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pennyellee · 6 months ago

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𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐔 pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, slight porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

masterlist

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon when she was young - nothing happenes until she's of age, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

a/n: So here we are! This is the story I've been thrilled to share as it unfolds almost simultaneously with Champagne Confetti. Y/N, alias Peaches, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after my current project wraps up, wink wink. I have drafts for other fics set in the same universe as my current work and the new one, Anubis. Step by step, my fairies ♥

I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I've kept to myself for a long time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo, I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within this universe— which now I have decided is going to be called — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

1996

There's a soft whisper in your bones, each time you wake up in the morning. As your eyes flutter open, the room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the ceiling. All your demons are staring at you from above. They have been there when you went to sleep, and they are still there when you wake up. You know them all too well—regrets, doubts, fears—they've become familiar companions in the lonely hours of the night. They whisper tales of your failures, amplifying every mistake, every misstep, until they echo like thunder in your mind.

But would it be any different if your steps turned the other direction? Would the cosmos allow you to be? Possibly. You, however, will never know what life would be without blood flowing down the stream, dirty money from all the sins you've watched being committed.

You will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it. But the thought is fleeting, for you know deep down that he is as much a part of your story as the demons that haunt you. His presence has shaped you in ways both profound and subtle, leaving an indelible mark on your soul and your body. The agonising pain within still remains and all you can think of is how did you get to this point in your story.

"Bitches come and go, Peaches—" you recalled those words like it was yesterday they were uttered.

"—but you and him, love, you be for life."

An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that's what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn't always like that. There was a time when you resented Namjoon and every word that came out of his plump lips.

Kim Namjoon was trouble and the whole Bronx knew so. Heck, even the whole state knew what kin he came from. You were no exception. But whatever you did, you never managed to put distance between you two.

The world seemed both infinitely vast and impossibly small when the streets of the Bronx were your stage. You were young when you met Namjoon, a whirlwind of youthful energy and reckless abandon, there he is, so vivid in your memories.

Every time you'd help around Anubis, you could see his straying eyes. He had an aura of mischief that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You remember the way his gaze lingered on your skin, straying from the task at hand to fixate on you with a mixture of fascination.

Namjoon's reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the noonday sun. Entirely impossible to overlook, yet you did. His name was whispered in hushed tones in the back alleys and dark corners where his influence held sway, and that was only the beginning. The magnitude he reached decades later is for another story.

You had heard the rumors—the tales of his involvement with the local gangs, the whispers of his connections to the underworld that lurked beneath the surface of the city. Certainly, you would have to be lying if you said that Anubis was completely legal. You were not that stupid. While it bore the façade of a legitimate establishment, its roots ran deep into the murky waters of the criminal underworld.

Mrs. Jung could smile as widely as she wanted and reassure you that all was fine and all was taken care of, but you couldn't ignore the whispers that circulated about Anubis. Yet she paid triple what you could get in any regular bar. Not like you could work at a regular bar at the time at your age. Survival often depended on turning a blind eye to the unsavory realities of life that you would never be able to face alone. Money was tight and you could not afford to lose such a good-paying job. Even if it took what it took.

"His eyes are hungry for you, Peaches—" said Mrs. Jung while toying with the little umbrella that was swimming in her Kamasutra drink you'd prepared just a few minutes ago. You envisioned your life in the city just like she had, Saint Laurent heels clicking loudly as you would walk down the streets of Manhattan. You admired your lady boss from her head to toes. Mrs. Jung was a symbol of pussy and power. Until she was not. The power was given to her and once she rejected to meet the expectations, it was taken from her.

"—But that's all he can do, at least for now."

She winked your way and then her attention turned to the approaching male figure. What she meant by that is loud and clear. You are underaged and Namjoon cannot make any move on you even if he wanted to. And you knew he respects you that much. Although something tells you that this would be the least illegal thing he would’ve committed.

You’ve met Mark Tuan on occasion when he stopped by the bar. She was not Mrs Jung at the time, yet the notorious life of your lady boss, confused you even then. The way she and Mr Jung behaved around each other gave you the impression that he is her lover and not the tattooed boy that fucked the brains out of her in the office upstairs.

You felt the pain that was reflected on Jung Hoseok’s face when he asked where is she and you had to answer truthfully. The only thing you knew about Namjoon was that he and the Jungs ran way back. Their primary, and to the upper world’s eye, legal assets were the distilleries that distribute whiskey and brandy which you were serving each night till early hours of the morning.

The moment he particularly chose to visit the bar only those evenings you’ve been around was a louder hint shouted your way. As if you haven’t already figured. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved through the world and the way he moved you once your eyes locked.

The way he spoke to you, listened to you so attentively, gave advice on occasion and provided a shoulder to lean on, was all pulling you to him even more. It made you forget about all the skeletons that were in his closet.

The air crackled with anticipation as he walked through the room each night, straight to you, his gaze fixing on you with a mixture of fascination and desire. But amidst the heat of the moment, there was a shadow of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

Mrs. Jung's sudden disappearance, Namjoon taking over the day-to-day operations of Anubis—it all seemed too convenient, too perfect to be mere coincidence. It gave him the opportunity to watch you, keep you safe. You were scared that he'd cut you off whenever you fucked up something. But he never did; rather the opposite, offering you a lifeline when you needed it most. There was a chemistry between you that defied explanation, a silent understanding that transcended words.

The way his muscular torso almost pressed against yours in the storage room took your breath away instantly. The faint scent of his cologne enveloped you as he leaned in closer, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Surrounded by crates and boxes of expensive alcoholic beverages, the world seemed to fade away. His hand brushed against yours while he was lifting it, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. Reaching above your head to envelop his slender fingers around the throat of the bottle that you could not reach before, he slowly moved closer to hover above your lips. You trembled under his gaze on your lips that were slightly parted; you were panting at this point, reminding you of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of your forbidden romance.

"Just a moment longer."

His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent a thrill racing through your veins. Despite the warning bells that rang in the recesses of your mind, you couldn't deny the pull he had over you, the magnetic attraction that drew you closer with each passing moment, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the storage room. You knew that this was wrong, and yet, as his breath ghosted over your skin, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

You would never deny it, but you could not accept it and return his affections the way he wished you would. This was temporary. You never planned to stay in Anubis for longer than needed. It was not where you belonged, and the criminal underbelly of the Bronx was not the life you had envisioned for yourself.

You could not understand what made him stay away from you for such a long time. But it certainly created an opening for you to re-think your next steps.

Somehow, being twenty-one did make you feel the anticipation of living a life. Almost twenty-two when you graduated from college that could be paid as your earnings in Anubis allowed so. Slowly, your little life in the farthest corner of Bronx would come to an end and you could move into the city. Get a job, maybe even a man and kids later. You wanted that white-picket-fence life and you knew that if you wanted to live it peacefully, staying here was not an option.

Your father was strongly against you leaving even though he never approved of the life you led in the dark of nights. He was not a saint either, his hands stained with the same sins that plagued the streets of the Bronx. There was no man in the whole New York City that would not know the name Kim Namjoon and your father was not an exception. Although, you never had the courage to mention his name and acknowledge that the man your father praises when he drinks his beer and plays poker with his drunkard old pals, is spending his evenings talking to you.

"I tell ya all, that Namjoon boy has got a head on his shoulders like no other," your father's voice boomed across the small kitchen.

"A real businessman, that one," a flicker of unease stirring in the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar glint of admiration in your step-father's eyes. Namjoon's name hung in the air between you, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between you in the shadows of Anubis.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up running this whole city someday, right, Peaches?" You forced a smile, a wave of uncertainty washing over you as you considered the implications of your father's words. Namjoon's ambitions were as vast as the city itself, his influence reaching far beyond the confines of Anubis and the criminal underworld it symbolized.

"That's Mr. Jung's place, dad," you shook your head disapprovingly but with a smile on your face. His comrades laughed and shared similar ideas as he did though.

"That would be a boy for your Peaches," one of his comrades chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen as they continued to sing Namjoon's praises after you only silently smiled again and opted not to respond. Your father however scoffed. He praised him, yes. But would he approve of his only child being with such a man like Namjoon is?

"When are you leaving for the city, young Missy?" Old man whose name you've never known asked with a cigarette in his mouth, looking over his cards rather than your way.

"Don't even support her in that big apple bullshit." You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of support, but you were not surprised. You glanced around the kitchen, meeting the eyes of the men gathered there, each one offering their own opinion on your future. Some nodded in agreement with your step-father, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Don't listen to those old men, child—"

"You got dreams, girl. Don't let nobody hold you back from chasing 'em.”

Truth to be told. The job, white fence, man and kids were not your dreams. You did not really know what to dream of, being restricted in such a dark part of the world that Bronx was for many, you did not even know why you hate your home like that. And you certainly weren’t even sure what is it to have a dream. But you hoped you’ll create some once you step your foot down, somewhere else than here. It doesn’t have to be Manhattan in particular. Anywhere but here is fine.

"Peaches, love, be sweet and bring us another beer from the fridge on your way to work, would ya?"

The request snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present moment. With a nod, you forced a smile, hiding the turmoil within as you moved to comply with his request. You were sure you'd be late to your shift at Anubis yet again, but you knew that Namjoon would turn a blind eye. He always did when it came to you.

But Namjoon was not present the moment you stepped into Anubis that night. As you made your way through the dimly lit interior of Anubis, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a heavy blanket. The usual hustle and bustle of the bar seemed muted, the air thick with tension as you approached the bar.

Mrs. Jung was still nowhere to be found and therefore, for a few months, Namjoon had replaced her. But tonight he was not here. He usually came around ten p.m. and stayed until you cleaned the very last table and closed the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and set about your duties, determined to carry on despite the growing sense of unease that lingered in the air. But as the night wore on, the feeling of dread only intensified, leaving you on edge as you awaited Namjoon's return.

You watched the sun rising through the large windows that let the light come into the bar that was still beaming with a significant number of people of various ages. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Where could he be? Why hadn't he shown up as usual? The questions nagged at you, fueling the unease that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Peaches?!" You heard the voice of one of the local and returning customers from the other side of the dancing floor. He was a friend. Or so you thought. He raised two fingers into the air and in a second you were already pouring the brownish liquid of Jung's Whiskey into the crystal-clear glasses.

You walked over to the table he was sitting at alongside a face you'd never seen before. Thanking you for the drinks, he pointed his thumb to the man sitting next to him.

"Peaches, Jinyoung—"

"Jinyoung, Peaches."

You offered a polite smile, acknowledging the introduction as you set down the drinks on the table. The unfamiliar man, Jinyoung, returned the gesture with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Nice to meet you, Jinyoung," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Jinyoung's gaze met yours, his eyes dark and probing as if searching for something within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort under his scrutiny, a feeling that only added to the unease already gnawing at your insides. Something about him set off alarm bells in your mind, a primal instinct warning you to tread carefully.

"What's a beauty like you doing tucked in Anubis?" Jinyoung asked, his voice smooth and velvety. You glanced around the dimly lit bar, suddenly aware of the eyes that seemed to linger on you from every corner, not understanding why.

"I... I work here," you said, a sudden shyness prevailing on the surface. You never really engaged with other men apart from Namjoon. For some reason, each time a man approached you, all of them quickly backed out, opting to not even look your way. For a long time, you did not know what you did wrong to chase them all away. But you got to know that night.

Jinyoung's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I can offer you a better job, beauty," his words dripping with a seductive allure, and in that moment, you decided you needed to get back to work ASAP. He sounded like trouble you did not want on your last days here.

"I... I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite content here," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You sure? I could have good use of someone like you, Peaches." Your heart pounded in your chest as Jinyoung's words washed over you. He played with your name on his tongue, and you had a hint that the job he was offering you would be something much worse than working in Anubis.

"Easy, Jinyoung, that's Namjoon's girl you're talking to." Jackson finally spoke up as if he heard your little begging in your head, but this was not what you expected him to say. Were you Namjoon's girl? Years went by and he merely brushed upon your hand with his own. There was no attempt to woo you directly. So how come everyone saw it this way—you as Namjoon's girl?

"I'm not Namjoon's girl—" you said, standing your ground for once. You saw Jackson's eyes widen and Jinyoung smirk at your remark.

"I'm no one's girl—"

"Nonetheless, thanks for the offer but I have to decline." Jinyoung's smirk widened at your words, his gaze flickering with amusement as if he found your defiance entertaining. A second later you were on your way back to the bar. He was Jackson's friend, but he was crude and he did not understand he ought to fuck off. The grip you suddenly felt on your upper arm was painful enough to make you wince, yanking you back as you squinted your eyes from the pain of his touch.

