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cherryblossom-heart · 1 month ago

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Devour me (2.5/?)

modern!Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna's selfishness reaches a breaking point, forcing you to finally talk to him.

Content Warning: ANGST, apologies, confessions, violence, uncomfortable confrontations and agression, Sukuna is his own warning. Not proofread. I am not a native English speaker so please do forgive all the spelling mistakes or grammatical errors 😔

W.C: 5k

A/N: Hi besties! Finally, new chapter is here. Thanks for being so patient, life was a little too busy this week but hopefully everything is over now. I listened to a song basically on repeat while I made this. It´s Night Shift by Lucy Dacus so bestie @lizatonix, maybe we should add it to the playlist.

TAG LIST is CLOSED. But you can catch my updates here @cherrys--blossoms.

We have another addition to the chapter memes 😂❤️

“She looks pissed.” Uraume remarked as she nursed the cup of soda Jin had brough to them.

Jin, his ever so innocent and naïve brother had welcomed him with open arms, a stark contrast to the welcome he had received from his father or even you. Perhaps it was the weird brotherly love, or the unconditional loyalty Jin always demonstrated towards Sukuna, no matter how many times he said hurtful remarks, how many times they fought or how many times Sukuna came in crashing like a meteorite, Jin would always welcome him back.

Unfortunately, Jin thought people were like him. That’s why he didn’t have a problem inviting him and Uraume to Yuji’s birthday party.

“When is she not?” he scoffed.

“More than usual.”

That would be an understatement.

Ever since Uraume and him had arrived, you hadn’t even bothered to look at their direction. Sukuna expected your anger to be loud and thunderous, he expected punches and screams, he expected cuss words, and he expected violence and rage a rage that could burn the entire world.

Instead, he found quietness and distance.

You hadn’t even spoke in his direction, the simmering quietness of your anger only showed through stupid text messages and angry looks in his direction. He had hoped coming to this birthday party would crack the walls of distance you had built. He hoped his presence would force you to talk to him, to say his name as you cursed him and his mother for even daring to come here.

God, when was the last time he had heard you say his name?

Both him and Uraume had only received a quick glance, too quickly he thought he had imagined it. Could he even call it a glance when his eyes hadn’t even made contact with yours?

Coming to the party had been a mistake as he now was stuck watching you prance around with your group of human dildos. Sukuna wondered if it had been intentional, the way you had casually gathered all of them in a group right across him as all of them laughed at something you said. Your hands would sometimes travel round, a light touch on Toji’s bicep here, a small pat on Nanami’s chest there and he knew for sure it had been a calculated move from your part.

Perhaps he had forgotten how vindictive you were, how much you enjoyed the pain and suffering of people that had hurt you. How you reveled in the anger your revelation of sleeping with his cousin had brought him, the intense sense of betrayal and sorrow he couldn’t get rid of.

But you had also forgotten how much of an asshole he was, and he was about to remind you.

Without a second thought he walked over to the little group conformed by five men and you. Choso’s face was still covered in purple and green shades along with a small but painful cut in the bridge of his nose. Sukuna chuckled at the memory of his cousin holding his face in pain as blood leaked through his fingers.

You saw him coming from the corner of your eye. The confident stride, the oh so punchable smirk that adorned his face, the fire in his eyes as he looked at you. He was daring you, daring you to confront him, daring you to explode.

Toji was the first one to notice him, his shoulders tensing as he prepared himself for the show Sukuna was about to pull. The group fell quiet as the now black-haired man joined them, standing right beside Choso and Kento.

“How’s the nose, cousin?”

Sukuna’s arm went behind his cousins back, giving him an almost too hard of a pat.

“By the way, how’s your car Kento? Heard it got trashed.” He sighed sarcastically. “Can’t think why anyone would do that shit, I mean look at you.” Carmesí eyes swept Kento up and down. “Plainer than wonder bread.” He wrapped his arm around him. “You wouldn’t even hurt a fly, would you? Unless…” Sukuna chuckled to himself. “…when it comes to fucking someone else’s girl, right?”

Choso, completely taken aback by his question, began choking on his drink.

“Careful there, don’t die on me now or my girl is going to have to find a new replacement.” He turned to you, his eyes almost dark as he gave you a smug smirk. “Isn’t that what you do, brat? You needed all five of them to replace me?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hoping his little temper tantrum was over but he had only just begun.

“I have to say, I’m curious how it works. Do you guys have a designated day, or does she just fuck all of you at the same time? I know for sure these guys do.” He nodded towards Satoru and Suguru, both their faces turning slightly red at the distant memory of him walking in on you three a few years ago. “I always thought you guys were too busy touching each other to ever actually touch a pussy but it makes sense even that you do together, fucking freaks.” He spat.

Neither of the men answered but that didn’t deterred Sukuna, he was as relentless as always. Jealousy, pent-up anger and sorrow coursed through his veins, fueling the already explosive personality he had. He knew this could only end up in you being hurt but he couldn’t stop, not when he missed the way his name left your lips. If anger was what it took for you to finally speak to him, he would bring your wrath like never before.

“Alright, man. I think you should–” Toji started.

“And you. You fucking joke.” The sarcastic, playful tone Sukuna had was now gone, only venom left behind. “I leave and you come sniffing around like a goddamed rabid dog. Can’t fucking find a pair of tits your age you fucking decrepit bastard?”

He walked over to Toji, standing face to face to him. Toji was a giant, not only in height but in volume, his muscles always easy to spot even in oversized clothes. Sukuna in the other hand had a slightly slimmer build yet equally toned but perhaps not as strong.

Toji’s eyes remained calm at Sukunas words making Sukunas anger boil over. He wanted to erase that fucking façade, and he knew exactly how.

“What would your wife say if she saw you’re already replacing her with a younger, better model? She’s barely even cold in the ground and you go fuck around anything that mo–“

A punch, square to the jaw, finally silenced him. Chaos ensued right after.

Toji pounced on Sukuna, pinning the tattooed man bellow himself. Punch after punch landed on Sukuna’s face, his jaw aching the more hits he received but the adrenaline in his body was a temporary painkiller. Emerald eyes looked at him, all signs of calm and composure were long gone, now replaced by anger he had never seen Toji display.

It made him laugh.

Loud enough to distract Toji at least.

Sukuna grabbed Toji by the neck of his shirt, pulling him down so his nose made contact with Sukunas forehead. Was a head butt necessary? Obviously not. Did he enjoyed hearing the crack in Toji’s nose as soon as his head collided with his? Absolutely.

Sukuna overpowered him, this time being the one to deliver hit after hit. The metallic taste in his mouth increased and he spit it out, landing in Toji’s face. The crazy frenzy of violence somehow helped sooth the inner turmoil he had, choosing to focus instead of hurting whoever was in his way as much as possible.

So, he kept punching, again.

And again.

“SUKUNA! STOP!”

His fist stopped midair, his senses overwhelmed by your voice. He turned around, your face swimming in fury as you walked towards him. You looked beautiful, three years of dreams hadn’t done any justice to you. His dreams weren’t as warm as your skin, or as peaceful as the sound of your voice, or as alive as the hatred in your eyes.

Choso and Ken pulled him away, holding him by the arms as he fought against them. Suguru, Satoru and you ran to Toji’s side, both men helping him get up. Toji’s lip and eyebrow were busted, scarlet liquid oozing slowly down his face.

“Dad?” a small voice broke through the crowd of people.

Toji’s runt and his nephew stood between the crowd, eyes flashing between Sukuna and the green-eyed man. You looked at both kids before sending Sukuna a death stare that almost scared him.

You knelt in front of the kids sending them a small, comforting smile. “Why don’t you take Megs and your friends and open your presents, Chucky?”

Yuji, as sweet kid as he always was, was also very intuitive. How the kid managed to always be a rain of sunshine for himself and others no matter how sad he was, you would never understand. His eyes opened wide as he pulled little Megumi along with him, distracting the little black-haired kid.

“C’mon, let’s go! I want to see if I got my LEGO set!”

When the kids were far away enough, you stood up, an apologetic smile in your lips.

“I’m so sorry about this, I’ll handle the situation. If you guys could please go with Yuji and his friends, I would really appreciate it.” You walked to Sukuna, Gojo and Suguru finally releasing him only to be grabbed by you. “Again, I’m really sorry about all this but let’s not let this ruin Yuji’s party. We’ll bring the cake in a minute.”

Your apologies kept coming, the words slowly muffling as he focused on your touch. Everything else disappeared the moment your fingers closed around his arm, your skin against his. Something that he could only compare to electricity traveled all along his body, making him shiver as it traveled through his spine.

He realized he was being pulled by you when his feet stumbled across a branch, almost making him fall. Sukuna’s face remained neutral, almost uninterested except for his eyes. His eyes had a storm brewing as they followed you while you guided him to a more private area in the park.

After crossing a couple of lines of trees you finally stopped, releasing his arm. You walked a couple of steps ahead of him, but you didn’t turn to face him. Instead, you remained in place as your hands shook with anger.

He whispered your name, so delicately you almost fell for it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Your voice broke in the end, and you weren’t sure if it was out of pain or out of anger. Perhaps they were both the same.

“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” The words barely came out of you, your jaw clenched as you tried to find the strength to not murder him on the spot.

“You’re not talking to me.”

The indignation involuntarily made you turn around, your hands now turned into fists as you stared incredulously at him. You looked as if he had given you the most offensive answer ever, and he might’ve as well have.

“I’m not fucking talking to you? That’s why you’re behaving like a fucking Neanderthal? Have you lost your fucking mind? I’m not even surprised you did this; three fucking years and you’re still the same egotistical, selfish psycho you’ve always been. You couldn’t even control yourself for your fucking nephew’s party?” You scoffed, walking away from him only to come back and shove him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Push.

“You fucking–“

Push.

“–piece-“

Push.

“-of shit!”

Push.

Your breathing was ragged, your chest pumping up and down as your screams took away the heaviness on your chest that you had carried around ever since he came back.

You had a plan. If you ever saw him again you would scream, you would yell at him to get lost, you would punch and kick and you would make him suffer the same way you had suffered for the past two years. And you tried to, when you first saw him again at Toji’s –and yours– bar the words had formed in your mind, but your voice had died in your throat.

The same had happened once you saw him at the club, his eyes burning in you as Naoya Zenin whispered something on your ear. The barriers you had built up from scratch were buried too deep down withing you that you knew the moment you even spoke to him every feeling, every emotion, every ounce of pain you had put away would come back, crashing like a wave and drowning you within.

But now, as you both stared at each other, Sukunas eyes still looked at you with the same love and tenderness from three years ago. His fingertips burned with desire to touch you, his heart hammering in his chest as both of you stared down each other, waiting to see who was the first one to break.

It was Sukuna.

When it came to you, he was always going to be the first one to break.

He walked cover to you, and you weren’t sure if it was your ego, your own need selfish need to having him close or how intoxicating his presence was but you didn’t back away. Sukunas hand traveled to your face, his fingertips barely caressing your face. He was asking for permission because no matter how strong his own desires were, he would never force even his touch on you.

You didn’t slap him away, so he took his chance.

Strong arms enveloped you, constricting you in a desperate hug with little to no room to escape. Your hands remained to your side as your body entered a state of shock you hadn’t experienced before. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t talk, you could barely even move your eyes as you stood there with Sukunas face digging in the crook of your neck.

He was in heaven once again. Your attitude, your personality and perhaps your feelings towards him had changed but your smell didn’t. He could still smell the same shampoo and perfume you always wore, the combination of aromas making him relax for the first time in years.

