react against him, all to further confirm information she needs to know.

Keep in mind, the group doesn't know about the Mastermind being strict on following their own rules at this point in time, so for all that the group knew, Monokuma could've killed Naegi in the same way he killed Ikusaba, where even if it didn't fit the regulations, it would be a good exception to prevent any troublemakers.

And when he pointed out that she knew the risks of putting him there, Kirigiri said he would've been able to handle it due to being a guy, which doesn't help (In the fan translations of this scene, she even says "Aren't you man enough for it?" which is hilarious by the way, but also makes this worse). There's a disregard to his concern over his own safety, and while he says it's fine, it's in the same way that Kirigiri remarks that him not trusting her is fine. It's definitely not fine.

Naegi trusts Kirigiri to some extent, but in realizing this, the hesitation then settles in. If she is that okay with disregarding his concern, there's a potential that stuff could get worse if Kirigiri is willing to risk perhaps one's own secret to further her goals, and he would rather confirm with Oogami on her thoughts and feelings than leave the stability of the group up to chance.

On the other hand, Kirigiri is focused on the truth. Her way of showing care towards the situation is by honing so much onto the trail of clues — where she would rather risk her own safety, and use others to get that goal if she has to. The mystery needs to be solved, the truth has the key to their escape. Risk is a necessity, or else one wouldn't be able to break out of the confines of the current investigation; being told about Oogami earlier would've kept her in the know, so that they can prevent any further deaths from occurring, and get the advantage on the Mastermind.

Naegi's switch in his sense of trust was not only confusing to her, but she remarks it as unfair and she gets very angry about it. After all, he has been consistent in being genuine, honest, and easy to tell as a person.

When we got to the point where Kirigiri started to trust him more, it was after he reassured her that he would be there for her, that he's her friend, and that he believes in her. Kirigiri has massive trust issues due to past betrayals, and at this point he has been pretty consistent enough for her to think he would be someone she can trust a bit on very important information — that could also get her killed if he said anything. So him deciding a day later that he is going to hold off on saying his secret to her hurt her a lot. A whole lot.

It's definitely hypocritical due to her doing the same thing to him with never opening up about her own information unless needed, and closing him off from any further inquiries into her. After all, she has been dragging him around multiple times to test out different hypotheses of the Mastermind without really giving back in a similar way. But it gives reason to why she's mad about this regardless.

Other than that, we also find her remarking him as arrogant in prioritizing a potential dangerous mole than someone who had been by his side since the beginning. Which brings us to our next section...

Part Two - Confusion and Arrogance

Naegi and Kirigiri, during this portion of the story, are not talking to one another. The former is trying to reach out and say sorry, while the latter is giving the other the silent treatment. While this is on-going, an important thing to note is in the way these two remark on each other regarding their behaviors — in ways that misses the point of what the other is feeling due to the different ways they think.

Naegi, for instance, is so confused on why Kirigiri is angry, emotional, and critical of him after he decided to keep his secret for a while before telling her. For him, the way she acts comes completely out of nowhere, and has no idea as to why she keeps throwing hands at him throughout the entirety of the chapter.

He didn't consider the idea that his prioritizing over Oogami for just a moment would hurt her this badly, which makes sense. He didn't tell her he was going to hold off on the truth forever; he logically thinks that what he did is a good thing since he just needs more time to confirm before telling Kirigiri in confidence, and throughout the chapter you can see him really trying to get a moment to talk to Oogami, but never able to get a full opportunity due to circumstance.

He is serious about considering Oogami's feelings, and thinks carefully on how this information would tear apart the group. After all, the more tension and suspicion there is, the easier it would be for people to panic and start escalating the situation, and with people like Togami, no matter how much Naegi and Kirigiri could try to persuade him not to point fingers at Oogami, he probably would've done it anyway during this point of his character progression.

Adding the fact that he knows Kirigiri has used him for her own benefit, and wasn't bothered by it, Naegi believes it is better to approach a more empathetic perspective rather than Kirigiri potentially disregarding Oogami's feelings also. Even with him seeing the good in her despite her stoic and mysterious nature, there's still a lot for him to consider when it comes to how trustworthy she is over the compromising of one of their friends. He is not at that point in their relationship where he trusts her enough to make a leap of faith yet — that will come later down the line in Chapter Five, but I digress.

To add onto that confusion, he does try to bridge the gap by trying to talk to her. He wants to understand why she's mad, and clear up his thoughts about their prior discussions. But when he attempts to talk about what occurred, she completely ignores him, and they're unable to do a heart-to-heart on what he did incorrectly.

Overall, he is trying to do damage control by believing in people and knowing the full nuanced picture before acting — it is a careful route so that nothing risky occurs for something like paranoia to spread.

In Kirigiri's eyes, she finds the exact opposite, where she marks Naegi as an arrogant hypocrite on the way he prioritizes what is important.

At first, I didn't know why she labelled him as arrogant (or, in the fan translation, self-conceited), but it occurred to me that Naegi, despite his good intentions, has been continuously choosing what he believes is good to act upon, and not enforcing it properly.