"What makes you say no if you're no one's slu—" your ears picked up his words before they were silenced. Forever. His last words were cut off by a deafening gunshot, leaving you frozen in shock. The sound of it still ringing in your ears as you turned to see the source of the chaos. There, standing with a smoking gun in his hand, was Namjoon, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Jinyoung's lifeless form. One side of Jackson's face was covered in blood that was his friend's, his shock mirroring your own. And you were scared to even move an inch.

Namjoon had just killed a man in cold blood, he shot him right in front of you. Without mercy. Panic surged through you as you realized the gravity of what had just transpired. The grip he had on your upper arm weakened yet remained even after his head fell down. It was a clear shot to the side of his head.

By now, half of the bar emptied, only those underworld rats stayed unfazed. Namjoon was always so calm, so collected. But now, he looked like a completely different person. The bar had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You wanted to run, but your legs failed you, unable to move as the reality of the situation sank in.

"What—" your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to say, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You reached to pull your hand away from Jinyoung's lifeless grip and while you struggled to do so, the scenery before you was not helping you to calm down. The side of his head blown up, you could see parts of his brain, immediately making you empty your stomach on the floor. The fact that Namjoon hadn't said a word since he literally came out of nowhere was not contributing to the situation either.

You heard his smooth voice but it was too muffled at this point. He was giving orders to Jackson, but you did not understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Your head was spinning and the room felt like a carousel.

"Why would you—" you began to stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The question died on your lips, swallowed by the overwhelming sense of dread that hung heavy in the air. Namjoon had just committed an act of unspeakable violence, ending a man's life without a second thought. Nothing will be the same ever again. You stayed out of all the illegalness that surrounded Anubis on purpose. What eyes don't see, heart doesn't hurt. What you don't know, can't hurt you. But now you eye-witnessed such brutality and he won't let you walk away to the other end of the rainbow.

You did not expect him to hear you nor even answer your remark, but of course, Kim Namjoon was always here to listen to you.

"He touched you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, jolting you out of your stunned silence. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was issuing a warning, a chilling reminder of the consequences of crossing him. Looking him in the eye, he looked like a possessive maniac, like someone determined to protect what he perceived as his.

"He didn't—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of Namjoon's scrutiny. Yet you stopped yourself to think whether Jinyoung's intentions were harmless or not. You remembered the way Jinyoung had leered at you, his touch lingering where it shouldn't have.

"No one can touch you, Peaches."

You felt a chill run down your spine as the weight of his words settled over you. It wasn't just a declaration; it was a promise, a vow to protect you at any cost. But beneath the surface, you sensed something darker, something primal and possessive that sent chills down your body.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, but you knew better than to voice them.

That night you started to hate each and every gaze he threw your way when you were working, all the men running away after uttering a single word to you, and all the remarks about you being Namjoon's girl.

But were you ready to be Namjoon's girl? To be part of his world?

You sit up, the sheets clinging to your skin like a shroud, and confront the spectres that linger above. Even after some weeks, you still cannot shake off the tremor you've experienced that night.

"Peaches?!" You heard your father's voice. You were hidden in the confines of your small room for days now, coming out only to take a bottle of water, and even that you managed to minimize by taking the whole six-pack. You couldn't bring yourself to respond.

The look in Namjoon's eyes, the sound of the gunshot ringing in your ears, the sight of Jinyoung's lifeless body—all of it was seared into your mind, haunting you like a relentless spectre. You needed some time. But it was running out quickly.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you remained silent, grappling with the weight of the choices that lay before you. You packed your bag last night, all the cash stuffed inside at various places, just to be turned right back on your heel by two muscular men you'd never met before. The color they wore was emerald green, and you quickly understood that those were Jung soldiers, if you could call them that.

Your father was similarly confused. His eyes were darting between you and the soldiers as he struggled to make sense of the situation. So here you are, awaiting when he will decide to collect you. What is he waiting for? You knew that your time was running out; you just didn't know exactly when it would run out.

In that moment that night, you missed the Namjoon you thought he was. All you could see was a stranger, a dangerous man whose actions had shattered your illusions and left you reeling in their wake. Yes, you knew his line of work, but you'd rather not see it with your own two eyes. You'd rather stay oblivious to who he really was just to keep the picture of the Namjoon you knew hanging a little bit longer.

"You can't hide there forever." And you certainly did not plan to, but coming out to see your father's worried face after he sees how disheveled you look could wait for another day or so. You did not know what Namjoon intended to achieve by making you a prisoner in your own home.

Every fiber of your being wanted to hate Namjoon, but you did not know whether that was even possible with how smart that man was with his mouth.

This cage of fear and uncertainty made you uneasy. The wind that forcefully closed your window awoke you from your thoughts. You lived on the second floor of an old block of apartments. You moved toward the old rusted window, cautiously pushing it open again. The cool night air rushed to meet your cheeks, and you closed your eyes to feel it.

Peering down, you assessed the drop. It wasn't too high, and the fire escape just below offered a feasible route. Why had it not occurred to you earlier?

"Peaches, please, talk to me. They've been saying that you can't go out and should wait for sajangnim Kim."

Your father's voice was strained, a mix of concern and frustration. You hesitated, torn between the urge to reassure him and the pressing need to just run for the hills before it was too late for you.

What you realized in the moment, listening to his muffled pleas, was that this might be the last time you'd see him. You couldn't come back to the Bronx ever again. Nor New York. You weren't sure exactly what the magnitude of Jung's power was that Namjoon shared, but you had the hunch that wherever you'd hide in this state, he would find you.

"Dad?" you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a lump in your throat, the weight of the impending goodbye pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"I'm here, Peaches," your father responded, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, come out. We'll figure this out." Tears welled up in your eyes as you clung to the closed door.

"It's no go, Dad."

"Please, just open the door." His voice was closer now, just outside the door.

You glanced around your room, grabbing your packed bag and slipping it over your shoulder.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry. Bye—"

With a final, sorrowful glance toward the door, you slipped out of the window, your feet finding purchase on the metal grating of the fire escape. You descended quickly, not daring to look back. The metal stairs creaked under your weight, each step taking you further from the life you knew. You needed to disappear.

You had no shoes on, and the white tank top clung to your skin, outlining your curves and breasts. The night air was cool against your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth of your tears. The metal of the stairs felt rough under your bare feet, but you pushed forward until you were all the way down.

Catching your breath and glancing around the dimly lit alleyway, the city felt oppressively silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. As you took a step forward, a soft scoff resonated in your ears, leaving you standing there frozen. The man was totally invisible in the dark shadows of the alley between the buildings until he pulled out his zippo lighter to light a cigarette, illuminating his face. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where are you headed, Peaches?"

The man who was casually leaning against the cold bricks wasn't unfamiliar to you. You, as a barmaid at Anubis, had the extravagant privilege to meet four out of the big seven. Kim Taehyung being one of them, standing here in front of you.

"Mr. Kim," you breathed, dread pooling in your stomach. You were on a first-name basis only with Namjoon even though they all scolded you, especially your lady boss, for being way too formal and polite, making them feel older than they actually are. Truth be told, you were putting some distance between them, but you utterly failed to do so with Namjoon, and here you are, on the run.

"I'm your family now, Peaches," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You should start getting used to that, so drop the mister finally."

You gritted your teeth, trying to steady your nerves as you faced Taehyung. "Taehyung," you corrected yourself, though the informal address felt wrong on your tongue.

"That's better, what a good girl you can be," he said with a smirk, taking a step closer. His presence felt suffocating, a reminder of the dangerous world you had stumbled into.

"Why are you here, Taehyung?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, Peaches?" Taehyung countered, his tone filled with amusement. You bit the inside of your mouth, feeling the nerves tighten their grip on you.

"Getting some fresh air," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'fresh air' like sneaking out of your window in the dead of night," he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. "I just needed to clear my head," you said, hoping he would buy your flimsy excuse.

"You are not planning to do anything stupid now, Peaches, right?" You paused, considering your response carefully. Taehyung's tone, though casual, carried a hint of warning that sent a shiver down your spine. You slightly shook your head to show dismissal.

"Namjoon-hyung said you looked pretty shaken up that night." You couldn't help but tense at Taehyung's mention of Namjoon, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. You had tried to bury the memories of that night deep within you, but they continued to resurface, haunting your every thought.

"I'm fine," you replied, forcing a tight smile. "Just had a rough night, that's all."

"It looks like you're about to have another one to me." Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's ominous remark, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Despite his casual demeanor, there was an underlying tension in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rising sense of unease.

"Unzipped duffle bag, dollar bills fell from it while you were going down, that looks like you were very eager to get that fresh air."

"I... I was just going for a walk," you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.

"Without putting your shoes on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taehyung's scrutiny bearing down on you. "I couldn't sleep," you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I needed some fresh air to clear my head.” You repeat yourself, but you know that you can’t fool him no matter what.

Taehyung's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shrugged, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Well, you certainly know how to make an exit," he remarked, his smirk never faltering.

You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Guess I've always had a flair for the dramatic," you quipped, though the words rang hollow in your ears.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That you do, Peaches. That you do," he said cryptically, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"You know, Namjoon doesn't like it when his... family goes missing," he said, the emphasis on 'family' making you flinch. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy stream.

You clenched your fists, feeling trapped. "I'm not missing," you said, your voice firmer than before. "I'm right here."

"I'd probably get a head start if I were you." Taehyung nodded slowly, as if considering your words.

Your heart pounded in your chest. "A head start?"

He took another drag, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'm not a monster, Peaches. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He was actually giving you a chance to run, but this time you would know someone was after you. You glanced around, calculating your options. The streets were empty, but you knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Five minutes, Peaches. Starting now."

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the pavement. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you sprinted down the alley, knowing that Taehyung's smirk was etched in your mind.

You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get as far away as possible. Everything blurred as you pushed yourself to run faster, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

If you hide well, he can't find you, can he? You just have to find yourself a place to hide until morning and then you can wait till sunrise, get to the airport and fly to the first destination that will pop up.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

The five minutes neared their end, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden forever. You had to keep moving, keep putting distance between you and Taehyung. Peering through the leaves, you scanned the area, your mind racing through possible routes and hiding spots.

"If I don’t bring you back, he'll come instead, Peaches!" Taehyung's voice echoed through, taunting you.

"You don't want to anger him, do you now?"

You needed a plan, and fast. Glancing around, you noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings, just wide enough for you to squeeze through. It might lead you to a different part of the neighborhood, giving you a chance to lose Taehyung in the labyrinth of backstreets.

You bolted towards the passageway, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The alley was narrow and dark, but you pushed forward, heart pounding in your chest. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night.

"They all run at first, Peaches—" Taehyung's voice echoed, closer now. "You're cute thinking you have a chance to get away."

It was way too narrow even if you put your bag down from your shoulder and dragged it as you tried to squeeze through. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night, and you were scared that he would get to you soon. You knew he was out there, somewhere, searching for you.

"Although, my mind is troubled. Why, out of all of them, do you run?" There was a pause, then a chuckle.

You pushed yourself harder, feeling the rough brick walls scrape against your skin. You needed to keep moving, but you also needed a moment to think. The airport was too far, especially when they were already looking for you. You thought you were clever to disappear through the window as if you were in some cheesy cliché movie.

"Namjoon-hyung was always good to you, wasn't he?" He was. Until the moment someone else's brain was blown up by him right in front of you, simply because of his possessiveness while he never made you two exclusive. Or at least you thought so, as it showed—you were claimed by him sooner than you actually realized. You felt the panic rising in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you.

"You have no reason to run, Peaches," Taehyung's voice was taunting, echoing off the walls. "Namjoon-hyung will be so disappointed when he finds out how far you've gone." You ignored the majority of his words, focusing on finding a way out.

You closed your eyes and tried to think harder this time. The old train yard—bingo—it was on the outskirts of the city. It was abandoned, a place where few people ventured. If you could make it there, you might be able to find a boxcar to hide in until morning.

"Family doesn't abandon family, Peaches!" You heard his voice again, this time more distant.

Emerging from the passageway, you found yourself in a small courtyard. It was littered with old furniture and discarded trash; the smell was awful, but you didn't have time to dwell on that.

You listened intently, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog.

You stuck to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. The train yard was a long way off, but it was your best shot at staying out of immediate reach. Or so you thought.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footstep made you jump. You forced yourself to stay calm, to focus on the path ahead. Panicking would only slow you down.

The city's edge came into view, the silhouette of the train yard looming in the distance. You quickened your pace, the sight of your potential sanctuary giving you a burst of energy. You crossed the threshold into the yard, the rusted tracks and abandoned cars offering a twisted sense of comfort.