The hug lasted for an eternity, and it still wasn’t enough, not when he had deprived himself of you for too long. Was he losing his mind? Was his fascination for you reaching a dangerous level of insanity? Maybe it was but it didn’t matter, his thoughts were already overcome by you.

You felt it coming, the tears in your eyes forming the longer he held you. You were right, everything came back as if it was fresh. The pain, the betrayal, the anger, every ounce of suffering was drowning you under the weight of his presence. You had expected that and somehow prepared for that, unfortunately they didn’t come alone. You felt your affection, your love and your adoration coming back. The memories of being in love, trusting and allowing yourself to love, you have shoved them down your heart you weren’t sure they still existed.

They only made the pain hurt more.

You pushed him away, breaking away from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spat at him, venom and resentment making him shiver.

He called for you again, hoping to get you to listen to him. “I’m sorry”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m really fucking sorry.” His voice broke.

“Fuck you and your ‘sorry’s’, you fucking asshole.” One tear escaped your hold, and it was all it took for the dam to open. “You lied.”

“I know.”

“You said you’d be back, and you didn’t.”

“I know”

He knows you probably are tired of the same response, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else when the ache in his chest couldn’t even let him breathe.

“Is that all you have to say? After three years all I get is ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I know’? Be a fucking man and say something else!” You scoffed again, but the angry front you displayed for him was long gone, exhausted after years of masquerading around because you would rather have people think you were angry than hurt. After they left, there was only three people that had seen your tears for Sukuna and Uraume and one of them was a child.

But Sukuna had always known how to break you.

A little too well.

His hands held your face, forcing you to look at him. You didn’t fight. You didn’t have the energy to keep pretending. His eyes, his god forsaken eyes could always read you like a book. There was no point in trying to masquerade everything with anger anymore.

“Why did you leave?” You cried.

“Why did you abandon me?”

Sukunas heart broke, each crack becoming bigger and bigger the more tears fell from your face. He hadn’t noticed he himself had begun to cry, his eyes prickling as he fought the uncomfortable feelings of guilt and self-hatred mixed with his usual load of sadness.

“I thought you would be better without me.” He finally the exhaled the words that ate him alive. “I thought you’d be safe if I left. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You… what?” You asked, the words barely coming out.

Your face contorted in an expression he wasn’t sure he had seen before. Anger? Sadness? Compassion? Sorrow? Maybe it was a mix of all or maybe none of them. As much as he prided himself with knowing you like no one else, he couldn’t deny something had changed in the yeas of his absence. As much anger, sadness or happiness you displayed, there was always an emptiness behind your eyes that always lingered around. Even now, as you finally allowed yourself to feel, that darkness remained, eating you from the inside.

The only time he had seen it was years ago, when those bastards had broken into the bar and attacked you. But now you coexisted with it, almost as if you didn’t even notice it anymore. As if you were used it it.

Was it his fault? Was he the one that made you like this?

How could he do this to you?

Your laughter broke him out of the self-pity spiral he was about to go down. Confused, he looked around, perhaps something funny had happened while he was stuck in his own thoughts but no, everything seemed normal. Then, he really listened to your laugh. He listened to the same misery his own voice had.

“You’re… you’re so fucking stupid.” You barely got the words out between breaths.

You struggled to get air in your lungs, backing away from Sukuna as you tried to calm down. You had to find it hilarious, right? You had to find the humor in this situation. You weren’t even sure why you were laughing but what was the option? More rage? More sadness? More of what? For what? Not like anything was going to change.

So, you laughed. You laughed at how idiotic he was. You laughed at how he had ruined both your lives in the process. And you laughed at how, as fucked up as it was, maybe you could understand it. If you could, you would run away and bring all your problems with you so the people you care about were safe. Maybe Sukuna was just ahead of the curve.

Sukuna waited until your howls winded down. You were bent over, finally being able to gasp for air as you held to your side, sharp pain between your ribs slowly fading away. A few second later you stood up, eyes watery as you stared back to Sukuna.

“Thanks for that. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”

You began fixing your hair that was now a mess thanks to the laughing fit you just experienced, not wanting to look like a lunatic coming out of the woods. You began walking towards the party and Sukuna panicked.

This was it? This was the big reunion he was waiting for?

No.

He couldn’t let you go. Not like this.

You walked in front of him, about to cross the trees to go back to the party when his voice stopped you.

“We did come back.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“We came back when we promised.”

Your head snapped at him.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He started, his right hand nervously scratching the back of his head. “I told Uraume not to contact you, I thought you would like the surprise.” He let out a sad, pitiful laugh. “I went to our apartment, the one you’re renting to those fucking weirdos.” He remarked, snarky. “I knocked but you weren’t home. I thought you were working late or some shit, so I went to the bar.”

He exhaled, looking down to his shoes. He couldn’t face you anymore.

“You weren’t working, it looked like you guys were celebrating a birthday or something. I don’t fucking know. Everyone was there, even Shoko.”

“Suguru’s birthday.” You whispered.

He looked up. “What?”

“It was Suguru’s birthday.”

You remembered that day. You remembered feeling like someone was watching you, the shiver that went down your spine as you thought you saw him.

Sukuna scoffed, of course it was because of one of your reversed harem fuck toys. “Yeah, whatever. The point is you were there. You were laughing and cheering a-and celebrating with everyone.” He stopped and you saw it. The pain in his eyes from that night. “You seemed happy. Happier than the last time I saw you at least. You were so full of life, and you seemed ok, like you didn’t go through all the fucked up shit I put you through. And maybe that was for the best.”

“So you fucking decided for me?”

The anger was back.

Hotter. Redder. Stronger.

“What the fuck did you wanted me to do, huh? You wanted me to come back and kept ruining you? You wanted me to drag you down with me into this fucked up world? You wanted me to bring you back into this-this fucking bullshit and hope nothing else happened to you?” Sukuna’s voice rose above yours, his short fuse not helping the situation as usual. “You could’ve fucking died!”

“And you decided for me!” You screamed back. “It wasn’t up to you to make that fucking choice, but you did. You fucking left!”

“I was trying to keep you safe! You know the life I live, you’re not fucking stupid. You know how things could end for me, forgive me for not fucking wanting to drag you along to your fucking death!”

“And that was still not your choice to make! It was mine!” You came back and you shoved him, barely moving him. “It was mine and you took that away from me! You took yourself away from me, you fucking asshole! Not a fucking goodbye, not a fucking ‘hey sorry, I’m not coming back’, nothing!”

“I couldn’t do it. I knew the moment I saw you, and your fucking sad puppy eyes I wasn’t going to be able to leave.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” You sneered. “Say you didn’t have the balls to face me. Say that you’re a fucking useless coward that was too much of a pussy to tell me you didn’t want to me with me anymore.”

Tick.

His right hand flew to your neck, holding you tightly as his left hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you towards him. Your words were venomous, their fangs sinking down in his soul releasing their pain within him, infecting him with the same resentment you carried.

To anyone else seeing the pair of you, they would think you were in danger. The redness in Sukunas eyes, the frenzy in his eyes and the boiling, hot and scaling fury behind his voice not convincing anyone else otherwise until they saw you. It was a battle of wills and pain, who had hurt who more, who was angrier than the other.

Who had loved more than the other.

“You think I fucking wanted this? You think I fucking wanted to leave you?” His fingers dug slightly deeper in your neck, but never enough to actually hurt you. “You think it didn’t pain me thinking of you making a life for yourself without me?” The last words came out broken out of Sukuna’s chest. “It killed me thinking that you would forget about me, that you would find someone else and you would move on but I forced myself to endure it to make sure you were ok.”

“Then why did you come back?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Why did he return when he vowed to keep you safe, away from him?

“Because…” his eyes traveled to your lips for a second. “Because I’m fucking selfish. Because I can’t stay away from you any longer.”

Sukunas selfishness was always his downfall. The man who prided in his strength, not only physically but mentally, found himself breaking because of you, his best friends little, annoying, slut of a sister. For two years he had drowned himself in alcohol and drugs, trying to erase every memory of the two of you. It was for the best, he told himself every time his mind wondered to you. It was for the best, he reminded himself every time he picked up his phone, his fingers typing your number. It was for the best, he repeated to himself as he forced himself to wake up and face another day.

Every day for one thousand, one hundred and sixty-nine days he repeated the same mantra and for one thousand, one hundred and sixty nine days he missed you.

“You have never, once, in three years left my mind.” His closed his eyes, his forehead touching yours. “And I can’t stand it anymore. Not when I could be here, with you.”

With you.

He still loved you, you knew that much. As much as it pained you, maybe deep down you stilled loved him too.

But too much had happened.

Too much had changed.

You couldn’t risk it.

You couldn’t let him hurt you again.

You peeled off his hand from your neck, putting some distance between you. “You’re wasting your time here, Sukuna. Go back to whatever hole you came from and don’t come back.”

“I–“

“Hey”

Uraume’s voice cut through the argument that was about to ensue.

The once white hair was now completely covered in a dark, brunette tone, shorter than they usually sported it but everything else remain the same. Did they really think that was enough to cover up who they were?

Idiots.

Standing next to them there was Toji, whose face now was clean off from blood but had several cuts and bruising all over.

Another sin to add to Sukuna’s list.

“What?” You asked, your tone sharp and angry but your question was only directed towards your business partner.

The tension around his eyes made you worry.

“Naoya is here.”

Sukuna saw the shift. A complete 360-degree change. He saw your posture change, the broken down, angry demeanor long gone replaced by a coldness that almost made him shiver and the scowl that covered your face as soon as you head the name. He also saw the worry in the long look you exchanged with Toji, a silent conversation happening the longer you stared at each other.

That fucking old, decrepit bastard knew what the fuck was going on with you and his cousin.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to face the owner of your nightmares.

Uraume, unaware of the emotionally draining conversation you and Sukuna had just been on, decided to step on your way and look for explanations.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Why is Zenin here?”

You didn’t answer, trying to get pass them.

“Hey, don’t fucking ignore m-“

Your fist colliding on Uraume’s face shut them up.

You grabbed your hand, not yet used to the pain of punching someone in the face. Fuck did it hurt but you wanted to do this for a long time. Sukuna took a step forward, trying to intervene but a furious side eye from you told him to not intervene.

Uraume turned back after almost falling from the hit, the shock still in their eyes.

“What the fu-“

“Listen to me. Both of you.” You spared one last glance at him. “Whatever it is you guys are looking for here, you’re not going to find it.” You turned to Uraume. “You’re dead to me. So, stay out of my fucking way.”

Your words were cold, calculated and distant, each one of them an icicle stabbing them in the heart.

You were only able to take a couple of steps before Sukunas arm stopped you, forcing you to face him one more time.

“I don’t know what the fuck you got yourself in or what the fuck is going on between you and that sadistc bastard but… let me help you.” He begged you. “Whatever it is, I can fix it. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to go with him.”

Sukunas demeanor surprised you. Years ago, he would’ve rather been dead that caught being nice to you, let alone begging in front anyone, especially Toji. Now, he hadn’t spared a second thought pleading with you. You even though he might’ve gotten to his knee if you asked him to.

He was desperate.

Maybe if you still had any hope or trust left in him, you would’ve accepted his help.

For a second, Sukuna saw another layer slipping away, faltering at his insistence. He saw fear and desperation as you considered his words. Whatever it was that Naoya held over your head, you were too scared to even let him know.