Think about it. A great deal of these scenes happen when it relates to the subject of trust and friendship, and what Naegi chooses to focus on as important.

When it came to the pictures he found from the pre-amnesia years, he states that even if there is a chance that these photos are fake, that they should at least consider Monokuma's statement of the pictures potentially being real to consider more theories on the school's mystery. Kirigiri, who has been listening in on this — and had this guy say he believes in her, and then indirectly tell her he doesn't trust her fully to talk about his secret — starts blasting him:

Kirigiri: "Then you trust Monokuma's word over the people who have died?" Naegi: "Huh...?" Kirigiri: "That's what you're saying, isn't it?" Naegi: "No, that's not it..." Kirigiri: "I'm shocked. You told everyone how we should believe in our friends, but you refuse to do the same."

The same thing happens when they discuss about Alter Ego, and how Naegi empathizes with AE enough to consider them as their friend who they need to protect, which was days after Naegi said to Kirigiri that he was her friend:

Kirigiri: "Anyway, there's nothing more Alter Ego can do to help us. As such, his role in this is over. Am I wrong about that?" Naegi: "No, but..." Kirigiri: "And frankly, I question the ease with which you decide who is and isn't your friend."

Each scenario Kirigiri reacts to has genuine reason for her to be critical about his priorities, and how, while thoughtful towards the people around him, he goes off on his own ideas of what would be better for the group. Even when Hagakure and Asahina were skeptical over the photos, he still asked them to consider their legitimacy — which makes sense for us as players, but in-universe, sounds like Naegi is more willing to listen to their own kidnapper while having no solid evidence to show these photos existed. This worry did get alleviated as time went on, such as the confirmation from Alter Ego of the photos, but overall, the emotional impact still remains whether it is reasonable or not.

Kirigiri definitely considers the probability of the photos' implications, knowing at this point she's starting to recognize the disconnect in her body and how it correlates to amnesia, but I wouldn't be surprised if for most of the first half of Chapter Four, she prioritized being angry at Naegi's hypocrisy more before she can focus solely on that.

In a way, both of them are a lot more similar than they realize when it comes to standing their ground on what they think is right, and it's leading them to become hypocritical to each other due to what they believe in. Kirigiri is a lot more intense in her hypocrisy due to how secretive and closed off she is regarding how she perceives her importance in the investigation, while Naegi is more hypocritical in the way where he cares about people so much that he gets anxious and will compromise things if it means helping someone. Their compassion focuses on very different ways where one prefers careful guidance with minimum risk, while the other is driven by careful guidance with high risk if needed.

Either way, she's not going to listen to him until she has reason to, which is where Alter Ego plays a part in how they start bridging together.

Part Three - Alter Ego

The first time we see Kirigiri and Naegi attempt a "reconciliation" would be at the Nurse's Office. Genuinely, that whole conversation didn't really resolve much. It's akin to having one kid telling the other to forget about their problems, while the other dejectedly decides to brush it off. There is a moment where she does admit (while blushing in embarrassment) to overreacting to something that, in hindsight, could've been talked about calmly, but that's that.

It's an exchange where they are only starting to talk again due to circumstances, where Kirigiri needs Naegi's help since she still trusts him slightly more compared to the rest of the group, and it's a better time than any for Naegi to try to reach out to her.

However, Alter Ego as a presence challenges some conceptions they have regarding the way these two operate within the story. Alter Ego, specifically, focuses on what it means to take care of and account for someone, and the emotional connections that are created even when it's towards a force such as an AI.

Kirigiri and Naegi differ in how they approached Alter Ego over their encounters.

At first, Kirigiri had been approaching Alter Ego with the intentions of furthering the investigation. She asks curt questions to get more information, remarks about the benefits of having a perfect personality used to gather said info, and that they won't have to interact much with AE after they have finished their analysis.

However, this gets challenged the moment Alter Ego asks the question of what happened to Fujisaki.

She hesitates a bit, almost taken aback. She probably didn't expect Alter Ego to have agency in wanting questions answered in return. This can be found in each moment Alter Ego mourns over people such as Taka, Yamada, and Celeste; and the way Alter Ego gets sad over not being able to help or say hi to the group anymore.

She doesn't know what to feel over an AI that seems to care about them and their safety, and Naegi's question of sentience later down the line makes her think about it even more, even when she was mad at him at the time.

Naegi empathizes with Alter Ego. He sees Alter Ego as someone worth protecting, caring for, and seeing as a friend rather than just a machine. While he acknowledges that AE is a program, there's this heavy trust in them that is a similar drive to why Naegi does the things he does.

He hates the idea of leaving them alone, or putting them in danger, because his connections and experiences with AE's determination feel genuine to him. Kirigiri is understanding to this, and no matter how much she tries to ignore him in her goal towards the truth, her mind is in a battle over what to do whenever she talks to AE.