An old boxcar with the door slightly ajar beckoned to you. You slipped inside, the smell of rust and decay filling your nostrils. You closed the door behind you, plunging the space into darkness. It was cramped and musty, but it was hidden.

Sinking to the floor, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Your body ached, your feet throbbed, but you had made it. For now, you were safe. You could only hope that Taehyung would give up the chase, or at least lose your trail long enough for you to figure out your next move.

The sound of gravel crunching outside the boxcar woke you up and consequently made your heart jump into your throat. You held your breath, straining to listen. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, echoing through the stillness of the night.

You held your breath, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The footsteps drew closer, each crunch of gravel sending a shockwave through your body. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it Taehyung? Or perhaps someone else stumbling upon your hiding spot?

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't throw her over your shoulder and take her back to her room." The older male shot him a glare.

"Oh come the fuck on, you're one to talk." It was Taehyung's voice, laced with frustration and annoyance.

“I did not lose her, I gave her choice and she chose wrong, she’ll be back though, in no time.” The younger one scoffed and Taehyung quirked his brows, evidently amused by his brother.

"Well, at least that was my woman I lost and not our Hyung's." The tattooed heartthrob spat his friend's way when he heard his scoff.

"This isn't really my job. I'm only doing this because Namjoon cares about her too much to leave someone incompetent to watch her until he'll come back."

“Or you’re the only one without a woman, Tae.” You heard a little thump as if he jokingly punched him and the other voice chuckled. But first and foremost –

Namjoon's away. He did not come for you as he's away, and if away means out of the state, you have a bigger chance to make an exit than you originally thought.

Seeing him would only make things worse. Listening to his sweet melodies of words would make you doubt what Taehyung initiated—you have no reason to run. Apart from that, you do. He was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime, his life a constant dance between power and peril. While his charming demeanor and enigmatic presence had drawn you in, you knew that his lifestyle came with its own set of risks and consequences.

He operated in the shadows, his actions dictated by a code of loyalty to his comrades and ruthlessness towards his enemies. At least that's what you heard people talk about the Jungs and their family man.

You didn't think there was room for innocence. But were you innocent? You had blood on your hands. Jinyoung's. You had been complicit in his demise. While it wasn't you who pulled the trigger, you were the motive.

As the voices grew louder, you strained to make out what they were saying. The sound of footsteps approached the boxcar, each one sending a jolt of fear through you. Were they getting closer? Were they about to open the door and drag you out into the open?

"I did not expect her to play the game that well, I have to give her that," Taehyung remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. Your heart raced as you listened to their conversation.

"Smart, just like he is."

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the boxcar, and you braced yourself for the door to swing open at any moment. Every nerve in your body was on edge, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

But instead of the door creaking open, the voices began to fade away, the gravel crunching underfoot growing softer as they moved further away. Relief washed over you in waves, but you remained cautious, waiting until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared entirely before allowing yourself to relax.

You stayed hidden in the darkness of the boxcar, unsure of how much time had passed. Eventually, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you exhausted and drained. You were scared that they were waiting outside and the moment you decided to move places would be fatal for you.

The growl in your stomach was loud, echoing in the empty boxcar. You hadn't eaten in what felt like an eternity, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to take its toll. Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever or you'd die of hunger very soon.

Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever. Peeking through the small gap, you scanned the area. The night was still, and there was no sign of Taehyung or anyone else.

Slipping out of the boxcar, you kept to the shadows, moving quietly and quickly. You needed to find food, but more importantly, you needed to find a safer place to hide. If you couldn't reach the airport, you'd have to wait somewhere until you were considered off the radar. Would Namjoon lose his interest if he knew you were gone for good? You hoped so, but you also strongly doubted that. The man had had his eyes set on you for three years or so, without ever losing interest in you.

The city was vast, with many nooks and crannies where you could potentially evade capture, but you moved in the dead of the night cautiously. Slowly closing the distance between the convenience store at least ten blocks from your home, its lights were still on and you thanked the almighty, or more so the 24 hour market in front of you.

The store seemed deserted, only a shabby-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting behind the counter, half asleep. You slipped inside, quickly grabbing some food and water before leaving to pay at the counter. When the doorbell rang indicating that a customer entered the small store, you froze in place.

You ducked behind a shelf, hoping the dim lighting and cluttered aisles would conceal you. Peering through a gap between products, you saw a figure enter. You may be paranoid but you wouldn't take the risk when you had managed to not be caught for what seemed like hours. You knew better.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of your heartbeat almost louder than the growling stomach from earlier. You clutched the food tightly, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment to quickly throw the few bucks on the counter and make your leave. You straightened a little.

It wasn't him. It was just a person that resembled him. With a rush of relief, you moved to the counter. The shabby-looking clerk barely glanced up as you placed your items down and reached into your pocket for the money. Just as you were about to pay, a hand slammed the money down on the counter in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes widened.

You looked up slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Taehyung stood beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold, triumphant smile.

"My treat," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The clerk, oblivious to the tension, lazily rang up the items and handed the change to Taehyung. He pocketed it without breaking eye contact with you.

You acted rather quickly after you regained your senses, but the exit was blocked by the man you saw earlier. How could you not recognize the famous heartthrob of this decade, Jeon Jungkook? Only a few people knew of his connection to the Jungs, Kims, and Parks.

"Going somewhere?" Jungkook's voice was smooth and exactly identical to the one you heard outside of the boxcar, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down your spine. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Panic surged through you as you realized your escape route was cut off. You glanced around the store, searching for another way out, but Taehyung's hand clamped down on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

The clerk did not care to intervene; he knew their faces and what they represented. One girl was not worth the trouble for him.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You had no choice but to follow, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. As you stepped out of the store, the chilly night air hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence of Taehyung beside you. You scanned the street for any potential way out, but Taehyung's grip on your arm tightened, steering you toward a nearby alley.

You stumbled slightly, trying to keep pace with him. The alley was dark and narrow, the perfect place for someone to disappear. Desperation surged through you, fueling your determination. You had to find a way out of this.

"You lasted more than I expected, Peaches. I have to give you that." You fought to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. Taehyung's voice, usually smooth and melodic, now held an edge of something darker, something sinister.

"But it's time to go home."

The weight of his intentions pressed down on you like a heavy stone. You did not know what home he was speaking of. Your home? Namjoon's home? You'd never been there; you couldn't know what home he meant. But something told you that wherever he'd take you, "home" would be a gilded cage, a place of confinement disguised as comfort.

You remained silent, your jaw clenched in defiance as you continued to walk, your eyes darting around the alley for any sign of escape. But every corner seemed to lead to another dead end, and the walls closed in around you like a vice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the desperation hit your nerves. Taehyung's grip tightened slightly, as if warning you against any further attempts at escape.

"There was no need to run, Peaches." Wasn't there? You stopped to think for a minute. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With a sudden burst of strength, you twisted out of Taehyung's grip and bolted. The sound of his shout echoed behind you, but you didn't look back. You darted through the maze of backstreets, your only goal to put as much distance between you and Taehyung as possible.

Reaching a dead end, you spotted a fire escape ladder. Without a second thought, you began climbing, your fingers slipping on the cold metal. You reached the rooftop, not daring to look back as you sprinted across the gravel. The cityscape stretched before you, a chaotic playground of rooftops and danger.

You leaped from one building to the next, each landing jarring your bones, but you couldn't stop. You heard Taehyung's voice calling your name, a mix of frustration and anger, but you didn't dare slow down. You reached the edge of a particularly wide gap between buildings and hesitated, just a split second too long.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back. You thrashed, but the grip was unyielding. Jungkook's face came into view, his expression grim. He was faster than Taehyung, and you knew your chances to outrun him were slight, but you still hoped.

"You can't run forever, Peaches," he said quietly, almost regretfully. You could hear Taehyung's leather boots stomping against the roof's concrete and his ragged breath in unison.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, but he held firm. Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Just then, you heard the uncomfortable digital sound of the Motorola flip phone that was in Taehyung's hand once he stopped in front of you.

"Hmm?" Taehyung answered the phone and ended the gut-wrenching sound. You knew who was on the other side of the line. Jungkook still held you securely, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was a pause, and then he handed you the phone.

"Your Mr. Man wants to speak to you."

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the phone heavy in your hand. With a deep breath, you brought it to your ear, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Namjoon.

"Hello?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You're losing sleep, love," he said, his tone smooth but laced with a menacing undertone. You took a shaky breath.

"S-so are you." He chuckled. You bit the inside of your lip out of nerves.

"I'd sleep better if you came back to me like the good girl I know you are."

The mixture of his charm and underlying threat was intoxicating and terrifying.

"I can't, Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't live like this anymore. I never wanted to live like this, and you knew that."

"Life is just about to begin for you, love—" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Our life," he added, and your grip tightened around the phone.

"What does that even mean?" you demanded, a mix of anger and desperation coloring your words.

"It means," he began, his voice smooth yet chilling, "that whatever you fear, we'll figure this out together."

"Please, Namjoon," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Let me go. I can't. I just can't," you cried out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, hoping against hope that he might relent. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Freedom is an illusion, love," he said, almost gently. "The only freedom you'll ever have is with me. Now, come back. We'll talk this through, and I promise you, everything will be fine. Just trust me."

"Namjoon—"

"Peaches—" he quickly interrupted your attempt to plead again.

"Don't make me take harsher measures to ensure you'll come back to me." His tone grew colder, the underlying threat unmistakable.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked, a tremor in your voice.

"You know what I can do. It would be a shame if the same thing happened to someone else you care about." His words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

You looked at Jungkook and Taehyung, their faces impassive yet resolute. They were ready to enforce Namjoon's will, no matter the cost.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you asked, voice quivering.

"We can talk about that once you come home," Namjoon replied, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"Namjoon, please..." you started, desperation lacing your words.

"Enough, Peaches," he cut you off sharply. "You know what's at stake. I expect you back within an hour. Hand the phone to Taehyung."

With a heavy heart, you handed the phone back to Taehyung. He took it, his eyes filled with a mix of pity, but you didn't think it was genuine. You felt Jungkook's grip loosen slightly, but not enough to let you go.

Taehyung listened to Namjoon for a moment, then nodded. "Understood," he said before hanging up. He looked at you, his expression resigned.

"Let's go," he said softly.

You don't even know how you managed to fall asleep in the car. They took your bag, draped a warm blanket over you, and sat you down on the back seat. You did not protest anymore, even though the thought of jumping out of the car went through your head briefly.

You thought of your father, your friends, and everyone you ever met and cared for when he took the ultimate move that would make you leave everything in a heartbeat. You don't want more blood on your hands.

At the same time, you could not understand why Namjoon would take such harsh measures. This wasn't the Namjoon you knew—heck, you don't even know if you ever knew that man.

The lavish room surrounding you was magnificent and screaming one name: Namjoon. Even his scent was clinging to every single piece of the room. The silk sheets clung to your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes again. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the room.

You could hear the audible difference in your surroundings. The Bronx had a distinctive hum, a chaotic symphony of life and struggle. But this—this was different. The sounds outside the open window were unmistakably Manhattan. The distant buzz of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the muffled chatter of people far below created a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Every moment spent here felt like a betrayal to the life you once knew, the people you once loved. But escape wasn't just about physical freedom—it was about breaking free from the psychological chains Namjoon had wrapped around you.

You did not know whether you weren't running for the hills now because this oddly feels like you are meant to be here or because you don't know if you should. You spent a lot of time rolling around and thinking about this. You had not come to a conclusion yet. You'd only decided that you would give him the courtesy to talk after all the years that he and his family supported you by giving you a job.

With that resolve, you climbed out of bed, feeling the weight of silk sheets slipping away. The cold floor sent a shiver up your spine, bringing you fully awake. You made your way to the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror staring back at you. You need a haircut, maybe even a new hair color.

The shower's hot water provided a temporary refuge, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. After drying off, you dressed in clothes Namjoon had probably laid out for you—an unspoken reminder of his control.

You entered the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast hung in the air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of bacon and eggs, momentarily distracting you. You were starving.

As you moved further into the room, a sudden noise made you jump. Startled, you turned to see a figure in a white chef's uniform bustling about the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you.

"Good morning, Misses Kim," he said with a polite nod. "I didn't expect you to be up so early.” The title he used sent a shiver down your spine. Misses Kim. It was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating you with the weight of an identity that wasn’t yours to claim. You overlooked yourself and your attire.