And as quick as the fear came, a melancholic look replaced it.

“Did you really think all my problems ended when you left?”

You ripped your arm away from his grasp, his fingers shaking as you made your way to Toji. Before you were too far out of reach you stopped in your tracks and Sukuna hoped you miraculously had changed your mind.

“And, Sukuna…” You looked at him over your shoulder. “Don’t try sending any of your men to sell your shit in my club.

It’s Zenin territory.”

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Taglist pt 1:

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navybrat817 · 5 months ago

Text

Hold You Tight: Part 16

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 15 | Series Masterlist | Part 17

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.4k

Chapter Summary: Bucky tries to pull you closer when you want to pull away, and someone else in your life my not take no for an answer.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, arguing, tension, slight harassment, kissing, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, manipulation, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky traded lazy kisses with you as your tears slowed, and you had no idea if it was his mouth that had your heart pounding and the crushing weight of everything that surrounded him. It was so much to unpack. Every encounter with him seemed to be that way. Something blindsided you or suffocated you, but you hadn't been at all prepared for what he just shared. And how could you? He didn't keep photos of his mother around, and you hadn't gone poking around online.

Would you have found out the truth if you had?

He followed your lips when you pulled away. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you back in.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Though it partially made sense now why he was moving so fast. He believed if he met you then that you would've fallen in love and been together to this day. Because he didn't seek you out then and lost so much time, he was packing everything into a rushed time span. Dating, meeting his friends, getting you into his place. He was moving things along at an accelerated speed, and you were barely keeping up with the ride.

“No.” The muffled word against his lips somehow rang out loud and clear enough for him to stop, but you put a hand on his chest in case he tried to lean in again. “Why are you punishing me?”

His eyes rounded. “You think I’m punishing you? Jesus, why would you think that?”

“Because of how you went about all of this. I know you were desperate, and I get the drive behind some of your actions now,” you said, which you refused to excuse. You got it but couldn’t excuse it. “Your response of ‘where’s the fun in that?’ when I said you couldn’t just ask me out like a normal person? You almost seemed to delight in intimidating me. Why?”

If you saved his mom, why do this?

“I didn’t delight in that. I played it wrong,” he admitted in a quiet voice, surprising you. “I approached it like…”

“Like everything else in your life where you have everyone under your thumb through fear. You did the same thing to me.” You laughed just a little. “In a way, it worked because I’m officially afraid to try to leave you.”

Had things blossomed between you two organically, you’d like to believe that things would’ve been better. Healthy. There was always the chance that a relationship might’ve come to an end because life was like that. But if he frightened you enough to stay forever, he’d never have to worry. The stars would still align as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t want you to fear me or what we have,” he whispered, reaching for you as you scooted back.

“What we have? Tell me, do you think your mom would be proud of your actions to obtain me or ashamed?” You couldn’t believe that was the kind of man she raised, to put fear into the heart of the person he supposedly loved.

He flinched. Actually flinched. You might as well have raised a hand to him. “She…” He swallowed. “She would’ve wanted us together.”

“Like this? By you not giving me a choice?” you asked, pushing yourself up. “I need to go home.” There would be no getting through to him and this revelation was doing your head in. One cup of coffee wasn't enough either.

He got up to follow you. “Why are you rushing off?”

“I have a shift today, and I have to go home and shower,” you said, grabbing some of your things. “Don’t worry about dropping me off. I’ll get a cab.”

“What? No, you-”

“You put money in my account, so it’s not like I have to worry about paying for it. And it’s not like I’ll be alone either since you’ll have me followed whether I want it or not,” you said as a matter of fact.

“You’re putting a wall up,” he said, frowning as you grabbed your phone charger before he could. “Don’t shut me out, please.”

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to process the gigantic bombshell you dropped on me,” you said, stopping to look at him when he grabbed your arm. “Bucky-”

“This has been a lot, all of it, but we can’t go back and change it, and you know I can’t let you go because we’re meant to be together,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You feel it. I know you do.”

How many times would he say that until you agreed? “Just because you think fate stepped in-”

“Fate brought you into my club, but I gave it a much-needed push to bring us together after leaving things to chance for so long,” he said, tugging you closer and putting his other hand on your cheek. “You can’t tell me you don’t care about me in some capacity. You’re just afraid to admit it because it isn’t conventional in your eyes, but you don’t have to be afraid of how you feel.”

How could you truly fall in love with him when he orchestrated everything from the start? “Feelings or not you’re still going to force me to move in with you soon, and that scares me,” you said. Your wings would forever be clipped.

“We should’ve been living together and married by now,” he argued, keeping a tight hold on you. “I know I’m making you move in sooner than you want, but beyond safety it’ll give us a chance to really know each other before we get married.”

Talk of marriage had your heart thudding. The man would probably force you to marry him sooner than you wanted. “You said you already know everything about me,” you said. At least he thought he knew you. The vision of you he built up in his mind scared you, too. He couldn’t keep you on that pedestal.

“But you don’t fully know me yet, and I don’t know what it’s like to live with you. The experience will bring us closer together.” His smile was full of hope. “We can read together, do movie nights, dance in the kitchen.”

“Bucky-”

“We can exercise together, in and out of bed,” he continued, your breath hitching as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Don’t you already feel closer to me now that you know we're meant to be?”

A quick knock on the door followed by a long one saved you from answering. “It isn't check-out time, is it?”

“No. That would be Ray,” Bucky headed to the door and kept you back a small distance before he answered. The man really was protective, wasn't he?

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Ray said, giving you a polite nod before he leaned in and whispered something to Bucky. Whatever was said to him made his face harden. The entire change in his demeanor worried you.

“Kotyonok, let’s get your bag and get you back to your place so you can get ready for work,” he suggested, his smile tight.

“What’s the matter?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he answered, kissing your forehead. “And before we go, I know you suggested taking a cab, but please let Ray take you back to your place. It would make me feel better.”

The hint of a plea in his voice and the look in Ray’s eyes kept you from protesting. “Fine, Ray can take me home. Just give me a second to change out of these pajamas,” you said, a bit surprised that Bucky wasn’t offering to take you home himself. “But you are going to tell me later what’s going on, right?” you asked.

“I will, but I need some answers myself first. Get changed. I’ll get your bag,” he said, gently guiding you to the bathroom so you could change and officially ending that conversation.

Ray was still by the entry door once you came out, looking a bit stiffer than usual, too. You stole a glance at Bucky as the three of you headed to the elevator, catching the anger etched in his features as he gripped your bag handle tight enough that you thought it would rip. They were leaving you in the dark about something. You weren’t sure if you could take any other bombshells.

“Ray may need to pick you up from work instead of me, but I’ll message you if that’s the case,” Bucky said, fixing his hair in the elevator reflection. “And… we may need to talk about your girls’ day out.”

“What about it?” you asked, already knowing where he was going with this.

“If you can cancel or reschedule it,” he replied.

You stared hard at him. Where was that coming from? “No, it's tomorrow, and I’m not cancelling or rescheduling. And don’t you dare use Zemo as an excuse to get your way,” you snapped. Even if it was a valid reason, you didn’t want to hear it.

His jaw clenched, but he looked sad as he glanced at you. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“We talked about this. If it’s a safety issue, Ray agreed that someone could watch out for me. That should keep me safe,” you reminded him. You’d be fine. “Right, Ray?”

The blonde stared straight ahead. “That isn’t my decision,” he said apologetically.

Your shoulders slumped. For a short time, you thought he could be on your side or at least help give you some slack. “Right. Because you don't get to make decisions, and neither do I. You’re a bodyguard, I’m just a doll,” you said, looking straight ahead, too, and pulling your hand back when Bucky tried to take it. “Please, don’t.”

“Kotyonok…” Bucky sighed as the door opened. You marched out, not waiting for either of them. “Wait.”

You headed straight for the desk, feeling sadder when you didn’t see Natasha. “Checking out, please,” you said, sliding the room card over to the woman standing there.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She looked behind you likely at Bucky before giving you a smile. “Ms. Romanoff also wanted to remind you that you have a place here if you need one.”

“I’m sure I’ll take her up on that soon,” you said, turning your head to glare at Bucky. While his expression was stoic, his eyes told you he didn’t want you to be upset with him. “And make sure she adds an inconvenience fee to the damaged wall bill. She’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled. “Take care.”

Bucky was hot on your heel and you didn't make it two steps out the door before he had a hand on you. “You’re upset with me. Putting up more of that wall.”

You didn't speak until Ray walked past you to get his car. “You’re trying to get me to cancel my day out with my friends, after you went through the whole charade of buying me a new dress for it and everything. And after what you told me about your mom.” You took a breath to try to calm down. “Yeah, I’m upset, and yeah, you’re supplying me with the very bricks to build that wall.”

“I said we may need to talk about it, I didn’t flat out say you weren’t going,” he corrected you. He might as well have. “I know it means a lot to you, but-”

You held a hand up. “No. There are no ‘buts’ in this. For all you keep taking from me, I don’t ask for much. I really don't,” you stated. In fact, you’ve shown lots of restraint. “Who knows how many moments I’ll get like this with my friends once you move me in.” He wasn’t about to take this small thing from you after everything.

He titled his head. “You think I’ll keep you from them?”

“Part of me thinks you will, yes. Because as soon as I think that there’s hope, the second I think that we could be closer together while you loosen the reins, you say or do something that puts me back in your full control,” you said. He had to see that. “And every time you do that, like you are right now, it makes me want to push you away.”

“And you can push all you want, but I’ll just pull you closer,” he smiled, making you huff when he actually did so. “I’m not afraid to let you burn me.”

“You keep saying that. Give me a match or a lighter and we’ll test that theory,” you said. He burst out laughing, the sound loud in the morning air as your eyes widened. “Why are you laughing?” you asked incredulously. How could he laugh when you were still worked up?

“Because even arguing with you makes me happy,” he sincerely stated. “And now all I want to do is find a way to put a smile back on your face.”

You exhaled. He was so in love with the idea of a relationship with you that arguments appealed to him? Anyone else would've walked away by now.

“You’re infuriating,” you whispered when he touched the corner of your mouth and made it twitch in a small smile. “Impossible.”

“I know,” he whispered back, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, you’re tired and you’re overwhelmed, which is completely my fault. Am I right?”

“Yes,” you sighed. He hit it right on the nose.

“And maybe I was rash in suggesting that you cancel your plans, but I need to take care of a couple things before we discuss that more,” he said, leading you to Ray's car before you could protest. “You just have a good shift, okay?”

He was placating you now, and it was sadly working. “Fine,” you said, touching his hand, the metal one. “I don’t think I said so earlier, but thank you for finally telling me the truth,” you said, calmer than you were moments before. He should've told you from the start, but it couldn't have been easy reopening old wounds regarding his dad.

His gaze softened. “Thank you for letting me.”

“And whatever Ray told you or whatever’s going on, just breathe, okay?” you begged.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll just think of you and it’ll help,” he said, adding in a low voice as he pulled you against him. “And this.”

This was nothing like the slow, languid kisses from minutes ago. This was dominant, claiming, threatening to rob you of the air in your lungs, like he wanted you to feed your own breath into him. He either forgot Ray was there, or he simply didn’t care.

By the time Bucky stopped kissing you and helped you into the car, you didn’t want to look either of them in the eye.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your temple and shutting the door as your heart flip flopped. God, he was insufferable. Confusing. Obsessed.