Despite this, Naegi's concern also gets challenged during the later encounters with Alter Ego — where he and Kirigiri grow surprised over Alter Ego's wanting to connect to the network.

Alter Ego has shown that they are determined to help out this group, and knows of the risks that they're facing by doing this. This is a moment where it's made clear that AE would rather put the lives of the group over their own, and that elicits mixed feelings between Kirigiri and Naegi.

At this point in time, we get confirmation that Kirigiri has been indecisive when it came to Alter Ego. It built up in every genuine apology, question, and emotion AE had towards assisting them, and it bubbled over in their wanting to further their investigation. She doesn't know where the line veers between AI and a human being, but AE showing a "want" so tenacious outside of its commands is what makes up her mind.

If Kirigiri didn't really care much for AE, then Alter Ego's concern and readiness in sacrifice wouldn't be her priority in the conversation, but an opportunity towards her goal. But no.

We see that despite her irritation towards Naegi's hypocrisies, she does understand the complexity of the situation and her affinity to the AI. She didn't want Alter Ego to get hurt because of the group's investigations so she tried to have AE's work finished quickly so that everyone wouldn't be in danger. She sees a friend and ally in AE, and considers AE's request not only to find clues, but to also fulfill their request.

Naegi's reaction is understandably hesitant. After all, Kirigiri has shown that she would risk others to get closer to the truth, and now Kirigiri is ready to fulfill AE's wish immediately.

However, this is where Naegi has to be confronted with the fact that prioritizing a friend's agency also means respecting their wishes despite said risks, and to push further in showing his trust despite his anxieties.

He had been adverse due to understanding the potential ramifications when it comes to endangering one's self, and if they get caught, all three of them can get punished instantly.

Alter Ego: "I want to work as hard as everyone else so that we can all get out of here!" Alter Ego: "That's what Master would want, too. So...to help everyone else...to solve the mystery of this school...the only way I can help is if you connect me to this school's network!" Naegi: "B-but...if you did that...that's basically suicide." Naegi: "I'm positive the mastermind would find out about it. They'd find you, and they'd...you agree, right Kyoko?"

He observes Alter Ego as not only a determined person, but also someone who is fragile, kill-able. He doesn't want another friend to be lost in the Killing Game, and when placed at a crossroads where someone is wanting to do their part regardless of death, he was ready to argue with Kirigiri if need be before she cut him off.

Here is where Kirigiri's perspective pulls through.

In this moment, Naegi gets challenged over what he should prioritize. At this time, he is used to being careful and believing lesser risk-taking is better than rocking the boat, and this means he can be just as stubborn as Kirigiri. That's the main thing about him: he can sometimes choose options that could potentially go against the majority or what the person he's protecting wants. He likes choosing decisions that he believes are the right course of action and holds onto it, especially if it benefits his friends.

A small example of this would be Naegi prioritizing Kiyotaka's wanting to see Alter Ego despite Kirigiri prohibiting access, where she is rightfully pissed off despite Kiyotaka getting semi-closure.

And even when he does learn to take risks and trust his friends' safety despite those risks, this sense of going against the grain is showcased later down the series, when Naegi goes behind the Future Foundation's back in rehabilitating the Remnants even when the broad population wants them to be punished, since he doesn't want to make the same mistake he did with Enoshima — he wants to give the Remnants a second chance.

This willingness to stick by his fellow human beings' safety and what he believes isn't bad, it means that he cares a lot and the decisions he decides to do have helped find better alternatives, but these decisions have similar levels of risk regardless of safety or care.

This is the start of him understanding the way Kirigiri handles risk, and how respect towards friends comes in accepting those risks even if one is afraid or someone gets hurt.

Kirigiri does consider the feelings of other people too, and her wanting to take risks is a result of how she showcases this compassion towards the people around her, all by saving lives even if it means someone gets hurt — which is both good and bad knowing how it affected the way things went during the game.

She is the same person who is willing to bait Togami into humiliating himself so that he not only stops fighting against his peers, but to save them all from getting executed. She's the one who guided Naegi to the truth of Maizono on his own terms, even when she could've finished the trial in probably half an hour and did this also to see how capable he might be to her later on. She respects AE's agency of keeping them safe, and it's revealed afterwards that she was eager to find information that could convince the group to calm down around Oogami too. She cares a lot, and will take the risk of AE dying, even if it hurts.

This is where both of their views start to collaborate with another, and have them agree to sneak AE. They may have separate ways of doing things, but they both have a similar goal in mind, so there's some beginning of trust again, especially as they work together in the chapter's investigation and trial afterwards.

Their communication is still on a rocky path, however. After all, Kirigiri continues to be distant with him, and Naegi remains nervous over having to do more risky actions. The lessons that their two perspectives give each other haven't settled in fully, but this interaction is the first inertia in them trying to understand the other, and how it all builds up towards Chapter Five and Six.

Where Naegi decides to trust Kirigiri's investigation despite the danger, and how Kirigiri makes the choice of atoning to Naegi after his sacrifice.