You could see your bra-less breasts and perky nipples through that white tanktop, but the chef was trained well enough to not look that way. He would most likely be beheaded by Namjoon if he would dare to look that way.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of nerves and hunger. You forced a small smile.

The chef, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, set down the spatula he was holding and wiped his hands on a towel. "My name is Seo Kang-joon, Misses Kim. I'm Sajangnim's private chef—" you figured that much. Of course that man has a private chef when he cannot boil a potato for the love of God.

"He tasked me to make you some breakfast and tell you he'll be with you shortly," he explained, gesturing to the array of food laid out on the counter.

You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your stomach growled audibly, and despite the chaos in your mind, the food before you was an undeniable lure. You picked up a piece of toast, buttering it slowly as Kang-joon resumed his work.

"How long have you been working for Namjoon?" you asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than your own anxious thoughts.

Kang-joon glanced up from the stove, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "About three years now," he replied. "I've switched with my Appa; he was working for the Kims for two generations and now it's my turn—"

"That's a long time," you said, taking a bite of the toast, the warmth of the food providing a small comfort.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "Namjoon is a good employer, he's always treated us fairly. And he cares about you a great deal—"

"I've seen you before, didn't I?" you interrupted, suddenly recalling a moment that had slipped through your mind like sand.

"At the private party last month. You were serving food, right?"

Kang-joon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, that was me. I remember seeing you there, although you were quite busy too—"

You were supposed to be waitressing the tables, plural, yet you only waitressed one table that night. As per usual.

"Yep, that was my reality, I guess," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before all of this."

Kang-joon's expression turned somber, and he stopped cooking momentarily.

"Namjoon doesn't let anyone near you, but I've seen how happy you make him. He's different around you." Of course he thinks so. You don't blame him for his inability to see through this. It's not his place.

You fell silent, pondering his words. The chaos of Namjoon's life and the dark undercurrents that surrounded him felt suffocating. "But at what cost?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"He means well—" he paused his thought and got silent, and you knew that means only one thing.

"I appreciate your loyalty to him," you said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your lips.

"Good morning, love," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes darted between you and Kang-joon, who stood with a spatula in hand, caught in the moment. "I hope you're both having a pleasant chat."

Kang-joon bowed slightly, and you could see the way he was careful to keep his composure, even as the atmosphere shifted with Namjoon's presence. "I was just finishing up breakfast, Sajangnim," he said politely. "Miss Kim and I were discussing your—"

"Thank you, Kang-joon," Namjoon interrupted, his tone suggesting a mixture of gratitude and an underlying tension. "I can take it from here."

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. You looked at him, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to demand answers.

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

The air crackled with tension as Namjoon's words hung in the space between you, a provocation that sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your breath hitch, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through you.

"So that's the plan now?" you lowered your voice.

His expression softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict etched across his features. "I thought you'd want that kind of future with me, Peaches. I thought we were on the same page from day one."

Despite Namjoon's willingness to talk, the remnants of fear and frustration churned within you, threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. Your heart raced, the urge to flee growing stronger. He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

"I love you, baby."

Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a tumultuous blend of emotions crashing over you. You stood up from the stool you were sitting at, calmly aiming for the door. You didn't know what you were doing with this lame attempt to flee.

"Hey—" he shouted, but you did not stop. You could feel Namjoon's gaze burning into your back as you moved toward the door, his loud steps right behind you making you speed up the process.

You couldn't stop. The need to escape overwhelmed you, propelling you forward. You flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the silence that followed.

"Peaches!" he shouted again, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. The door rattled on its hinges as he leaned against it, trying to process what had just happened.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he had pushed too hard, but he couldn't help it.

You trembled under him, still facing the door while his arm was outstretched, palms on the door, blocking you from opening it again. Your breath quickened as you stood there, the cool metal of the doorknob biting into your palm. You could feel Namjoon's presence behind you.

"Let me go, Namjoon," you demanded, your voice steady but wavering just slightly. The pounding of your heart felt like a war drum, urging you to flee, to escape this suffocating moment.

"You would come back to me nonetheless." You turned around to face him, your expression a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

"What makes you think I would?" you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. The intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within you.

"Because you love me back—" He leaned down, not giving you time to argue, and seized the chance to crash his lips down on yours for the first time.

His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. Your heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as his tongue danced with yours in a heated embrace.

Namjoon's fingers dug into your skin, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was trying to brand you as his own. The kiss was raw, primal, and all-consuming, leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

Namjoon's eyes locked onto yours, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. With a low growl, he pulled you close again, his lips crashing down on yours once more as the world around you continued to spin.

As the kiss broke, Namjoon pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm not done being angry," you said, your voice low but unwavering. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it both thrilled and terrified you.

Namjoon's brow furrowed slightly, surprise mingling with the intensity in his gaze. "I know that," he replied, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.

"Good," you spoke right to his lips, your heart still racing from the kiss. The mix of confusion and desire swirled within you, and you struggled to keep your composure.

The cognac brown couch was very comfortable, its soft cushions inviting you to sink in and relax. A glass coffee table with sleek chrome legs stood in front of it, its surface adorned with a stack of art books, a few scattered magazines, and a vintage crystal ashtray. So Namjoon.

A large, floor-to-ceiling window occupied one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A Persian rug, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, covered the polished hardwood floor, adding a touch of warmth and history to the contemporary space. Again, so Namjoon.

He was crouched down by the fireplace that dominated the place, his back to you. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, its light dancing over Namjoon's broad shoulders. He started the fire because he saw you shivering. But that had nothing to do with you being cold, and deep down he knew that too. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the floor as he stared into the flames.

You walked over to him, your footsteps silent on the plush rug. As you approached, Namjoon turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours. You sat down next to him.

"So, how do you imagine all this working?" you asked, your voice gentle yet tinged with the underlying frustration you felt.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Just like it did till now."

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

"So I'm gonna go back to working in Anubis and you are going to keep shooting everyone who gets closer to me?!" you said, a bit harsher than you intended. Namjoon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration.

"You are not coming back to work in Anubis, let's start with that," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"My oh my, now you want to take the source of my income too." Namjoon shifted slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"You're my woman, Peaches. You don't need to work for money anymore," he started, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You can't be serious."

"Women in our clan don't work for decades, my woman is not gonna work either. At least not like that—" You narrowed your eyes, feeling a mixture of disbelief and intrigue at his declaration.

"That's not who I am, Namjoon." He leaned in closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over his chiseled features.

"Baby, I'm not asking you. I'm offering you the life you always deserved." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

"I've always been able to take care of myself."

“So now let me take care of you, sweetling.”

Your mind raced as you considered his words. The allure of a life without the constant threat of violence, without the stress of making ends meet, was tempting. But was it worth giving up your autonomy?

“You can still pursue your passions. I’m not taking that away from you,—” Namjoon paused, his expression softening.

“But no Anubis,” he took your hands into his.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly. He held your gaze, the firelight flickering across his face, illuminating the resolve etched in his features.

“I think I made my intentions strictly clear today.” He chuckled and exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m not just talking about safety and comfort, Peaches. I’m talking about us. About building a life together.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was determination.

“You want me to be your… what, exactly?” You knew, you just still didn’t want to believe it.

Namjoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing rhythm. “I want you to be mine—”

“Mind and body, heart and soul.” Namjoon's voice was low and earnest, each word weighted with sincerity.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the depth of what he was asking. “You mean… you want me to commit completely? To be yours in every sense?”

“And I’ll be yours.” He nodded, his eyes unwavering, filled with a mixture of affection and intensity. You felt a rush of emotions—a blend of excitement and fear.

“I can give you a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder, where you can focus on what truly matters to you—your dreams, your passions, us.”

The promise of safety and love hung heavy in the air between you, and while the thought was tempting, a part of you still clung to your independence. It would be nice not to work long night hours in a bar full of drunk people to make ends meet. Not walking home with keys in your hand in case someone would jump you over or worse. Not living in a small old rusty apartment with your father who barely brought any income home.

The fire crackled softly, and you could feel the warmth radiating from it, mirroring the warmth blooming in your chest.

“I need time.” Namjoon’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed your words. But he didn’t let go of your hands. Instead, he brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze unwavering.

“Time,” he echoed, the word almost foreign as it left his mouth. “You already had plenty of time.” The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity etched into every line.

“You think time will change how you feel? Or how much I want you?” You felt a tremor run through you at the weight of his words. It was suffocating and yet strangely comforting, like a trap laced with silk, binding you softly but securely.

“No, Namjoon, I’m just—” Namjoon’s fingers brushed along your jawline, tipping your face up so that you met his gaze directly.

“I get that this must be overwhelming for you, but the time you are asking for is already up and done—”

“I didn’t know it was ticking,” you began, voice barely more than a whisper. Namjoon tilted his head, studying you, his lips quirking into a small, almost understanding smile.

“No more hidden exits, no more plans to escape. I want you here, with me, committed… without looking for a way out. And in return, I’ll take care of you and your father. That’s my promise to you.”

The warmth in his eyes almost made you believe that he meant well, that beneath the possessive intensity was a genuine desire to protect and love. Yet a lingering voice inside you warned that this love would be an all-consuming fire—one that would consume every part of you until there was nothing left to call your own.

Your mind was racing for the answer. If you say yes, you may as well forget who you were, but perhaps you will find yourself where you always wanted to be. Someone. But what if you say no?

“What if I won’t agree, Namjoon?” You asked, scared for the answer. Namjoon’s gaze darkened, the softness slipping away as his grip tightened just enough for you to feel the control he had over the situation. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Peaches, let's not pretend that you really have a choice here." His tone was calm, as if explaining something simple, obvious, like the inevitability of night following day.

"Your father," he began slowly, each word dripping with calculated weight, "he's in no position to take care of himself, is he? Without you, what would he do? You've been carrying his burden for years, haven't you? Always working to support him, protecting him, making sure he's safe…"

His voice lowered, softening almost to a whisper, but it was filled with a quiet menace. "But if you refuse me… well, who do you think is going to keep him safe then?"

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, dread creeping into every corner of your mind as you took in his words. This was the second time he was threatening your father.

"What is wrong with you?" You said coldly, staring daggers at his pretty face.

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice laced with a faint, mocking laugh. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Peaches. I'm making sure you understand the lengths I'm willing to go to keep you by my side. You think I'd just stand by and watch you slip away? Again?"

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight but loaded with a silent threat. "I know you love your father," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "And that's why I'm reminding you of what's at stake."

You felt anger and fear twist inside you. He let his hand fall, watching your reaction with unsettling calmness, as if daring you to resist. Namjoon had you cornered, and he knew it. Every ounce of control you'd thought you held slipped further from your grasp, his quiet threats carving invisible chains around you.

"Why would you put me in this position?" He sighed, his lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile as he tilted his head, studying you.

"Because I've been loving you for years, and when I can finally have you, you are trying toplay feminist."

The words hit you like a slap, raw and stinging. You swallowed, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. That faint smile on his lips held no warmth; it was twisted with something darker, something possessive.

"Play feminist?" you echoed, your voice wavering with anger and disbelief. "Namjoon, wanting to make my own choices doesn't mean I'm defying you or 'playing' anything. It means I'm a person, with my own will—"

He cut you off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head slowly, almost as if you'd amused him.

“Peaches, you still don’t understand, do you? I’m offering you a world where you’re safe, where you don’t have to fight every day to survive. You’d rather keep struggling, keep pretending you’re content living in that cramped one bedroom apartment while your father brings home beer money when you are fighting off every hardship, and here I am, ready to give you the life you deserve.”

His fingers gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with conviction.

“You think you want freedom, independence. But freedom isn’t safe, Peaches. Freedom won’t love you like I do. It won’t sacrifice or protect. It won’t give you everything at the cost of its own soul.”

He released you, letting his hand fall away, his gaze darkening. “This isn’t some game, and it isn’t about principles. It’s about us. And if that means you have to surrender some of that so-called independence, then so be it. I know what’s best for you, Peaches. You just need to stop fighting and see that.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to something darker, more resolute, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. The firelight glinted off the soft pink morganite stone, antique piece that must have been in his kin for decades, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. He held it up, his jaw set, the unspoken command clear in the way he presented it to you.

“Peaches,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm, “will you marry me?”

Before you could even think to pull away, he took your hand firmly, holding it in place as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was cold against your skin, the weight of it foreign and heavy.

“Say yes.” His voice was low, steady, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, unwavering, challenging you to defy him. “Say it, Peaches. Agree to be mine, completely, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve been holding onto.”

You felt trapped, his hand tightening around yours as if to remind you of his control over the situation. Your heart raced, your throat dry, as the words hovered on the edge of your lips, unable to escape. But he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unyielding determination.