“You're certainly keeping him on his toes,” Ray said, not driving off until he made sure Bucky was in his vehicle, too.

“Someone has to,” you said, staring out the window. “I’m going with my friends tomorrow. I don't care if he makes you drag me back,” you said. Unless your life was in some sort of immediate danger, there was no reason for you to skip out on meeting up with the girls.

“So you’re aware, the suggestion of you moving your day out has nothing to do with wanting to control you. He’s upset because of the news I delivered and he wants to keep you close,” Ray explained, making you feel a little bad.

“So, that news was the reason why you both changed your tune, and you can't tell me what that news is,” you guessed. If you were in some sort of danger though, surely Bucky would’ve said so. “He told me about his mom. How I saved her.”

Silence filled the vehicle. “So, you know the truth,” he said after a minute, his voice neutral. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to be,” you answered carefully. You really were.

“That’s all you can do,” he said before adding under his breath, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

You snorted. “I guess I'm living breathing proof of that.” It was ironic how an act of kindness put you on this path. “And as much as I don't like to wish pain upon people, I hope Bucky's dad got whatever he deserved.”

Winnie, from the short time you knew her, was nothing but wonderful. Bucky said the dahlia painting in his office served as a reminder that he would never do to you what his dad did to his mom. He would never set you up to take the fall for anyone else, wouldn’t let someone else hurt you if he could help it. He would forever stand by you.

Was pushing him away doing you any good?

“He did,” Ray promised you. “And I say with complete sincerity that I hope today is very uneventful for you after the time you've had.”

Your nose scrunched as you laughed. “So do I, Ray. So do I.”

Ray was kind enough to wait outside of your place as you showered and got ready for work, and didn't push you to talk more before he dropped you off at the shop. He was even kind enough to stop so you could get another cup of coffee. It helped improve your mood.

“There she is!” Kate smiled when you walked in. “Little miss not-so-single anymore.”

“Hey,” you giggled before you paused. “I didn't know you were working today. Did you switch shifts with someone?”

“God, the schedule’s all messed up. Mrs. Crandle called out for some business thing-”

“Business thing?” you asked, your brows pinched. She hardly ever took time off for things like vacation let alone a business thing without informing her staff.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure about all the details, but Lorraine ended up switching the whole schedule around. Mya’s coming in later, and I had to come in early, and your shift’s ending early.”

“What?” you frowned, checking the schedule to make sure. She was right. Your shift today was almost cut in half. “Would’ve been nice to get a text or something.”

The assistant manager wasn't bad to work with, but she could be a little forgetful with things like that. If Bucky hadn't just put money in your account, you may have been more upset over having half a shift cut. After the night and morning you had though, maybe an afternoon off wouldn't be so bad.

“She probably forgot since you were coming in at your normal time. Who knows?” Kate shrugged. “You know, I half expected Clark to be here waiting for you. Seemed really eager to see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that.” You looked toward the door, your body tense in anticipation even though he wasn't there. “Why did you tell him I was working today?”

“He’s kind of a regular, and I didn't really think about it. Then Mrs. Crandle brought up your boyfriend and…” Her face fell as she stopped cutting stems, which made you feel bad when she glanced your way. “Crap, I did something wrong, didn't I?”

You weren’t about to go into specifics regarding your personal situation. “I just don’t want customers to know when my shifts are unless I’m specifically working on an order or event for them, okay?” you said, hoping she understood that it was a general request.

Bucky was not getting in your head about your safety.

“Okay, as long as you aren’t mad,” she said. You gave her a smile to assure her that you were okay. “So, tell me about your new boyfriend.”

You filled her in as much as you could to make it sound believable, just like you had with Addison. Like her and Mrs. Crandle, Kate was excited for you. And they would never know the full truth.

As your shift went on, you were surprised you hadn't heard much from Bucky. It was for the best though. He was clearly dealing with something. As much as you didn't want to defend him in your mind, it had taken a lot for him to talk about his parents. To show you some of the damage done to his body. It was a vulnerable moment. Did you owe it to him to be vulnerable, too?

Wait, why did you owe him anything?

“Heading out?” Kate asked once your shift was up.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing at your phone. You wondered if you should text Bucky before you decided against it. You'd let him know once you got to your place that you wouldn't need a ride. “Just call me if you need me to come back in.”

“Don’t worry about that. Enjoy the rest of your day!” she smiled.

Satisfied when you didn't see Bucky or Ray’s car waiting for you either, you decided to take a walk. It was a nice day, and you needed the fresh air. You hoped the weather was nice for the winery. You’d have to take photos to look back on what was going to be a fun time.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout after a few minutes of walking.

You stopped when you spotted Clark waving at you from the other side of the street. You barely waved back before he joined you. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he smiled, pushing his glasses up. “You done working already?”

“Yep,” you said, adjusting your bag. “And I should really-”

“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Sure,” you said, falling in step beside him.

“You know, I actually went to the shop to buy you flowers yesterday. I was going to buy you some roses,” he smiled.

Oh, God. “You were?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there and… It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I was thinking… Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime? My treat.”

The hopeful look in his eyes made a pit form in your stomach. “Clark, I’m seeing someone,” you said, his blue eyes dimming. Hadn’t Kate said that Mrs. Crandle brought up that you were in a relationship? “It’s fairly new, and I don’t want to mess things up,” you explained, though he wasn’t owed an explanation.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he mumbled, kicking a small rock on the sidewalk. “Well, if it’s fairly new, I'm sure you can get coffee with other people.”

“Get coffee with people? Yes. But this kind of sounds like a date, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry,” you said. That would feel like cheating even if you didn't consider it a date, and you weren't that kind of person.

“Then we won’t call it a date,” he grinned.

Maybe you were feeling paranoid, but there was something weird behind his smile. “You just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to send mixed signals by agreeing to go with you.”

His smile shook a bit. “It's just a coffee.”

“Is it?” The longer he stared, the more odd things felt, and you didn’t like it. “Listen, when you find someone else to give flowers to I’d be happy to pick some out for you.”

“I don't understand.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You’ve always been nice to me.”

“Well, yeah. You’ve always been kind, too, when you come into the shop.”

“Too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he muttered, his smile disappearing completely.

You gaped at him, almost faltering in your step. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he said louder, his ire clear as day. “You think I don’t know about his reputation? He’s dangerous, and you’re too good for him.”

“How do you know I’m dating him?” you asked. And what did he know about his reputation?

He was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Crandle said his name, and she has no idea what kind of man he is,” he said, making you feel uneasy. “I don’t think you do either.”

Oh, you knew plenty. “I appreciate your concern, really, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Well, I do. And I just don’t see why we can’t have one cup of coffee together,” he said, flashing a smile again. “It’ll be fun.”

“Because you know I’m seeing someone,” you said. He knew it before he bumped into you, but was still pushing for you to go with him. “And I also kind of make it a rule not to date customers,” you added, stopping when you got to your building. You walked faster than you thought.

“Well, rules should have exceptions, right? And if Bucky cared so much, where is he? Why wasn’t he waiting to pick you up and take you home?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing when you dug into your purse. “Maybe he doesn’t care about you as much as you think.”

Your next breath came out shaky. He hadn’t raised his voice at you, but you didn’t appreciate the third degree, or the implication that Bucky didn’t care. “Because he’s a busy man who sometimes works both days and nights. I don’t expect him to drop everything just to take me home.”

“If you took a chance on me, you’d never have to worry about things like that.”

You were starting to feel nauseous. “Well, sometimes I like the quiet after the bustle of the shop, so walking helps me decompress. And I can't take a chance on you when I’m seeing someone else.” Why was he being so pushy?

He took a small step closer. “You know, it’s dangerous to walk home alone.”

You took a step back, your keys between your fingers. “You’re right about that,” you agreed. The only reason you did so today was to take back a little control, which didn’t seem so smart now.

“I can start walking you home if you want,” he smiled, towering over you. Was he always so imposing? “When’s your next shift?”

You managed a smile in return, but it was extremely forced. “Clark, that’s really not necessary, but thank you for the offer. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He gently took your arm when you turned toward the door, worry crawling up your spine when his hand tightened a fraction. You suddenly wish you had Bucky or Ray around. “I really don’t mind.”

“My boyfriend will mind, and I’m sure you can understand that. So it’s a no on the coffee and the walks home,” you said gently but firmly, pulling your arm back and rubbing the spot where Clark grabbed you. He wasn’t listening. It somehow felt worse than Bucky and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it because Clark tried to act nice? “It’s been a long few days, and I’m going to get some rest. Have a nice day, okay?”

His eyes narrowed again, but it was his chilling smile that unnerved you. “I’m sure I'll see you again soon. We’ll have to get that coffee,” he said, walking off before you could say another word.

You rushed into the building once he was out of sight, your hands shaking. It may have been from the confrontation or the combination of everything. Maybe Clark was just lonely and latched on a bit because you were nice. Hadn't Bucky done something similar?

But if Clark wanted to see you, why hadn't he just gone into the shop if he knew you were working?

Double checking your locks once you were in your apartment, you took a breath and stared at your phone once you sat down. You had to talk to Bucky. He answered within a few seconds of you calling.

“Kotyonok, is everything okay?” he asked, sounding both happy and concerned to hear from you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” you asked, hearing a few other men speaking in the background.

“Because you’re calling me and not texting. And you sound a little off. What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. How did he recognize that you felt off? “I just wanted you to know that the assistant manager changed my shift, so I went home early.”

“Wait, you’re already home?” he asked. The background noise suddenly stopped. “Did you get a cab? Please tell me you didn’t walk back to your place.”

“…Fine, I won’t tell you that.”

Bucky let out an impressive string of curse words as you pulled the phone away from your ear. “That’s not safe. You know it isn’t,” he hissed, but you knew he wasn’t actually angry with you. Just the situation. And bumping into Clark today and Zemo the day before, he had a bit of a point. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Because I said it may not be a good idea to go out with your friends.”

You closed your eyes. He was not going to make you feel bad. “I just needed a breather, okay? And I made it home just fine.”

“But did you? How do I know someone didn’t follow you?” he asked. Clark’s face flashed in your mind when you stayed quiet. “…Kotyonok, did someone follow you?”

“No one followed me that I know of,” you said. You really didn't have any idea. “But… I did bump into Clark. He was in the neighborhood.”

“Clark? That guy from the shop who tried to give you flowers just happened to be in your neighborhood when I wasn't around?” he asked, fury seeping into his tone as you winced.

“I… I’m sure it was a coincidence,” you said. Placating him in this wasn’t going to work, but you had to try.

“That isn’t a fucking coincidence and we both know it. Did he say anything? Try anything?”

You shut your eyes. It would be like ripping off a band-aid. “He asked me to go get a cup of coffee with him, but I told him I was seeing someone.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “He asked you out?” he asked, making you shift in your seat. “Why the fuck do I not have a file on him yet?!” he snapped at someone in the background.

“I’m working on it, boss!” you heard someone promise. “Should I call-”

“No. I’ll call him myself,” Bucky growled.

Who was he talking about? “Bucky, it’s okay. The guy asked me out and I said no,” you assured him. You weren't going to go out with Clark. “I’m sure women throw themselves at you every day and you turn them down.”

“They don't ‘bump’ into me in my neighborhood. And had you told me you were leaving early, I could’ve made sure this guy didn’t go anywhere near you. I don’t even want him near your shop until I know more about him,” he said, his anger not lessening. “If he tries anything, I will tear him apart piece by fucking piece,” he promised you, the intensity in his tone making your throat go dry.