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, the softness slipping into something harder, more commanding.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a feeling of resignation sinking deep into your chest as you stared at the ring, its delicate beauty now a symbol of your surrender.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips.

A smile spread across Namjoon’s face, slow and triumphant, as he released your hand, the weight of the ring now settling fully onto your finger. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped free, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“There,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl.”

"Where's my bag?" you start sharply the moment Namjoon walks in, shrugging off the coat from his so-called 'business meeting.' You were obviously not allowed to sit in because women here do not work once they have a ring on their finger. Not like you are dying to be a part of a criminal syndicate that has its roots deeply set in this society. The air between you two is thick, a palpable tension that crackles like static before a storm.

"I looked everywhere, but I cannot seem to find it—"

Successful distilleries may be carrying the Jung name, yet other family members have their own shares of the money capital of the clan, Namjoon not being an exception. His name is presented on each brandy bottle you have had the chance to pour from. But what actually lies under the façade of crystal-clear bottles of whiskey and brandy remains unknown to the upper world.

When you met Namjoon, you didn't see a crime lord. You saw a man with ambition, with a drive that matched yours. But somewhere along the line, his ambition became chains around your wrists, tying you to a life you never chose. That's when you decided that working in Anubis would be only a "college" solution before you would leave the city.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What bag?"

"You know exactly which bag," you snap, stepping closer. Namjoon's eyes darken, his jaw tightening.

"How about we start on lunch?" he suggests, trying to ignore your pleas.

"No," you insist, voice trembling with anger. "I want my bag. I want my money."

"I thought we had settled this last night, didn't we?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Your blood boils at his dismissive tone. "Settled? You think you can just placate me and everything will be fine? That money is mine, Namjoon. I earned it."

He steps closer, his presence intimidating but you hold your ground. "Peaches, you ought to be my wife, what's mine is yours. You don't need that money."

You stand firm, not backing down. "Need it or not, it's mine. I worked for it, Namjoon."

Namjoon's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them. "You think you can just walk out with that money? You think you can use it to just leave?"

"No, I—" Namjoon steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching into fists. "I earned that money, and I deserve to use it as I see fit."

"If you want to spend money, we can go shopping—" His presence overwhelming and oppressive. His words angering you even more.

"SHOPPING?! Are you fucking serious? This isn't about buying things, Namjoon. This is about my life, my choices."

Before you can continue your rambling, he grabs your wrist and pulls you close, his grip like iron. His lips crash onto yours in a bruising, dominating kiss, meant to remind you of his power over you. You struggle, but his hold is unyielding, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

"If you're gonna drop that honorific one more time—" Namjoon's eyes blaze with fury as he keeps you close, his grip almost painful.

"I won't—" you spit out, defiance still burning in your eyes despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "If you give me my money back. I have a right to it." Namjoon laughs coldly, shaking his head.

"Let's just have lunch, Peaches, before I lose my patience completely—" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. You glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Not until you give me my money back." His expression hardens, the cold amusement vanishing.

"You really want to push this, don't you?"

"Yes," you say, your voice unwavering. "Favor for favor, isn't it the mantra y'all go by?" A smirk playing on his lips when you finish the sentence.

"Everything you need, I provide." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I worked for that money, Namjoon. I deserve to have control over it."

He steps closer again, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks down at you. "Control? You want control? Fine," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I've deposited them into an account I opened in your name, joint with mine, naturally," he says, his words carrying that same cool, possessive edge.

"What?" you gasp, your disbelief palpable. "You what?"

"I will give you your black card," he repeats, his lips curling into a taunting smile "—once you prove not to be a flight risk, baby." Namjoon tilts his head, the smirk never fading. This, in essence, means that every single transaction will be noticed. You will withdraw the money from the card—he will know. You will attempt to transfer them to a different account? He will fucking know. The implications hitting you like a gut punch. Your blood runs cold as his words sink in.

"I'm not stupid, Peaches. I know that we gotta work on our relationship." He steps even closer, his gaze intense, pinning you in place. "Let's work on that trust first, and then you can have money at your disposal."

Your heart beats in your throat, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Trust? The word feels like a cruel joke coming from him.Trust?

"I'm not one of your assets, Namjoon," you spit out, your voice thick with defiance. "And I won't be treated like one." His towering form casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his eyes soften, as if he's pitying you.

"You don't have a choice, baby." His tone shifts again, dripping with that same chilling calm.

"When you prove you can stay and play nice, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you have some freedom with your own damn money." And just like that, he's already begun dictating the terms of your life again, his grip on you tighter than ever before.

The missing duffle bag with your money was among the least of your worries when you realized what else the duffle bag possessed.

"You have my passport, Namjoon, how can I run away?" Namjoon's eyes flicker, the amusement fading slightly, but his smirk doesn't falter. He's been expecting this—he always expects everything.

Namjoon's smile is slow, deliberate, almost cruel. "I've taken what I need to keep you close." Namjoon leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I am not underestimating your spirit."

You're nauseous, the implication of his words settling over you like a weight you can't shake off. He is holding the strings to everything, but that only made you realize that you had a hell of a lot of thinking and plotting to do to get out of here. And the most intrusive thought back in your head, where you consider staying here and embracing this finally official relationship, has to go—quickly.

"So, what now?" you ask, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. "You plan on keeping me locked up forever, Namjoon-oppa?" Namjoon only smiles, cold and confident.

"No baby. But I will keep you very close, until I can trust you." Your skin prickles where his fingers brush, but you don't pull away. You can't. The need to stay composed, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, fights against the rising tide of rage and fear in your chest.

"And what do you want me to do to earn it, Namjoon?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside you. "Beg? Crawl? Pretend everything is fine when it's not?" He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he's piecing together in real time. The silence that follows is thick with tension. He stands so close now that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"So, lunch it is then?"

His tone is mockingly light, but there's a sharp edge beneath it when he tries to abandon the conversation, the kind that makes you feel trapped.

The black Mercedes hums smoothly along the Bronx streets, its sleek exterior reflecting the gray clouds above. It's going to snow any day now. Inside, the air is thick with tension, an unspoken understanding between the two passengers.

You sit in the backseat, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of your dress, the smooth fabric barely registering under your touch. Your sunglasses hide the unease in your eyes, but the tightness in your chest is something you can't disguise.

Today feels different.

Namjoon sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze fixed ahead, while his hand is warm on your thigh. You are staring at your shoes. Isn't this what you wanted? To ride in an expensive car, wearing Saint Laurent pointy-toed heels? A form-fitting dress with a high neck reveals your figure subtly, and the hungry look Namjoon gave you when you stepped out of the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. Something feels different, as if you're playing dress-up. The allure of the life Namjoon offers, it all feels strangely distant.

You eye him carefully—his black turtleneck is tailored to fit perfectly, sleek and minimalistic. Over it, a black suit jacket, structured but not overly stiff, gives him a commanding presence. His black slacks match the simplicity and power of his look, polished and clean.

The cold air bites against your skin, and you instinctively pull your coat tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the chill that seems to creep through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Thank you for letting me see my father," you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

"You don't have to thank me—" he says quietly, his voice low, almost intimate. His gaze doesn't soften, but there's something in the way he stands, commanding yet calm, that makes your heart race. The chill of the early morning seems to deepen, pressing in on you, yet you're acutely aware of the warmth of his presence, the heat of his body just a little too close.

"I couldn't have kept you from seeing him," Namjoon continues, his tone flat, as if he's simply stating a fact.

"But keep in mind that this is a privilege—you misbehave, you won't see him." His eyes lock with yours, not with malice, but with a cold certainty that makes your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. The last thing you want now is to provoke him further, to find out just how far his power reaches.

"Engaged?!" disbelief and shock etched into the features of your father when you sat down at the kitchen table after you collected some of the things you wished to take with you. You nod, your heart racing.

"Yes, Dad. It just happened. I wanted you to know first." Your father's gaze shifts to Namjoon, his face a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, worry.

"Peaches, do you know what you're doing? This man is nearly a decade older than you," he whispers your way, his voice trembling with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "It's not that big, Dad. I know it's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.

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teeskzagain · 2 months ago

Text

SNAP MISTAKE

» pairing: younger!hongjoong x slightly!older reader

» summary: what happens when hongjoong receives a video from the last person he'd ever expect? and what the hell is in it?

» warnings: nude sending, masturbation (m. & f.), fingering?, power kink (is that even a real thing?), reader is pretty rude to hongjoong, stepcest *evil smirk*, lowkey sub!joong—but also..not (it’s complicated), he cums pretty fast sooo….

» w.c: 4.5k

» a/n: rahhhhh

y/n sent you a snap.

the snapchat notification drops from the top of hongjoong’s screen; and for a split second, he loses all concentration from the current video playing on his feed.

at the sight of your name, he’s immediately grimacing as he shifts around in his bed. with it going on 12 AM, hongjoong finds not a single ounce of fatigue coats his eyes. instead, he feels his chest begin to bubble with the slightest twinge of anger.

what the fuck do you want?

his thumb, without hesitation, swipes away the alert and he returns back to indulging in his video. it’s of a girl strumming chords on an acoustic guitar, and hongjoong seems to enjoy the melody. though when another notifcation comes buzzing through, his peaceful mood quickly turns into annoyance.

y/n sent you a snap.

“you’ve got to be…” scoffing, hongjoong’s eyes do a quick roll as he now begins to sit up. he firstly reaches over to turn on the lamp near his bed, feeling the covers gently slide down and off of him in the process.

then, resting his bare back against the headboard, he brings a single knee up from once being outstretched and rests a forearm against it.

what could possibly be so important you had to send him five snaps? from what he recalled, you were supposed to be pissed at him- he had taken the family-shared car earlier in the evening, despite you calling dibs on it.

and, yeah, he knew you had plans with your friends tonight. he just truly did not care. hence, why you’re angry at him.

with a leisure attitude, hongjoong goes in to finally click on your videos. however, he swiftly pauses and hovers his thumb over the screen. he thinks harder on this memory.

oh, fuck him.

you better not be sending him a minute long rant video because of that. god, you and your yelling fits. if this is the case, he thinks he’d rather get your tantrum out of the way or else he’s positive you’re going to continue blowing up his phone with them.

at times like this, hongjoong always finds himself hating how he ended up with you as his step-sister.

his catty, whiny, always complaining step-sister.

what makes matters worse is you two somehow ended up being close in age; you’re only 2 years apart with him being younger. you both attend the same community college. and, you’re forced to live under the same roof as one another. there’s always constant fighting, constant bickering between you two.

so, hongjoong wouldn’t even be surprised if you really did send him a whole ass tangent about how selfish and shitty he is. it wouldn’t be the first time you did this either. he’s just lucky you’re sending it over the phone versus storming into his room and screaming at him. which for the record, you have done that too.

“whatever,” hongjoong mutters softly to himself, with him beginning to click on your alert.

the press immediately transports him out of instagram and to the snapchat catalog of all of his recent chats. besides your messages, hardly any other reside here. yeah, there was a couple of unopened ones from his chemistry lab group-chat, but being honest, he just wasn’t going to respond to jung wooyoung’s poor attempt at flirting with everyone else.

with this said, he doesn’t waste much longer in terms of responding to you, with him tapping on the purple icon. for a second, the video doesn’t open, almost as if there was a lag.

he tilts his head to the side and lets out a harsh sigh. he goes to click on it again and this time the video quickly fills each corner of his screen.

yet, what stares back at him is not a rant video. there’s no yelling; he couldn’t even see your face. instead, there’s immediate shuffling of your phone in a dimly lit room—your bed room. the video is shaky and blurred, and hongjoong begins to question if there’d even been a purpose to it when the screen begins panning down.

it continues to descend further and further, raking the frame over some large area of fabric, until eventually it lands on your completely bare, naked cunt.

the moment he registers what’s on his phone, hongjoong’s eyes go wide and instantly he starts coughing from shock.

what the fuck is he watching right now?

before he can exit out that video, it quickly cuts off and a new one pops up. this time your pussy is already in full display for the viewer, the camera being only a few inches away from his eyes.

soon, your hand comes into frame, and freshly manicured nails begin to touch at your sex, lightly grazing it.