“That isn’t necessary,” you whispered.

He sighed. “Why would you deliberately put yourself in a spot like this just to prove a point? Be pissed at me, I can take that, but do not risk your safety,” he said, adding in a quieter voice, “I couldn’t take it if something happened to you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how guilty you felt, how worried he sounded on your behalf. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to worry you,” you said. It was stubborn and dumb on your part, and now you were afraid that Bucky really would try to cancel your day out tomorrow. You couldn’t let him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Make it up to me?” he asked. That seemed to get his attention. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll…” you began, steadying yourself. Natasha said you had power, and maybe you’d have to test that sooner than you expected. “Stay at your place tonight.”

You could hear a pin drop from the quiet. “You’ll stay the night?” he asked, his voice moving like lava through your veins.

“Yes,” you whispered, hammering the nail in the coffin.

“Give me two hours and I'll come get you,” he said, his voice strained, eager. “Be ready.”

“I will be.”

God, you hoped you knew what you were doing.

Oh, Clark. He's a problem now, isn't he? What do we think Ray told Bucky? And what's going to happen when you spend the night? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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potatomountain · 5 months ago

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CIY CH 30

Chapter Thirty

📍Pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective afab reader 📍Summary: "Welcome Home" 📍WC: 3.2k 📍AU: detective/mafia 📍Genre: action, dark romance, poly romance 📍Warning(s): 18+ rating (all of CIY is), anxiety 📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @yourfatherlucifer, @bunnliix, and @adelusionforyourthoughts 📍AN: The last chapter of Case: It's You. Book 2, Case: It's Us will begin posting most likely in the beginning of March. I have some collabs i want to focus on and to knock out pieces i missed last year with FFF. Anyways, the taglist fo CIU will be reset and directions to join will be listed at the end of this chapter. Are you ready for the climax of Case: It's You? 📍dividers and banner made by me!

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It was a lot more nerve wracking descending the stairs than you thought, a lot less prepared for this conversation than you had hoped for. You could see the majority of the open space, the industrial pipes and vents above with the fans blowing air. The whole space was renovated nicely, with a large sitting area that doubled as a game or theater set up with the large flat screen on the stone wall. Shelves occupied the rest full of books and other items, including a dagger and sword collection.

Wooyoung was the last to notice your presence, moving about the large industrial type kitchen cooking up a feast just as you had asked, but the others had all stopped to look up at the stairs the moment the door opened. San had let you step out first, taking it slow as you fought off the panic that threatened to engulf you. You told yourself you had no reason to be scared, they wouldn’t hurt you. Yeosang was watching from over his monitors he had set up on the dining table, Jongho standing next to him, while the other four were standing in the living area discussing something important if you had to guess from their demeanor.

They just… stared. Some smiled, like Hongjoong and Yunho, even Yeosang had a shy little smile. But otherwise their concern was so evident it almost made you turn and run back into the room. Wooyoung, bless him, noticed that when he noticed you. “There’s my pretty girl- hey! Y'all stop gawking at her! Not unless you’re going to get on your knees and beg for her love.” He pointed his spatula at a few of them as if ready to hit.

Yunho chuckled and made his way over to meet you at the bottom of the stairs. “Sorry about that butterfly, we’re just happy to see you moving about.” You rolled your eyes but took his outstretched hand once you reached the last step. “Yeah, well, get used to it. I’m not about to be some doll you keep in a box.”

He smiled wider, stopping you there instead of helping you down like you thought. “Wouldn’t dream of it Butterfly, you’re meant to fly after all.” Blushing at his comment, you gently smacked his shoulder. “Shut it charmer, I’m hungry and I’d like to chit chat.” “Of course, anything you want.” He hummed out and then swept you into his arms. He hadn’t been as clingy as the other two, so the contact threw you off, for a moment reminding you of the night you found out everything.

It left a bad taste in your mouth and had you scrambling out of his arms. “I can walk just fine.” With a huff you moved past him to the others: in particular Hongjoong. “I want answers. Please.” He nodded, sombering up and looking to the others. They each sat down and both Yeosang and Jongho made their way over. Yunho took his seat next to Mingi, placing a hand on his thigh to still Mingi's bouncing leg, Yeosang sitting next to Mingi on the other side and and Jongho sat on the arm next to him, all on one sofa. You glanced at San to have him sit, which he did, sitting on the far end of the other couch next to Seonghwa.

Even Wooyoung paused in his cook, leaning against the counter and giving you all his attention.

While you were thankful they did, none of them standing above you and giving you ample space, the intensity of their stares made you uneasy. Unwavering attention, somber expressions, even Jongho’s usual tense demeanor was for a different reason: concern for you.

Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a huff, placing your hands on your hips and furrowing your brow with a playful glare. “I swear to fucking God if you don't relax a little I'm going to start swinging! I'm not going to suddenly combust and I'm not made of crystal either.”

At your threat, there were some tense smiles, but other Wooyoung scoffing in the kitchen no one relaxed.

“Yes you are.”

Surprisingly, it was Jongho who spoke up, drawing your attention with eyes wide with shock. “What did you say?” You took a step closer, ready to fight him on it. You weren't fragile. You weren’t-

“You are fragile. Ready to combust. Crystal or glass or whatever.” He repeated, shifting on the arm rest as Yeosang grabbed his arm with alarm. “I'm just saying what everyone is thinking! And it's true. When I found you…”

As he trailed off you stepped forward, thigh brushing his knee as you stared him down with a locked brow. “What? What about it?!”

“Easy Gorgeous, this is what you wanted to talk about right?” Hongjoong stood up to try and intervene but you held up a hand to stop him, gaze locked onto Jongho's in a battle of wills.

“When I found you… when you held on to me, I thought… I thought we lost you for good.” His tone significantly softened, but he held eye contact, seeming just as shocked as you were by his words. “We don't want to lose you.”

“And when was I ever yours to lose Choi Jongho? Maybe some of the others but yours? Don't make me laugh.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes and waving him off dismissively.

Just for him to grab your hand and pull you closer. Out of reaction. You brought your other hand down in an attempt to hit him, just for him to grab your wrist. Both were now locked in his hands, his feet hooking behind your calves and effectively trapping you against him while he still sat on the arm of the couch unwavering. “Let. Me. GO!” You still struggled, but while you were smaller and could be quick, he was much more physically fit and overpowering. Despite your best efforts your breathing became labored, eyes wide with unbridled fear as your body reacted from trauma as opposed to Jongho himself.

Despite his rough grip, his face softened. “Look at me, little one, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stiffening at the pet name, heat flooded your senses, mingling with the icy fear that was in your veins and somehow balancing it out. He didn’t say anything else, nor make a move, just waited out for your struggling to seize. Instead you deflated, hands balled into fists to try and keep your fingers from trembling more than they were. “Why does it matter to you?” Your previous demeanor to take action and demand answers was long gone, the vulnerable side of yourself that you often rejected coming back to the surface. These men had a way of bringing it out, apparently that meant Jongho as well. “I…” He started, dropping his hands from your wrists to settle on his thighs, giving you the option to back out if you wanted. When you didn’t, he continued, a tremble in his voice. “You… you matter to me little one, more than I’d like to admit. Butting heads with you, watching you thrive in this kind of work, seeing the way you interact with my partners here… It all matters to me. I’m sorry I reacted poorly, I thought if I could get you to walk away before you got too deep there was a chance for you to be happy elsewhere but… that’s not an option anymore is it?” You shook your head, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. Softness was not something you expected to ever see from this man, and coupled with the pet name it had you feeling some type of way. “No… it’s not. I want to be a part of this. No, I need it. With you all. I want…” You paused, taking a deep breath to gather up what courage you could, turning to look at every single one of them before meeting Jongho’s still soft gaze. It felt like you had to tell him this the most. “I want to join the Black Pirates.” The way he smiled up at you had the apples of your cheeks burning, for a brief second finding him adorable. “For new members we take a vote and if it’s not unanimous, it fails. Should we take a vote?” He looked to the others, but you were staring at him, a question in them. “It’s not the first time for the vote… no, but I disagreed every time. I get it if that makes you angry at me.” Swallowing hard, you shook your head. Now that you understood a bit of why he was so hateful to you, you couldn’t be upset with his actions. Well, not at this moment. You might give him hell for it later though. “Just you though?” You couldn’t help but glance over at Yeosang and Yunho, having thought they two might have protested at least. You know San and Wooyoung wanted you since the first time you met them both, and the others had shown so as well over the last few weeks.

Yeosang caught you looking at him and smiled sheepishly, nodding his head. “I want you here. I uh- well…” He trailed off, getting more bashful the more you stared expectantly.

It was Wooyoung that chimed in, making his way over in a rush, announcing himself with a giggle before he pulled you back against him once he was sure you would not panic about it. “Sangie is obsessed with you, Goddess. Asks about you constantly, praises you. It’s so fucking cute to get him flustered just by mentioning you. You know, if you sat on his lap right now he would practically combust? He’s never been with a woman, just us, you could teach him a few things.”

“Wooyoung!” San stepped in, huffing as he stood up. “Let’s not suggest things like that right now.” “Why not? I think it would be very healing for her to hear just how much we want her and care about her. Did you know, love, that he’s been your secret admirer for awhile? Like that breakfast waiting for you the day you were late. Oh that was fun to get out of him.” You could hardly process what he was saying, watching the way Yeosang fidgeted and now refused to look at you, much like a shy boy in the presence of his crush. When Jongho slid his hand through the man’s hair, eliciting a low deep moan from him, your brain went haywire. Of course you had already decided Yeosang was adorable and had a lot of cute habits, like his lisp and the way he would preen at your praise just to name a few.

“I see. I’ll keep that in mind.” Shit, were you actually getting aroused by this? It was a nice thought that you actually could, but you knew the act itself was off the table. Especially if Jongho touching you like that had adrenaline running in your veins ready to fight and run. So you turned your attention right to Mingi who was sitting next to the pretty boy. He was watching with those boba eyes of his that melted your heart. You hadn’t talked to him since he had interrupted your time with Wooyoung, pouting from your lack of attention. “Do you want me here?” The sex, the shared moments in between, and the brief moments after… you couldn’t say for certain that he did want you here.