“what the hell..?” hongjoong’s left starstruck.

even when you ever so slowly, use two fingers to first get a good handle on your thick lips, then proceed to spread them apart—revealing your pink insides, he’s in awe. even when you send a single finger to stroke up the middle of your slit, he still can’t seem to believe what he’s witnessing. even as you detach your finger from your cunt, now sticky with a stringy liquid, hongjoong has absolutely no idea what the fuck to think.

but even as the video rolls on, he doesn’t will himself to leave it. he isn’t sure if it’s from pure shock or downright disgust that’s keeping him intrigued, but he finds himself trained to the screen. not once has he looked away. his gaze remains on your exposure, and without any thought, a pulse rockets throughout his body.

as a new clip progresses, his breathing is turning heavier and more labored. your touch that once started off so airy has swiftly turned into aggressive fingering.

the camera work becomes increasingly shaky the longer the video continues, and now he swears he can see your hips fighting to match pace with your desperate rubbing.

some of the wet spots coating your cunt would glimmer from the light, and yet again that same jolt rushes through hongjoong’s body.

his volume hadn’t been up that loudly, however faint whimpers and occasional moans could still be made out, courtesy of you. he thinks anytime he heard those, an uncomfortable surge courses throughout his veins.

especially since he can already imagine the faces you must be making. your dismissive eye rolls, the frustrated nose scrunches, he feels he can construct your expression right now just because he knows you that well.

fuck. and there he goes with another surge. this time accompanied with a quick jerk of his thighs.

the series of videos eventually come to an end. you were able to get in another hearty buck of your hips, which caused the loudest moan of the night to soar out of your mouth. then after that, the video ends and hongjoong’s whisked back to the message log, now waiting for his response.

slow blinks.

that’s all hongjoong can manage for right now.

slow blinks and a dropped mouth from whatever fucking porn video you—his step-sister—just sent him.

what the actual fuck?

a minute goes by that he’s left you on open. within that time frame, he sees your bitmoji appear at the top of the log, sporting its usual thinking face. three ellipsis are right next to the character which indicates that you’re typing.

soon, an actual message comes up, and as if his brain is on autopilot, his thumb falls down to tap on your notification. he’s instantly dragged back into the chat with you.

y/n:

| no fucking way i just did that

| oh my god

| oh my fucking god

| did i actually just send you that?

why does he feel his heart beating faster? licking his lips, he manages to type out a response.

hongjoong:

| yeah, you did

| what the fuck was that?

y/n:

| NO

| holy fuck

| shit that wasn’t meant for you hongjoong

| i meant to send that to someone else

see, now that thought never crossed his mind. actually, no thoughts did until now. you accidentally sent him a nude? how does that even happen?

hongjoong regards your latest texts in perplexity, all the while your own bitmoji character sits idly in the corner, waiting for his response. about 10 seconds pass when your character darts out from said corner and thought bubbles appear next to it.

y/n:

| hongjoong i swear to god you better not tell another living soul about this

| you’ll be fucking dead. DEAD. do you hear me?

| yah, answer me.

| answer big sister and tell her you won’t open up your goddamn mouth about this.

“oh, my...” murmuring, he flops his head against the wall and scoffs. he hates whenever you do this. reestablishing your dominance—like he’s your pet or some shit. god, you get on his nerves.

he blows out a jagged breath. the pads of his fingers begin to leisurely tap at the screen.

but, fucking hell. why did reading that make his stomach twist?

hongjoong:

| okay i swear i wont say anything

a response from you appears out of no where.

y/n:

| say it again

the tinniest groan gets caught in his throat as his eyes crinkle in anguish. what the hell are you doing to him? do you get off on embarrassing him? he didn’t even do anything, and yet he’s being treated like this.

hongjoong:

| noona, i promise i won’t say anything

| alright? i’m not gonna say a single thing to anyone

y/n:

| yeah you won’t

| don’t say anything

| don’t even THINK about what you saw

his teeth pull his bottom lip inwards, and hongjoong gnaws on it.

hongjoong:

| okay

y/n:

| i’m so serious.

hongjoong:

| i hear you, okay? i’ll forget about the whole thing

your bitmoji sits in the corner, as if it’s gathering its thoughts. then, with one final thought bubble, it spits out the last remaining texts before you completely disappear from chat.

y/n:

| yeah you will.

| fucking perv

| and don’t talk to me at all tomorrow

| i don’t want to see you

| don’t even look at me

| is that clear?

and that was that. after those messages, you never came back, not even when hongjoong replied to your words with a mere, ‘okay’. you didn’t even open it.

with a shaky breath, he exits out of the app and then eventually decides to just shut off his phone.

he sits. waiting for what exactly? hongjoong doesn't know, but he decides to give himself some time to process everything that just happened.

his step-sister was sending nudes to someone else...but accidentally sent it to him?

hongjoong's eyes glance upward as he replays the text messages in his mind. that's exactly what you said. it had been a mistake, those videos.

his gaze travels down as he continues to revisit the whole thing. those weren't rant videos. not like how he previously believed. he had held his breath in anticipation of getting screamed at, yet instead it was practically the opposite.

no yelling, but a quiet stillness. no harsh pointing, but soft touches. rough grunts of frustration were actually tiny whimpers of desperation.

"no way...." hongjoong cups a hand over his mouth as his mind wanders now to the videos, the contents of them.

your pussy was just out. bare. a full on nude.

he remembers your sex was shaven down quite a bit, with hardly any stubble budding out. your skin was nearly smooth. just how hongjoong prefers it- god, what the fuck?

what the hell is he thinking right now? you're his step-sister for fuck’s sake. it's vile of him to think this way about you. it's downright disgusting of him. he knows this.

shaking his head, hongjoong attempts to break away his thoughts, but they're plastered to his brain. no matter how hard he forces himself to think otherwise, his mind is being flooded with recollections of those stupid fucking videos.

your fingers coming down to tease the camera, now he's starting to recall that. how much juice you were leaking out, he can picture the spouts of liquid in his head. your hips fucking your hand with a clear need to get off—hongjoong nearly groans aloud from watching that scene play out.

he's so consumed in these memories; he doesn't even register the fact he's beginning to pull down his pants. he only brings them down till it reaches his mid-thigh, then immediately he starts palming his underwear.

the moment he feels a sense of relief, lips slightly parted as he grips his thick erection in all directions, it's then he realizes what he's about to do. oh, god.

his hand continues to work through the fabric in attempt to satiate the growing desire in his gut. he didn’t want to do this. but, the thoughts kept replaying. those same surges from earlier are coursing through his body before ending with a pulse to his poor cock.

hongjoong huffs a little, this time grabbing the waistband and shoving it far enough to where his hard-on springs up. it’s red and swollen, with tiny drops of wetness leaking from the top, and he doesn’t waste a second grabbing the base to start jerking it.

‘fucking perv’

that had been one of the lasts things you’d texted before disappearing on him. initially it hurt to see you call him that, but as he stares at the hand stimulating his dick, he couldn’t help but allow those words to fuel his drive.

you think he’s a pervert? someone so fucking nasty?

audible breaths fill hongjoong’s ears as he speeds up his pace. going up and down, his fingers curl around his skin for a better grasp.

you probably are repulsed by him, hongjoong thinks to himself, such a disgusting little brother.

quickly letting go, he gathers all the spit in his mouth and propels it towards his palm then returns back to stroking himself. the lubrication makes for a warm sensation, one that hongjoong just melts into. he lets his back relax against the surface as waves of pleasure ripple throughout his cock.

a low grunt topples from his lips, “well, you- you did this to me. all your fault…y/n-ah...”

his pelvis had twitched and bucked upward, causing his hand to squeeze perfectly around the tip and him to softly moan. he didn’t even mean for that to happen, it was just reactive. all because of you.

your stupid cunt flashes in his mind once again, and he feels his hand increase as well. the soft whimpers you produced swirl in his ears which makes his own moans grow louder. you’re the only thing in his head right now, and holy hell, he doesn’t want it to stop. not anymore.

his hips rut faster and faster into his hand, now finding no reason to hold back. your slick pussy that looked so eatable it made him rock hard, he’s thinking about that. he keeps the images of you trapped within his thoughts, no longer wanting them to escape.

“gah…!”

beads of pre-cum dribble from hongjoong’s slit as he finds great elation in the way he’s absolutely fucking his hand. there’s no other way to say it. he truly is fucking his hand, now imagining it was parts of you instead.

your velvet walls would take him so well, he fucking knows they would.

would be warm like his palm and contract perfectly like his fingers. he mimics his thoughts with his actions, and heavy pants waft around in the air.

he feels himself getting close. the sensation that once creeped within him is now present, desperate to spill out.

his stomach convulses as he thrusts harsher and wildly into his hand. fuck, he’d never thought he’d orgasm so fast. he tries his hardest to stop it. he tries to cut back on his pace, but that’s nearly impossible when it’s like he’s in a trance. it just feels too good.

and when hongjoong starts to see white behind his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. his eyes squint with a grimace, “fuck...fuck…fu-uck..oh, I’m cuh...”

with one final buck, his orgasm hits him straight in his core, and he loses all control. strings of cum shoot out from his tip and land in every direction, his body tensing from the rapid shaking. even as he’s painfully aware of his fingers pumping away at his stiff cock, he’d rather envision it’s your nasty cunt he’s filling up.

a milky overload gushing out of your entrance, he acts as if your pussy couldn’t handle how much cum he had, and so he had no choice but to finish on your pussy lips. the picture is clear in his head, and it makes his eyes vibrate with a roll.

he moans heartily during it all, and even when his dick starts to become overstimulated, he doesn’t care. the pleasure still remains, so he continues to milk out his lasting semen until his hand is drowning in the liquid and eventually no more is coming out.

as he’s coming down from his high, the bliss overtaking his emotions, there’s truly only one thing left on his mind.

just how screwed he is for the rest of his life.

✧

- Bonus -

five days.

it’s been five days: wednesday, thursday, plus the weekend, since you and hongjoong last had any sort of interaction, and you want to make sure it stays this way.

you’ve been avoiding him, that much is evident. while you had told him to not interact with you the next day, you personally just couldn’t do it.

the day after the incident, you whisked yourself out the house and decided to crash at a friend’s place. you were too mortified and pissed to even be in the same room as your step-brother. let alone bear the repercussions of it all.

god. how could you have been so stupid? all it took was one misclick, and the rest of the videos were just sent to that recipient—the wrong recipient. to make matters worse, you hadn’t noticed anything alarming until after the videos were both sent and opened by the absolute last past you could’ve shown. how lucky.

once the following monday hit, you knew it was time to come back home. your parents had been questioning your whereabouts since you disappeared with no heads-up, them constantly texting you. however, even with the obvious shift in tone, it seemed clear they were still in the dark about the reason behind your absence.

good. hongjoong better keep his fucking mouth shut if he wanted to live to see another day.

that also makes for an easier return back to the house, knowing the issue is self-contained. when you pull up in your driveway that morning, it also helps that your parents’ cars are gone. they’re definitely at work currently, so now you can have even more time to collect your thoughts.

you don’t see hongjoong’s car anywhere in sight, either, and now you’re even more relaxed. right, he should have classes around this time, while you on the other hand had the pleasures of having monday’s off.

climbing out of the car, you find the trek back into the house much easier. no one’s home, and they probably won’t be home for at least a couple of hours. meaning, you don’t have to worry about anything as of right now, you are golden to-

the moment you throw in the front door, entering your residence, an ambling body comes trotting down from the staircase, and the two of you instantly lock eyes.

your face goes slack.

what. the. fuck?

with a bare chest out on display, hair messily scattered, and sporting sleep shorts, hongjoong has all the characteristics of the i-just-rolled-out-of-bed attire, and that begins to irritate you. why the hell is he here right now? just like that, you’re back to being on guard.

hongjoong halts his movements for a second before continuing his descent downstairs, this time at a much slower pace. you figured he’d sense your rapid mood change as hot anger pricks at your skin, causing him to avert his gaze from yours.

reaching the bottom of the stairs, hongjoong rounds the corner, your eyes trailing after his body as he makes his way into the kitchen. you aren’t sure what takes over, but soon the fury you’re experiencing has you storming right along into the kitchen, as well.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you sneer, slamming your hands down on the large island resting in the middle of the kitchen. you wanted answers and you wanted them now.

hongjoong, who’s standing on the complete other side, glances up from the bowl he recently grabbed and towards your power stance. the quick eye contact makes your stomach turn, but you make sure to appear indifferent.

“i woke up late today, then decided not to go to class,” his tone starts off like he’s tired, nearly dejected, but then it swiftly changes to that of something else, “are you finally back from your impromptu trip?”

you cock your head to the side. was that sarcasm you detected in his voice?