He looked offended you asked. “Of course I do Princess. Do you have any idea how badass and amazing you are? You’re an upgrade to our team for sure. And not just because the sex was amazing, I like you for way more than just that.” He elbowed Yunho next to him. “Right?” Yunho nodded, smiling softly as he patted his thigh and met your gaze. “Remember what I told you, Butterfly? This is another way I meant it, as a Pirate. San has always been right about you being perfect for us, and that means in this way too. You’re a hard worker, you fight for what you believe in, and you’re a force to be reckoned with. My balls still hurt thinking about your knee, you know.” He teased with a wink, resulting in a blush on your own cheeks. “I do feel bad about that but it didn’t seem to affect your performance.” You pointed out, shifting in Wooyoung’s arms. The man tightened his hold on you, chin resting on your shoulder as he let out a whine. “And you know how San and I feel already. We love you. Cherish you. Most definitely worship the ground you walk on Goddess. Having you as a Pirate with us? It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” Fighting off the smile that wanted to spread across your lips was hard, so you didn’t. Especially when you locked eyes with San, his own smile mirroring yours, his dimples on full display. “You two are charmers, I swear.” San chuckled with Wooyoung, the broader man nodding. “It worked, we got you now don’t we?” You couldn’t deny that, warmth spreading through your body at their obvious affection. That meant six out of eight agreed for you to join. Six out of eight of them wanted you, wanted to work with you as an equal and a partner. Hesitantly you glanced at Seonghwa, feeling a bit intimidated despite knowing he did care for you. Still, you had held him at gunpoint, he had freed you at the safe house and you had, essentially, killed a man to try and fight for him and Hongjoong. Did they know that? How you had made that decision, in that moment, to fight for them? With nothing more than a knife? The way Seonghwa softened, you thought maybe he did. You felt shy, insecure, anxiety eating in your chest. So much had happened, all the care shown to you over this last week being second guessed at this moment. And he seemed to know that. “Angel?” He started, standing up slowly as you removed yourself from Wooyoung’s hold, his presence suddenly overwhelming for you. “Hey, it’s okay-” “It’s not. It’s not okay.” You stammered out, backing away from Wooyoung to create some space as heavy weighted emotions took hold in your heart. It finally hit, not just what had happened by the Red Wolves hand, but what led up to it. Your questioning at gunpoint, the way Yunho fucked you, being held hostage by them and still choosing to fight. What if that changed things? Did that really make you good enough? Did that really make you deserving of their words? Seonghwa shared a quick glance with Hongjoong and both approached you, stopping when you backed up. The guilt and pain that twisted their features suddenly twisted your own emotions in your gut. “You don’t think you deserve this… do you? Being a Pirate?” When you nodded, they reacted in a way that had you jumping, staring at Hongjoong now on his knees as he had fallen to them with a groan of pain. Seonghwa was shaking his head, using your shock over Hongjoong to close the distance and grab you by the waist. You jumped at that, attempting to pull away until you saw the gun.

“This is why, isn’t it? You don’t think we want someone that hurt us?” There was pure anguish in his voice, pushing it against your chest. “You think you’re a liability after what happened? And wondering just how we can agree to having you on board huh?” You hated how right he was, holding onto the gun because he wasn’t giving you a choice. “You wouldn’t have gone with them if I wasn’t there. I wouldn’t have been there if I didn’t hold you at gun point. You wouldn’t-” You were shut up with a kiss, words muffled against Seonghwa’s lips as he held you tight against him. Your mind went blank, confusion settling under the bliss that came from his sweet lips on yours.

When he pulled away, he directed your attention to Hongjoong who was gripping his knees tightly, still on the ground but tense. He presented himself as if he was offering his life up to you for a mistake. And in hindsight, he was. He blamed himself for what happened, you could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he said your full name, slowly and syllable by syllable. “We signed up for situations like that, you hadn’t. Being a Pirate means there will always be a chance of that happening again-” The air in the room grew thick with a new tension, somber expressions befalling each member as they looked at you almost protectively. You normally would hate it, demand that you could take care of yourself.

But they knew you could, they admired that you could, and therefore their protective demeanor meant something entirely different to you.

Tears were running down your cheeks unexpectedly, finding new strength to pull from Seonghwa. He let you, watching as you were on your knees before Hongjoong the next second, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding onto him. He latched on, burying his face into the crook of your neck, trembling in your arms. “Being a Pirate means I’m with you, all eight of you, and that’s more than worth the risk Hongjoong. I can’t think of anywhere else I want to be, or that fits me more. Working with you all, being with you all, just… this is my home, isn’t it?” There were arms wrapping around you both, a kiss pressed to the top of your head. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Seonghwa, the sound of his humming filling your ears. “Welcome home then Angel. We’re happy to have you.” Hongjoong’s arms tightened around you, a wet spot forming on your shirt from his own silent tears. “We’re in this together, Firecracker. Promise not to let you get hurt like that again okay?” As much as going through that again would terrify you, you glanced around the room, taking note of the others. Wooyoung was now holding San’s hand, freely crying while San was trying not too, both looking as if they wanted to come join. You waved them over, and they joined rather fast, surrounding you with so much warmth. Wooyoung on your right across from Seonghwa and San now behind you. Both kissing the top of your head just like Seonghwa did.

Then there were the other four, Mingi and Yeosang leaning into their respective partners, both Yunho and Jongho sharing a look of determination, all four watching you. With your own determination, you took a deep breath and kissed the top of Hongjoong’s head instead. “If I do… I’ll be okay. I’ll have the eight of you right? I think I can handle anything if I have you all in my corner.”

The four of them squeezed you tightly, the amount of emotions in the room overwhelming but it felt right. It felt right to experience this with them all, to be vulnerable with them and receive this support. This is what it meant to be with them all, to be in this together.

Seonghwa said the final words, making it official as he seemed to comfort his family; his lovers. “Then together. Welcome home Angel.”

To be part of the taglist you MUST follow these directions! 1- Reblog this chapter. No blank reblogs will be considered, feedback is needed.

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5- there is the ao3 version of Case: It's You and Case: It's Us will be posted in time with the tumblr here. So if you want to be a silent reader, or miss your chance for the taglist, I suggest subscribing to both CIY and CIU when it comes out on ao3. My ao3 username is: Cutiepiedoom. You can also search for the story. The reason I'm doing this: Tumblr writing community is dying, I work hard for this story and yes I choose to post for free but I can also choose to only send to those I know enjoy this. i do not have to share my work, i can stop any time i want and I will if i think at any point it is not worth it to post. A Taglist in particular is a waste of my time, so I'd rather make sure I'm tagging people I KNOW are going to enjoy this series. And that means reblogging it, giving me feedback, geeking out about it, letting the author know that it is LOVED. Thats all you need to do and i can promise you thats plenty of motivation for authors to give more and more. It brightens are bad days and keeps our love for our hobby alive. So please, don't bitch about this <3

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hivemuthur · 17 days ago

Text

To Be Known - Ch.8.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,2K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: safe word use mentioned from Viktor's POV, subdrop & domspace (Viktor's), mentions of asphyxiation via throat fucking, light slapping and crying from Viktor's POV, some good ol' sex and you wouldn't believe it, actual fluff.

author’s note: Viktor's POV of what happened so we take a step back in timeline! Dinner next week. And as usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡ translations from Czech at the bottom! @rennethen beta read, thank you ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

He wakes to the smell of coffee—not the acrid, burnt kind that Jayce swears by, but something softer. Sweeter. Something you made.

The light in the flat is watery, the clouds outside dragging slow shadows across the walls. He blinks blearily at the bedroom ceiling and shifts, noticing first the ache in his leg, then the heaviness in his chest.

You’re not in bed. But your warmth is still in the sheets, curled faintly into the pillow beside him.

Viktor forces himself upright, limbs slow. His body doesn’t feel wrong, just... unfamiliar. Like someone else’s skin laid gently over his own. The memory of your hands—so sure, so careful—makes his mouth go dry.

He finds you in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie, hair tied back loosely, humming under your breath as you pour hot water into the press. You don’t startle when he appears. You just glance over your shoulder, smiling, as if you’ve always known exactly where he is.

“Hi,” you say, setting a mug down for him.

He hesitates before taking it. “You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I wanted to,” you reply, simply, like it’s obvious and it disarms him.

The morning passes like that—quiet, your fingers brushing his side when you walk past, his eyes following the curve of your smile like it’s something sacred. You don’t tease him. Don’t press. You just move around him like you know the weight of what you shared, and refuse to treat it lightly.

It should soothe him, but it doesn’t. The secret spilled last night—wordless but scratched open—lingers in the silence between you like a held breath. Even though he’s absolutely certain that you know what it feels like, it remains unspoken. And it seems as if touching it would be asking too much of you. So Viktor grits his teeth and tries to survive it on his own.

Until you’re dressed and ready to go, arms draped loosely over his shoulders, sat on the edge of the kitchen table like you belong there.

“I have to get going,” you murmur, nose brushing against the rough plane of his cheek, warm and certain in a way he can barely bring himself to match. You pull his hair back from his face with one hand—a loving gesture—and then trace your thumbs down the hollows of his cheeks.

“I can’t convince you to take a day off, can I?” he asks, the words raw with something too close to need. He tells himself he means it as a joke, but there’s no dignity in the way his fingers wrap around your wrist, desperate to keep you just a moment longer.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, smiling with that soft guilt. “Young Vic needs me.”

“Old Vik needs you more today,” he tries again, thinner now, an attempt at levity that collapses when the line leaves his mouth. The moment it does, he has to turn away from you—because the recoil twists something awful in his face, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

You hesitate, then offer gently, “I could call you in the evening? Or come over?”

“Eh, I’m… joking,” he says quickly, waving his hand. “Go to work. I’ll be alright.”

There’s a pause, and then: “Viktor?” His name sounds different when you say it like that. Soft. Careful. “I—” You bite your lip, then exhale. “I know how… this feels,” you say, smoothing a hand over his chest.

“I know you do. And I know how this feels,” he replies, reaching for you and placing a flat palm over your heart. “Go and use it for something good. I have an easy day today.”

You wait until he’s looking away to rise up, hovering over his lap before kissing him. There’s no rush in it, just something tender and attentive. His hands come to your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer as he pulls you in and gives the kiss back. But not for long. He breaks it, pressing his face to yours with a tired sound in his throat.

“You’re making it worse,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible against your lips. It isn’t accusation—just truth, hushed and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your forehead rests against his, your breath warm between you. “But leaving you doesn’t feel right today.”

He huffs a soft sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so pained. “Does it ever feel right?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “But it feels less wrong when you’re perked up.”

That earns you a faint smile, crooked and tired. “Well, you will be back, won’t you? I need a day.”

“Of course,” you say, brushing your knuckles down the sharp line of his jaw. The gesture is soft, familiar, meant to soothe. “Call me though?”

His eyes meet yours—something tender flickering behind them. He doesn’t answer right away, but the nod that follows is slow and sure. Then his eyes grow distant, as if he’s trying not to grab blindly for what you’re taking with you.

By the time he arrives at the Institute, he’s already chasing the part of himself that slipped out of reach last night. The one you pulled into your hands and held so reverently it scared him. He spends the day half-there, sketching absent lines into his notebook, one ear tuned vaguely to Jayce’s humming.

He tells himself it’s because he misses you, and not because he’s trying to claw back the version of himself you once begged to submit to.

The workbench doesn’t help. The lab work under his fingertips feels alien in a way it never has before—he assembles, disassembles, calibrates again, but none of it lands. His hands move, but they don’t belong to him today.

At lunch, Jayce tries to corner him about a supply delay, but the words slide past like water on glass. Viktor nods where appropriate, gives a half-hum of agreement, and then stares at a small flaw in a solder point for twelve minutes, unable to remember what made it wrong. When Jayce circles back later, brows lifted and lips curled with mock concern, Viktor doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You sick or something?” Jayce finally says, nudging him with a wrench. “Is your leg bad?”

Viktor shrugs, without irony. “No. Just tired.” Which isn’t a lie. He is tired. But it’s the sort that sleep doesn’t touch.

He manages through it—just barely—riding a vague cloud of undefined sadness and borrowed momentum until the sky turns the soft blue of dusk. It’s a day in which nothing really happens, and yet, getting through it feels like wading through wet wool. Every hour stretches like taffy. Every question aimed at him demands a version of himself he can’t quite locate.

It’s very late when you call, but your pseudonym on the little black screen does serve as a lifeboat. At first Viktor wonders if just the sheer act of you calling him would be enough—and whether he should actually pick up. He does, in the end.

Your voice balms over him, the sound of it wrapping like gauze around an open wound. He exhales, head tipping back against the wall behind him as you sigh—relieved, clearly—that he picked up.

“I’m sorry, it’s so late. How are you doing?”

“I—” His throat tightens. “I actually don’t know.”

A pause. Then: “Would you like to… elaborate?”

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You calling is nice.”

There’s a breath on the line. Then: “Look, I… I wouldn’t be opposed to coming back to the initial… setup.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed?” he echoes, mouth twitching faintly.

“I would love to come back to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs, quieter now. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m good, but, hmm… irritable?”

That earns a small smile from him. “Oh?”

“It’s hard to explain,” you say, voice lilting in that way that always means you’re hedging. “Suddenly it’s very hard for me to understand when people just don’t do what I ask of them perfectly… Charlie called me Idi Amin today, so, uh, you know, I fear it might’ve turned me into a villain.”

“Ah, that.” Viktor chuckles softly, the sound hollow. “I can imagine it’s harder when you actually are in charge of something.”

“Yeah, I might not be the best person to wield such power.”

He lets his head fall back again, the ceiling above him blurred in the low light. “It’s something you can learn, should you wish to.”

“I—maybe.” A shift in your voice, tentative. “But Viktor, I don’t want you to think that something changes now.”

His chest tightens with that dull pressure he’s come to associate with wanting too much. “Well, something has changed,” he says, slowly, carefully. “In the spirit of honesty, which should be a pillar of this arrangement, I can tell you... that it perhaps was a little bit too soon for me.”

His own admission tastes strange in his mouth, too open and bare, but it’s true, nevertheless. “But I offered,” he adds, swallowing. “So the consequences are on me. I just don’t feel like myself today. But it will pass.”

“What can I do?”

He smiles, brief and tired, the expression hidden in shadow. “Hold back your control freak tendencies until we meet again? For the sake of theatre industry and possibly humanity?”

A soft exhale from the other end of the line. “It seems that we are on the opposite poles of control freakiness.”

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward, his elbow braced on his knee. “Two halves of one giant freakiness.”

“Viktor?”

He hums, eyelids lowering.

“I never said thank you. So thank you, for trusting me.”

The silence stretches for a beat before he answers, voice soft. “You are welcome.” He presses a thumb to his temple, almost without thinking. “You’ve earned it.”

“You are such a sap, I swear.”

“And you are romance repellent.”

That pulls a laugh from you—quick, bright, and it lingers in his ear even after the words fade. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, holding the phone just a second longer than needed before finally ending the call.

Truthfully what Viktor needs is you, right here with him in no particular setup, just being. He chuckles at his own contemplation on how strong or utterly stubborn you must be for not crawling back to him night after night, only every two or three nights, and still manage to tease him. Were you to walk through his door right now, he would fold like a napkin.

And Viktor would never call himself a person with a bleeding heart, yet for you he seems to be haemorrhaging slowly, from a small vein where the blood is airless, thick and lazy, so it can remain unnoticed for the longest time.

He stands under the scalding stream in the shower for ages, trying to purge the tension away from his body. The water pelts his shoulders in rhythmic bursts, but it does little to dissolve the tightness lodged deep beneath his skin. His mind is too loud for that—replaying your voice, dissecting its tone for layers of guilt, affection, detachment, something he can hold onto.

Eventually he turns the tap off, but lingers, head bowed. The air steams around him like a fog he doesn’t step out of.

When he finally makes it to bed, his leg is restless enough that he has to fumble for the crutch to keep it tucked against the nightstand—just in case. He hates using it at night, hates the metallic echo it taps across the floor, but tonight the ache is sharper than usual, aggravated by the weight of a day spent dragging emotions behind him like a second body.

He lies down without much ceremony. Gets his injection. Shifts once. Then again. He flips the pillow over, though it’s still warm on both sides. The silence hums in his ears. Sleep doesn’t come—not for a long time. When it finally does, it’s light and hollow, and Viktor wakes cold in his own bed.

The next day drags unbearably. He’s irritable and impatient, self-loathing rocketing sky-high as every weak spot crawls to the surface. There’s a monstrous, near-comical need welling up inside him, and it leaves him deeming himself utterly useless. He’s pliant with the investors. Jayce notices—worries—and eventually makes him go home, despite Viktor’s scoffs and brittle protests.

By the third day, he breaks. His good leg jumps up and down as he sits hunched on the stool in the lab, clutching his phone. The sass has long evaporated. He deletes a message three times before settling on something tolerable.

First attempt: Can I see you tonight? Utterly outrageous. No. Second: Come over in the evening. It feels presumptuous. He has no right. Third: How are you? Pathetic. Eventually, he settles on: What are you wearing?

You reply almost immediately, and he exhales—relieved. He’s certain your ass is perfectly fine, and you’re just indulging him. He snorts when you say you can afford his begging. Jayce raises an eyebrow, the question already forming, so Viktor simply mutters, “Cat videos.”

And when you text back I can’t wait, the giddiness rushes in—like a teenager. He can't wait either. When you buzz in and stumble out of the elevator, eyes distressed and posture tight, practically falling into his arms, Viktor has a single, foolish dream: That he could lift you, toss you onto the bed, and love you so gently the world would fall away. That maybe, just maybe, it would fix everything.

It’s the first time Viktor sees you like this—begging from the very threshold of his apartment. Pressing against him as if he offers some kind of relief. The sheer demand in your body for him to fall back into a role scrapes at the edges of his restraint, tipping him toward something darker when you won’t say what happened. He wants to know so badly who hurt you like this—so he can burn their house down and salt the ashes, tear their family apart, ruin them beyond repair.

You feel like an answered prayer in his arms, desperate and pliant. He takes you to the living room, watching the way you move—shaky, flushed, undone—as if his presence alone steadies you. He gestures to the cushions beside the couch. You kneel without protest.

It’s the image that splits him open.

Your mouth on him is so familiar, so obedient. Like a script returning to its first draft. He doesn’t speak much, just watches—eyes dragging down your face, your hair, the subtle tremor in your shoulders. He doesn’t ask what you need. Doesn’t outright ask what happened anymore, just scolds you playfully for not telling him. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he does—but because it feels too dangerous. Because if he asks, you might tell him, and he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

So he rewrites it all into performance. He slaps his cock against your cheek. The noise is louder than he anticipates in the quiet of the flat, and you flinch. That should have been the moment, but it isn’t.

Something in your expression falters—uncertainty where there should be surrender. But you stay with that tear prickling your eye. It’s such a gorgeous sight Viktor can’t help himself. He cups your face, and slaps you once. Again, he doesn’t stop. It crosses his mind he should ask if you want to.

But he presses back in, and then the second slap lands and he knows already that you are gone. He hears in the way you plea with his name. Then in the way you say, “Stop.” And then, red lands sharp and awful and your voice alone shatters him. The way it lands in the room, like a gunshot through fog. He blinks, as though just now returning to his body. You’re trembling. Not aroused. Not soft. Just… splintered.

And he realises, he’s panicked, trying to stitch together the version of himself that you looked at like a prayer answered, like you trusted it. Trying to make something static out of something inherently alive.

What he’d seen on your knees—open, vulnerable—wasn’t a call to power. It was a call to care. And he missed it. Because the sight of you there made something inside him settle. For the first time in days, his skin had fit again, like the shape of him had returned. He'd felt whole. Drunk on it. And he’d mistaken that relief for balance.

His reaction is instant, yet it feels far too slow. Every movement is thick, underwater. He guides you up gently, though all he wants is to lift you and carry you to bed. The fact that he can’t—because of the crutch, because of the day, because of his body—makes him feel small. What makes him feel worse is when you ask if he’s angry.

You cry so beautifully on his lap, he nearly slips again. Torn between crying with you and soothing you, Viktor settles on a compliment: You are wonderful. Many times already he’s fought back what keeps trying to breach the border of his lips, and he manages to hold it again—barely. Still stunned and ashamed by what happened, he makes a quiet vow: he will never corrode love into something cruel. Not with you. Never with you.

When you're finally in his bed, he leaves only for a moment. To get a towel for you. To steal a breath for himself. He brings back Jayce’s t-shirt and notices sombrely that the marking on your belly is nearly gone.

He’s ready to call it a night. To cradle you through the shame and the silence. But then your hands ghost over his stomach, pleading. And it takes every last ounce of his willpower—and some borrowed from whatever extraterrestrial entity set this whole cruel universe in motion—to refuse you.

But you keep begging. Frustrated, you throw your hands up, and he wishes he could read your mind. And then suddenly—he can.

And Viktor cannot exactly put a pin in the moment it finds him—or rather, the moment he catches up with it. The love that has kind hands, the love that snores, the love that cracks her bones ten thousand times a day, the love that finds shelter in the crease of his thigh and gives, gives, gives—and takes. What he has to shed, she wants. What she gives, he takes and says thank you. When he caught up with it eludes him. But where it found him—he is convinced—it was at the world’s end.

By the time he shakes off the weight of that realisation, you’re already asleep. Curled over him. Breathing warm air against his cock like it’s nothing, like it’s everything. His hand rests on your head, the other clutched to his chest. He says your name, softly, just to be sure. When you don’t stir, he gathers every shard of nerve he has and whispers: “I think I love you.”

Soon after that sleep takes him too. He wakes to the pressing throb of his leg and the weight of your head nestled into the plane of his stomach. One of your arms is draped across his waist, fingers curled possessively into his hip like you’d grown roots there in your sleep. It’s still dark out. His phone buzzes once—4:43 AM—and he grimaces as sensation starts returning in a slow, mean wave down his thigh.

He hates moving you. Every instinct he has screams to let you stay as you are, peaceful and slack-jawed against him, hair tickling his skin with each breath. But he needs to get up. The pressure is unbearable, the stiff ache turning sharp.

Carefully, he shifts—easing your hand from his waist, brushing your cheek. You murmur something into the warmth, not quite words, but when he brushes your shoulder again, your eyes blink open, bleary and unfocused.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Need the bathroom.”

You nod, half-asleep, and roll away just enough to let him move. He reaches for his crutch, standing slowly with a tight breath, and pads toward the door. When he returns, you're sitting up, barely upright, blanket wrapped loosely around your chest.

“I pinned you,” you say, voice raspy, eyes dragging over the crutch.

“You were warm.” He pauses, settling in beside you again. “I didn’t mind.”

You make a noncommittal sound and tug the blanket tighter. Your eyes are clearer now, more awake, still a bit puffy, watching him as he eases himself back onto the bed. The mood is subdued, but not strained.

You yawn into your sleeve. “Do you think people will notice?”

Viktor blinks. “That you pinned me?”

You give him a look. “At dinner.”

He exhales, amused but wary. “Ah.” It hangs between you for a second. The Soho dinner. Mel’s big revival of her hosting streak. You were both invited—separately—as this is of course still, a very casual secret.

“I mean, we haven’t exactly rehearsed public performances,” you add.

He rubs a hand across his face. “Yes, and I imagine ‘friends of friends’ won’t suffice if I accidentally lick your neck.”

You snort, surprised. “Jesus, Viktor.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “I’m not especially discreet.”

“No, you're not.” You draw your knees tighter. “Do we… act normal? Or pretend we don’t know each other?”

“I’d prefer not to pretend,” he says. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll behave.”

There’s a pause, then you ask: “Will it be weird for you?”

He shakes his head. “Not unless you flirt with someone else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which you’re free to do,” he adds quickly. “I just… reserve the right to have an internal crisis about it.”