“what’s it to you?” there’s a snap to your question, but even that doesn’t seem to faze hongjoong.

he just turns his face away as he goes to speak, “just figured i should know. because if you are staying here….” he pauses briefly before letting out a dry laugh, “then technically i shouldn’t be talking to you, looking at you, or thinking about you,” he twists his head so fast, your attention gets recaptured by his piercing gaze, “isn’t that right?”

those words.

you had said that to him a few days ago out a fit of rage. and now, he’s hurling them back in your face.

your throat bobs uncomfortably as you try to swallow the imaginary thick pill, your demeanor somewhat faltering, “for the record…i meant every word.”

because truthfully, you did. you could not stand kim hongjoong before this whole thing happened, and you surely can’t stand him now. for your own sanity, he needs to keep a distance from you.

with a scowl, his nose turns upright at your statement, “really? but, you can slam your hands down and yell at me all you want? how does that make any sense?”

“i’m your senior, i can do whatever the hell i want.” you hiss right back, “doesn’t matter what i fucking said, all you need to do is listen.”

here we go with this.

“y/n, don’t try to-”

“what was that?” you buck your head forward with a disgusted face.

he takes a deep breath then tries once again, “y/n. it’s-”

“what?” you make sure to enunciate every letter.

hongjoong feels the anger boiling in his chest. with another irritated sigh, he opens his mouth, “noona-”

you stop him from progressing with his sentence, seeing as that word alone proved your point. you’re above him systematically. there’s nothing else to argue. as your younger brother, he needs to accept this fact and just do as he’s told.

“are you understanding now? how this works?” you fake sincerity with your questions, watching his own lividness unravel within his eyes. you don’t care, though. you want to make him feel low, “so when i tell you to not fucking look at me unless i’m talking to you, what does that mean, hongjoong? do you get what i’m saying?”

his knuckles are turning white. he didn’t even realize he’d been gripping the bowl so tightly until a sharp pain rockets through his hand. he lets go instantly, though fails to speak a word to you.

eyeing him up and down, you take the lack of response as a sign of victory. after a beat of silence, you backpedal slightly away from the island. now, after that, it’s time to raid the refrigerator for some breakfast.

while you venture off towards the refrigerator, you register how hongjoong doesn’t move an inch.

the fridge doors open, and with unconscious thoughts tumbling out in a murmur, you mindlessly search around for anything that catches your attention. all the while, an eerie stillness has taken over hongjoong.

you scan around, lowly muttering to yourself, “…wouldn’t even be surprised if he turned out to be a fucking pervert…probably enjoyed watching those videos….getting off on them…..what a—!”

a hand comes in contact the one of the doors, the force making it slam shut. hongjoong slides his way into your proximity, and you can already see the anger emanating off his body. he stares you down menacingly as now you begin to feel trapped.

“you want me to tell you the real reason why i woke up late this morning?” he starts off with narrow eyes. when you don’t give a reply, too busy trying to reel-in from the sudden outburst, he takes that as a sign to continue speaking. he bores his gaze deeply into yours, “ever since you sent me those stupid, fucking nudes, i can’t stop thinking about them.”

wow. your eyes go wide a that, your breath hitching in the process.

he doesn’t waste another second, quickly adding on to that, “they’ve been so intrusive, infecting my thoughts—my dreams,” his eyes scattily absorb your expression, intaking the wave of emotions that wash over your face, “it’s gotten to the point where i’ve been fucking myself raw before bed, just so i can sleep comfortably. every night, cumming over and over again to the thought of my big sister’s pussy.“

he watches the horror override your once sly attitude. and god, does it feel great to finally have you so shocked.

he drops his hand from the metal doors, then begins to step away, “how about it? is knowing that going to cure that rancid attitude of yours, noona?”

just like your previous ones, hongjoongs’ questions are rhetorical. he doesn’t want an answer from you. no, that wasn’t the goal of his confession. he just knew he wanted to make you feel as sick as you did to him.

and there’s nothing sicker than the truth.

hongjoong doesn’t stick around much longer after that bomb drop, with him retreating back to his room upstairs. you’re still in the kitchen, trying to process what the actual fuck you just heard.

he rounds the corner, about to take the first step upwards, when his vision flickers over to you one last time. you’re spaced out in a stare, your breathing regular and even. you’re frozen like a statue.

but when his gaze peers down to your legs, and the slight clutch they do, he knew from this moment things would really never be the same.

#teeskzagain #ateez smut #ateez #kpop smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #hongjoong x reader smut #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #kim hongjoong x reader

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2b4st4r · 12 days ago

Note

hii there:)

sooo what if reader and sanji,established relationship,and they keep their relationship pretty hidden for a long while until one day one of their crew m mates found them making out/kiss(?) by accidentally but that crewmate keeps that secret hidden but slowly teasers them during dinner(which made the others confused) but soon after they kind of reveal their relationship and the crew goes shocked or something

It could be other characters too!

(I figured I could just smash these together because you know why not)

Hidden love

Sanji x f!reader

Words: 8,197

SLIGHT SMUT!!

Warnings: implied sexual content, mild language, argument/conflict, jealousy

Req open

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

The salty spray of the Grand Line was as familiar as the calloused grip of your own hands on the rigging. Years had passed since you first set sail with Luffy, a wide-eyed dreamer with an impossible ambition. You’d seen islands rise and fall, faced down pirates, marines, and creatures beyond imagination. Through it all, you'd been a constant, a steadfast presence among the ever-growing chaos that was the Straw Hat Pirates.

You remembered the day Sanji joined like it was yesterday. The sharp suit, the swirling eyebrow, and the instant, unyielding devotion to any woman who crossed his path. Nami and Robin were often the targets of his elaborate declarations, but with you, it was different. He'd still shower you with compliments, offer you the choicest morsels from his culinary masterpieces, and spin you around during impromptu dance sessions on the deck. Yet, there was an unspoken depth to his gaze, a sincerity in his touch that transcended mere flirtation. It was a warmth that settled deep in your bones, a silent understanding that blossomed between you two like a rare, resilient flower in the unpredictable currents of the New World.

You were each other's anchors in a sea of adventure. Whether you were lending a hand in the bustling galley, chopping vegetables to the rhythm of his humming, or he was patiently untangling a stubborn knot in your rigging, your proximity was a given. His presence was a comforting hum in the background of your life, a melody woven into the very fabric of your journey with the Straw Hats.

A comfortable silence often settled between you and Sanji, punctuated only by the rhythmic creak of the ship and the distant shouts of your eccentric crewmates. It was in these quiet moments, tucked away from prying eyes – perhaps late at night on the crow’s nest, or hidden behind the galley’s swinging door – that your shared secret truly blossomed. For seven months, you'd been navigating the treacherous waters of a hidden romance, a feat that, in hindsight, felt utterly impossible.

How had you managed to keep it under wraps? You often wondered. Maybe it was the sheer force of habit, the way you’d always gravitated towards each other, an unspoken understanding that predated any romantic entanglement. Or perhaps it was Sanji’s unwavering devotion to the fairer sex, a smokescreen so effective it blinded even your sharpest companions. He'd still fawn over Nami, still offer Robin a lingering gaze, and in doing so, he created the perfect diversion. Who would suspect that beneath the whirlwind of his flamboyant affections, his truest, most genuine devotion lay with you?

It was a delicate dance, a constant awareness of wandering eyes and curious minds. A brushed hand lingered a fraction too long, a whispered word held a depth only you could decipher, a stolen glance across a crowded deck conveyed volumes. Each small, clandestine act was a thrill, a testament to the quiet, powerful connection you both cherished. It was insane, truly, the audacity of your secret, and the sheer joy of living it.

Why keep it a secret? It was a question you and Sanji never quite vocalized, though it hung in the air between you, an unspoken agreement. Perhaps it was the sheer novelty of it, a private rebellion in a life lived so publicly. Or maybe, and this was closer to the truth for you, it was the fear of commitment. Not commitment to Sanji, never that. But commitment to the idea of a relationship within the chaotic, unscripted reality of the Straw Hats. You’d always been a steadfast force, a reliable constant. The thought of adding another layer, another dynamic to manage, felt daunting in a world where your next destination was always uncertain.

For Sanji, it might have been a similar reluctance, or perhaps the ingrained habit of his persona. After all, he was the Straw Hats' resident love-cook, his chivalry a cornerstone of his identity. To suddenly be taken would undoubtedly alter that. Yet, despite the secrecy, despite the unspoken anxieties, there was an undeniable truth that resonated deep within you: you’d loved each other since the moment your eyes met. It was a cliché, perhaps, but one you clung to – soulmates, if such a thing existed, navigating the tumultuous currents of the Grand Line.

Sanji had a knack for pushing your buttons. His unwavering, over-the-top flirtations with every woman who crossed his path were legendary. Usually, you found it endlessly amusing. Watching him practically dissolve into a puddle at Nami’s feet or offer Robin a meticulously crafted drink with a flourish that threatened to send him toppling – it never bothered you. You knew Nami and Robin saw through the theatrics, saw the genuine heart beneath the lecherous exterior. It was all part of the Sanji experience, a harmless quirk in the grand tapestry of your crew.

But today, something shifted. The familiar sight of his swirling eyebrow and heart-shaped eyes, usually a source of quiet amusement, grated on your nerves. The air felt thick, charged with an unfamiliar tension. It wasn't the flirting itself; you were immune to that. It was the intensity of it, the way his voice, usually a melodic purr for the ladies, seemed to resonate with an almost desperate plea towards a particular stranger. Your usual detached amusement evaporated, replaced by a slow, creeping heat that had nothing to do with the tropical sun beating down on the deck. Today was different. Today, for the first time, you felt a prickle of something akin to…jealousy.

You weren't typically one to entertain such petty emotions, especially not jealousy. It felt beneath you, a silly, inconvenient little spark that rarely ignited. But Sanji, bless his lovesick, chivalrous heart, was currently fanning that spark into a roaring inferno. The Straw Hats had dropped anchor at an island that seemed to have sprung straight from a romance novel – all sun-drenched beaches and women whose beauty could rival any sea goddess. And Sanji? He was like a bumblebee in a field of sunflowers, buzzing from one bloom to the next, his heart-eyes practically radiating across the bustling port.

Most of them, as you expected, blew him off. A dismissive wave, a sharp glare, sometimes even a bewildered laugh as he dramatically knelt before them, presenting an invisible rose. He'd simply sigh dramatically, then move on, his ego apparently as resilient as a rubber band. You watched, arms crossed, a familiar smirk playing on your lips. This was Sanji. This was normal.

Until she appeared.

She wasn't just beautiful; she was captivating. Her laughter, when Sanji launched into his usual repertoire, wasn't a mocking snort or an exasperated sigh. It was genuine, a lilting, musical sound that carried on the breeze. And then, she flirted back. Her eyes danced as he spun a flowery compliment, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned in, whispering something that made him blush a shade deeper than usual.

Your smirk faltered. You watched him, waiting for the familiar, chivalrous dismissal, the polite but firm "My heart belongs to the ladies of my crew." But it never came. Instead, as he turned to continue his exploration of the island, she simply followed. Not just for a moment, but she stayed, chatting, laughing, her hand occasionally brushing his arm. And Sanji? He didn't brush her off. He didn’t stop. He walked with her, a rare, almost bashful smile on his face, a smile that felt intensely personal. Right there. In front of you.

A cold, hard knot formed in your stomach, replacing the usual warmth you felt in his presence. The familiar amusement drained from you, leaving behind a sharp, unfamiliar anger. Your emotions, usually a calm sea, now roiled and crashed like a stormy tempest. You felt a chill creep over you, despite the warmth of the sun. For the first time in a long time, looking at Sanji, your feelings felt as stark and unforgiving as the symbol of death.

The entire day bled into a frustrating, agonizing loop. Everywhere you turned, there they were: Sanji, his usual exaggerated swoons replaced by something subtly softer, more genuine, and the stranger, her laughter a constant, infuriating echo. He’d fetch her drinks, open doors, and even offer her a small, perfectly peeled tangerine, a gesture he usually reserved for Nami or Robin when they were particularly fatigued. And she, in turn, accepted it all, her eyes sparkling, a hand often resting on his arm as they walked.

You felt a burning in your chest, a desperate need to lash out, to make some kind of scene, to demand an explanation. But the thought of Nami’s sharp, assessing gaze or Robin’s quiet, knowing smile stopped you dead. They were too smart, too observant. They saw everything. A flicker of raw emotion, a crack in your composure, and your carefully guarded secret would be out.