That draws a real laugh out of you. And he’s grateful for it. The air in the room lightens, just enough. “I guess we’ll play it by ear,” you say, softer now. “See how it feels.”

He nods. “We’ll be fine.”

But still, after you settle back beside him, your head near his shoulder, he finds his thoughts wandering—through the dining room in Soho, the faces of your friends, the chance proximity of your knees under the table. The idea of being in a room full of people who don’t know what you are, who assume they know. The ache of not touching. The unbearable sweetness of being near you, and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.

He lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. You’re here. And oh, under Viktor’s lids you are there too, crying into his sleeve. He rolls to his side to face you, brushes hair off your neck, and kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. You giggle, shoulders squirming up.

When he leans in to kiss your mouth, you twist away with a playful groan. “That’s cheating, you cleaned your teeth!”

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, mouth already grazing your jaw. “You can go and brush yours if you wish.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s very early,” he murmurs, planting a kiss at the curve of your neck, “so we have time for this—” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. “—and maybe some of this.” Then, shifting closer, Viktor grinds the weight of his cock into the soft apex of your thighs. “And possibly also this,” he purrs, voice dipping low.

You hold back your breath in the hollow of your palm, eyes fluttering shut. Then a beat. You wriggle away. “Wait here.”

“Hurry up,” he groans, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Impossible man,” you mutter from the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

When you come back, he’s splayed on his side, head propped in his hand. You drop onto the bed with theatrical exhaustion and lean over him, exhaling sharply into his face. “See how nice?” you ask, breath fresh and smug.

He chuckles, grinning as he slaps your thigh. “Very nice indeed. Now come here.”

You shift over, kneeling beside him, and Viktor’s hand finds the small of your back. But before things slip further, his gaze lifts to yours, steady and searching. “How are you?” he asks softly. “After last night.”

You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers trace his sternum with deliberate calm. “I’ll tell you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just not now.”

His eyes stay on yours for a moment longer. Reading. Weighing. He nods, and the quiet is warm again. “Alright,” he says.

You bend forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How’s your leg?”

He scoffs, a little theatrical himself now, trying to dismiss it. “Uncooperative, as always. But I’ll manage.”

You arch a brow. “Well, I want you to last me a long time, so you better not strain yourself.”

That earns you a pleased hum and the faintest flush at his ears. He rolls onto his back with a smirk and props his good leg slightly, one arm behind his head. “Well then,” he says, voice rich with suggestion, “you better get to work, no?”

Your grin flashes bright as you crawl over him, your reply low and teasing: “Yes, sir,” your hands already sliding down his underwear.

He groans as you free him, his cock twitching against his hip. You peel off your t-shirt next, then your knickers, tossing them somewhere off the edge of the bed. Straddling his lap, you settle your hands on his chest, lean down, and kiss him—his mouth, his cheek, the edge of his jaw. You press slow kisses along his neck, over the yellowing bruise your mouth left nights ago. Viktor watches you, breath catching when your lips drift down the plane of his torso.

You take your time. His collarbones, his sternum. The raised edge of a scar. You kiss each wrist, the fingers that gripped your waist last night. When your mouth finds the V of his hips, he jolts—half a gasp, half a plea. You guide your tongue there gently, purposely, and feel him pulse against your cheek.

He’s hard now, fully, his breath uneven as he stares down at you with something like awe and confusion. “What is all this for?” he asks, voice ragged.

You lift your gaze, your lips swollen with affection. “It wasn’t so bad last night,” you say. “I actually feel better today. I want you to know this.”

His brow furrows, mouth parting, but no words come. Then, slowly, he exhales and murmurs, “My girl. Come here.”

You crawl back over him, hips bracketing his, and Viktor wraps one arm around your back, pulling you to his chest. The other hand comes to your face, brushing your temple. “You don’t apologise to me now or make it up in any way, do you understand?” he says, voice low and tender. “I pushed too hard. But I will make it up to you.”

You nod against him, your breath soft where it hits his skin. Viktor exhales through his nose, cradling your jaw with his hand. You are warm under his fingers, pliant, trusting. The weight of you straddling him feels steadying, like gravity remembering its job. He runs his hand down your spine, all the way to your tailbone, and presses you closer.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hairline.

You hum softly, shifting your hips against his, and Viktor’s cock nudges the slick heat of you. His breath stutters—just a little. He cups your hips, stills you with firm hands. Not yet.

“Lift for me,” he says, voice low.

You rise up on your knees, and he lines himself up with one hand. When you sink down onto him, both of you moan—a sound drawn from the deepest parts. You’re slow with it, careful, and he can feel your thighs trembling already, but today he’s patient. Anchored. One hand slips to your belly, pressing you gently down until he’s fully sheathed inside. Your walls clench around him, and Viktor has to close his eyes for a moment.

“There you are,” he says quietly. “That’s it.” He exhales, relieved. His mind quiets again. He’s home again.

He entwines your fingers in his and stretches his arms over his head, pulling you with him. Your chests touch—Viktor’s ribs pressing gently into the soft parts of your body—and he stretches until his stomach hollows.

You kiss him, first softly—barely a brush. Then again, deeper, as your mouths part and your breaths spill together. He tilts his head, angling into you, and when your tongues meet, it’s with a hum low in his throat. His fingers tighten instinctively in yours.

You taste like mint and heat, like morning and want. His lips part to welcome more of you. The slide of your tongue against his makes his chest flutter, his pulse knocking unevenly beneath your joined hands. When your teeth click softly against his, he huffs a laugh into your mouth, but doesn't pull back.

You kiss like you need him. Like you missed him. He melts into it, into you, mouth open and pliant now, his tongue sweeping yours slowly. The heat of you around him, the weight of you above him—it all swells into something dizzying. He’s not sure what’s better: the lazy rhythm of your hips or the wet, drugging pace of your kiss.

You moan softly against his mouth and Viktor’s hips twitch beneath you. He groans in return, the sound swallowed into your mouth as his hands squeeze yours tighter. You’re both breathless when you pull back just a little—lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting you for a heartbeat before it breaks.

He whispers your name, bewildered. His eyes are half-lidded, his body strung taut with pleasure. “You kiss me like you mean it.”

You smile against his mouth. “I do,” you say, and the words go straight through him. Viktor swallows, chest rising beneath yours.

His hand slips free from yours and rises to cradle your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, then traces the soft curve of your lower lip. “Good,” he murmurs, “me too.”

You roll your hips, slow and sure, and the breath leaves him. His grip tightens—not to stop you, just to feel it all more.

The rhythm you set is unhurried. Measured. He falls into it like something practiced, like the steps of a dance his body never forgot. It’s you that brings him back—your weight, your warmth, your breath on his face. You ground him. Remind him that he’s not chasing anything now. He’s already here. He doesn’t need to reach or grasp or force. He can just be.

He exhales long and slow, letting himself dissolve into the motion of your bodies meeting, again and again.

There is no urgency in you today, only that devastating tenderness he finds hardest to survive. You ride him like you’re trying to memorise something, to mark it, to hold it without breaking it. And he lets you. No—he offers himself up to be held like this.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers suddenly, surprising himself. His hands find your hips and he steadies you, pushes up into you just a little, guiding the angle. “It wasn’t long, and I’ve still missed you.”

You lean forward and kiss him—slow and deep again—and he arches into it, gasping softly when your cunt flutters around him.

Everything else falls away. The shame. The mistake. The panic from the night before that had clawed inside his ribs and refused to let go—it's quiet now. Gone, mostly. Or caged well enough that he can breathe again.

“You feel good,” he tells you between kisses, hand sliding from your hip to your thigh. “You always do. But now—” he pauses, groans as your cunt clenches again, “Now it feels—” He doesn’t finish.

You nod against his forehead, your body rocking into his like you understand something too. Like this, slow and deep and raw, is the only thing either of you really knows how to speak in.

And still, Viktor guides you. His hands adjust the angle again, murmuring soft instructions against your skin—“There, like that—yes. Just like that, good girl.”

You whimper as you find a new depth, and Viktor feels your fingers slide through his hair, anchor against his scalp. The next time you grind down, a helpless noise breaks in his throat. He grabs your ass, helps you move, then presses a kiss to your sternum, your throat, your collarbone.

His voice is rough now, soaked in need. “I want to stay like this. Inside you. Under you. Watching your face when you come.”

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed, and he catches your cheek in his palm again. “Don’t hide,” he whispers. “Let me see you.”

You slip your hands to cradle the base of his skull, thumbs pressing into the hinges of his jaw. “Viktor, you feel so good, oh God,” you whisper into his mouth, lips catching. Your brows scrunch above his and Viktor breathes you in deeply through his nose, through his mouth.

"Talk to me, please," you ask him.

Viktor cups your jaw, reverent. His hips lift in time with yours, steady, deep. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice roughened with restraint. “So strong. So soft, taking me so well.”

You whimper, and he kisses you again, slower now. Tongue brushing yours, careful, coaxing. “Děvče moje,” he breathes against your lips. “Podívej se na mě. Look at me.”

Your gaze finds his—eyes glassy, wide—and he almost breaks there. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Show me how good it feels.”

You clench around him—tight, fluttering—and Viktor sees it ripple through you, the way your thighs begin shake, how your rhythm stutters. “That’s it,” he says again, encouraging, barely holding himself back. “You’re close. Come for me, my girl. Just like this. Let me feel you.”

Your whole body tightens and then unravels all at once. Your breath is gone, your mouth opens, but there are no words, only a sound—guttural, cracked, full of something big and raw. Your hands twist into his hair. Your cunt clamps hard around him, again and again.

And Viktor��oh, Viktor is gone.

The wave of your orgasm rolls through him, not just in the way you clench around him, not just in the rhythm of your breath—but in the ache in his chest. The swell behind his ribs. The unbearable beauty of you coming apart on top of him.

His vision blurs as his own climax hits, deep and low in his spine. His hands grab at your hips, hold you still, and he grinds up into you once, twice—moaning through his teeth as he spills inside you.

You collapse forward, gasping against his neck, and Viktor just holds you. Hands on your back, one curled protectively at the nape of your neck. His thoughts scatter. All distant now—like fog that’s lifted. There’s only this: you with him, the feel of your heartbeat pounding where your chest meets his.

Viktor closes his eyes, presses a kiss into your hair, and lets his body soften under yours. “Děkuju,” he whispers, and doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud.

“Viktor?” you murmur into his neck after a moment. He hums in response, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m hungry.”

His mouth falls open, incredulous. Then he laughs—an outright undignified cackle. “Impossible. That’s it. From now on, we fuck in the mornings.”

You snort. “Bite me.”

“Gladly.” He shifts, rolling you onto your back, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress before dipping to your throat. His teeth find your skin and nip, just hard enough to make you squeak. He licks over the spot, smug as anything. “There. Breakfast in bed.”

You pinch his side and wriggle free, both of you still warm with the afterglow. He grumbles but lets you go.

You help him up, fingers brushing his ribs as he stretches. He tips his head toward the bathroom, and you go on tiptoe. On the way to the kitchen, you snag the blanket off the bed and wrap yourself in it like a makeshift cloak, your feet and legs bare, hair tousled and glowing.

You interrupt him while he’s cooking—eating pieces of fruit and slices of cheese before they make it into the plate. Viktor swats at you with one hand, then jabs at your hip with the end of his crutch, scolding in half-hearted Czech. You only grin and steal more. And then you have your first real breakfast together.

—

Děvče moje - My girl Podívej se na mě - Look at me Děkuju - Thank you

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