So you plastered on a smile, a brittle, fragile thing that felt like it might shatter at any moment. You laughed a little too loudly at Usopp’s latest tall tale, pretended to be engrossed in Chopper’s ramblings about local herbs, and nodded enthusiastically at Franky’s plans for a new ship modification. All the while, a part of you was screaming, a silent fury simmering beneath your forced cheer.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. The air felt suffocating, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of your anger. "Oh, my stomach," you groaned, clutching your midsection with an Oscar-worthy performance. "Must have been that questionable street food. I think I need to head back to the ship, just to lie down for a bit."

Nami looked at you, a flicker of concern in her eyes. "Are you sure? We were just about to check out that new market."

"Yeah, Y/N-chan!" Sanji called out, his voice a little too distant, a little too preoccupied with the woman beside him. "I can whip you up something soothing when we get back!"

You managed a weak smile, a silent "thanks" that died in your throat. "No, no, don't let me spoil your fun," you said, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll be fine. Just need a bit of peace and quiet."

Robin, ever perceptive, offered a gentle smile. "Rest well, Y/N-chan. We'll see you later." There was a subtle depth in her gaze, a hint of something unsaid, but you were too consumed by your own turmoil to decipher it. You turned, walking away from the laughter, the flirtation, and the infuriating sight of Sanji, leaving the vibrant, beautiful island behind for the familiar, comforting solitude of the Thousand Sunny.

Back on the Thousand Sunny, the gentle rocking of the ship offered no solace. The vibrant sounds of the island faded with each step you took towards its empty decks, replaced by a suffocating quiet. The anger, held so tightly in check, began to surge, a hot, bitter wave washing over you. You couldn’t scream, couldn't punch a wall – not without drawing attention, not without having to explain. So you sought refuge in the one activity that promised both distraction and an outlet for your volatile emotions: deep cleaning.

Normally, you considered anything beyond a quick tidying a futile effort. What was the point of meticulously scrubbing the deck when Luffy would inevitably track in mud, or Zoro would leave his weights scattered, or Usopp would explode glitter in his workshop? But today, the usual apathy was gone, replaced by a furious drive. Your hands, usually deft in handling ropes and navigating charts, now moved with a raw, almost violent precision.

You started in the galley, the very heart of Sanji’s domain. Memories, usually warm and comforting, now stung. You scrubbed the gleaming countertop where you’d often leaned against him, sharing quiet jokes as he prepared a meal. The burnished surface reflected your strained face, the tight line of your jaw. You attacked the oven, a faint scent of burnt pastry clinging to it, a ghost of a time Sanji had tried to teach you to bake a soufflé, his arm brushing yours as he guided your hand. “Just like this, Y/N-chan,” he’d whispered, his breath warm on your ear. Now, you scoured every inch, as if trying to erase the memory, the gentle touch, the shared laughter.

Next, you moved to the crew’s quarters. You flung open the heavy oak door, the scent of stale air and various personal effects hitting you. Luffy’s discarded hat lay on the floor, Zoro’s swords were propped haphazardly against a wall, and Usopp’s half-finished contraptions littered his bunk. You began to organize, to fold, to put away. As you picked up a stray apron – a spare, clean one Sanji sometimes wore when things got particularly messy – a flicker of last night's memory pierced through your anger. He’d been wearing this very apron, leaning against the railing with you, stargazing. His arm had been around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, pointing out constellations as the gentle sea breeze ruffled your hair. “Beautiful, aren’t they, Y/N-chan?” he’d murmured, and you knew he wasn't just talking about the stars. You crumpled the apron, tossing it into a laundry basket with unnecessary force.

The ship creaked around you, a silent witness to your fury. Each scrub, each wipe, each forceful rearrangement was an attempt to expel the acidic burn of betrayal, the unfamiliar pang of jealousy that gnawed at your gut. You cleaned with a vengeance, the silence of the ship a stark contrast to the storm brewing within you. You were scrubbing away the dirt, but what you really wanted to scrub away was the image of Sanji, smiling that soft, genuine smile at someone who wasn't you.

The Thousand Sunny glittered under the late afternoon sun, so bright it almost hurt the eyes. When the Straw Hats returned, laden with souvenirs, strange snacks, and tales of their island adventures, they stopped dead at the gangplank. The usual scuffs and faint grime of a ship constantly sailing the Grand Line were gone, replaced by a blinding, almost unnatural gleam.

"Woah! What happened?" Luffy's jaw dropped, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Is this... our ship?" Usopp squinted, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch the impossibly polished railing. "It's like a brand new ship!"

Franky, the shipwright, ran a hand over the spotless deck, a look of bewildered awe on his face. "Super... shiny!" Even Zoro paused, his brow furrowed in confusion, momentarily forgetting his perpetually lost state. Nami, ever practical, was already mentally calculating the cost of such meticulous cleaning. Robin, a soft smile playing on her lips, simply observed, her gaze moving from the ship's pristine exterior to the figure standing rigidly at the galley door.

Sanji, however, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sea breeze. His usual flamboyant swagger faltered. His heart, which moments ago had been filled with the lingering scent of that other woman's perfume, now plummeted to his polished shoes. He had a deep, sinking feeling, a premonition that coiled in his gut like a venomous snake.

He knew this shine. He knew this meticulous, almost violent cleanliness. They had had this discussion, he and you, countless times. You’d always told him, with a wry, knowing smirk, "When I'm pissed, Sanji, I clean. And I clean."

He could feel the cold dread creeping up his spine, a sense of impending doom. He glanced at the others, still marveling at the immaculate ship. They were oblivious, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to break. But he saw you, standing framed in the galley doorway, your posture stiff, your smile a terrifyingly thin line. Your eyes, usually warm and inviting, held a cold, unwavering intensity that made his blood run cold.

Oh, hell.

Sanji felt his very soul begin to detach, to float upwards, preparing for its inevitable departure. He knew, with absolute certainty, that he was not going to survive this.

The silence that had fallen over the Straw Hats as they gazed at their impossibly clean ship was shattered by the creak of the galley door. You emerged, a figure of daunting domesticity, looking less like a pirate and more like a warrior preparing for a chemical attack. You were armed with yellow rubber gloves pulled up to your elbows, a pristine white apron tied snugly over your clothes, a surgical mask obscuring half your face, and a hairnet tucked neatly under your cap. In one hand, a spray bottle gleamed; in the other, a meticulously folded microfiber towel.

Your eyes, sharp and unwavering over the top of your mask, swept across the crew, lingering for a fraction too long on Sanji. Then, with a practiced ease that sent shivers down his spine, you flashed them a chillingly bright smile. "Welcome back, everyone!" your voice was muffled but surprisingly cheerful. "I figured since you were all out enjoying the island, I'd take the opportunity to... deep clean a bit." You paused, your gaze still fixed on Sanji, who felt his soul preparing for its final descent. "Especially your rooms. Hope you don't mind. I didn't think you'd object to a little... tidying up."

The reactions were immediate and varied:

Luffy, ever the simpleton, bounced on the balls of his feet. "Awesome, Y/N! My room smells so good now!" He took a deep sniff, grinning. "Did you find any meat in there?"

Zoro grunted, adjusting his haramaki. "As long as you didn't move my swords." He looked vaguely uncomfortable with the sheer cleanliness, as if it threatened his natural habitat of mild disarray.

Nami's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. She knew your habits, and this level of cleaning was off. "Are you feeling alright, Y/N? You're usually not this... diligent."

Usopp gulped, his eyes darting nervously between you and the immaculate ship. "Uh, thanks, Y/N! My workshop probably needed it... a lot. Hope you didn't accidentally throw out any of my inventions!"

Chopper whimpered slightly, clutching his hat. "Your eyes look a little scary, Y/N! Are you sick?"

Franky ran a hand over his shiny pompadour. "Super clean! Thanks, sis! Now the Sunny's even more of a super ship!"

Robin simply smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "How thoughtful of you, Y/N-chan. It looks absolutely sparkling." Her gaze drifted from your oddly serene face to Sanji, whose face had gone pale beneath his tan. She understood.

Sanji, meanwhile, could only stammer, feeling the full weight of your chillingly polite demeanor. His jaw worked, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, knowing that the real storm was yet to come. His fate was sealed.

The Straw Hats continued to marvel at the ship’s pristine state, their awe slowly giving way to a cautious appreciation. Luffy was bouncing around, enjoying the smooth deck, while Nami meticulously inspected her tangerine trees, looking for any signs of over-cleaning. The air, usually thick with the scent of sea salt and adventure, now carried a faint, almost sterile freshness.

About an hour and a half later, as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you finally shed your role as the ship’s furious cleaner. Still in your rubber gloves, apron, and hairnet, you caught Sanji’s eye from across the deck. His face was a mask of strained politeness, but his eyes, wide and apprehensive, pleaded for a moment alone. You gave a curt nod, turning on your heel and heading towards the secluded storage room near the stern, a place rarely visited by the rest of the crew.

Sanji followed, his steps unusually heavy. As he slipped inside, you slammed the door shut, the muffled thud echoing in the small space. The cheerful, almost manic energy you’d maintained all day snapped, replaced by a cold, simmering rage.

"Mind explaining yourself, Cook?" your voice was a low, dangerous whisper, barely audible above the gentle creak of the ship. Your hands, still encased in bright yellow rubber, clenched into fists at your sides.

Sanji flinched, running a hand through his hair. "Y-Y/N-chan! My darling, I didn't mean... she was just... a very appreciative lady!" He tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice cracked on the last word.

"Appreciative?" you hissed, stepping closer, the spray bottle still clutched in your hand like a weapon. "She was practically draped over you, Sanji! And you—" you gestured wildly with the spray bottle, a mist of cleaner wafting between you— "you didn't even try to brush her off! You just… let her! For the entire day!"

"I was just being polite!" he whispered back, his voice rising in exasperation before he quickly lowered it again. "You know how I am with ladies! It's my nature! She just seemed so lonely, Y/N-chan, a beautiful flower in need of a kind word!"

"Lonely?" you scoffed, your anger sharpening into a painful edge. "And what about me, Sanji? What about our secret? What about the fact that we've been together for seven months and you're out there acting like a single man on the prowl? In front of me!"

His shoulders slumped. "It was... a lapse in judgment, Y/N-chan. I swear, it meant nothing! You know I love you! She doesn't even compare!" He took a tentative step towards you, reaching out a hand, but you instinctively recoiled.

"Oh, you love me?" you sneered, your voice laced with venom. "Because that’s exactly how you show it, isn't it? By making me watch you flirt with some random woman all day while I'm stuck here, pretending it doesn't bother me! You think I don't see the difference, Sanji? The way you look at them versus the way you looked at her? She laughed with you, Sanji! Not at you, not ignoring you, but with you!"

He recoiled as if struck. "Y/N, please! Don't you think I'm suffering enough? My soul has been trying to escape my body all afternoon, seeing this incredible, unprecedented shine on our ship! I know when you clean like this, it's a sign of a dark, terrible storm!" He wrung his hands, his eyes pleading. "I messed up! I admit it! Just... not in the cleaning uniform, Y/N-chan. It's... intimidating."

You stared at him, your chest heaving. The absurdity of your "cleaning uniform" in the midst of this heated, whispered argument almost made you laugh, but the hurt was too fresh, too sharp. "Intimidating?" you whispered, your voice cracking. "Good. Maybe you should be intimidated, Sanji. Because I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

The air in the cramped storage room was thick with unspoken words and raw emotion. Your whispered argument continued, a furious, desperate dance of hurt and defensiveness. You accused him of thoughtlessness, of disrespecting your shared secret, of making you feel foolish. He, in turn, pleaded for understanding, for forgiveness, promising endless devotion, even as his eyes darted nervously towards the closed door, ensuring no one outside could hear your hushed fury. Each sharp retort, each choked accusation, served only to deepen the tension, stretching the silence that eventually fell between you, taut and suffocating.

Sanji’s breath hitched. His eyes, usually dancing with playful flirtation, were now earnest, searching yours. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze sweeping over you from your hairnet-clad head to your rubber-gloved hands. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, a flicker of his usual charming rogue breaking through his distress.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, breaking the agonizing quiet. "I might actually be starting to like the cleaning uniform on you, Y/N-chan."

Before you could even process his outrageous, perfectly Sanji-esque comment, he charged. It wasn't a gentle approach, but a sudden, almost desperate lunge. He cupped your masked face in his gloved hands, pulling you forward. Your startled gasp was swallowed as his lips found yours, urgent and demanding. The taste of salt and something vaguely floral, from the cleaning spray, mingled with the familiar, intoxicating flavor of him.

It was a kiss born of tension and relief, of unspoken apologies and overwhelming desire. The rubber gloves, the apron, the hairnet – all faded into irrelevance as you melted into him, your own hands finding purchase on his suit jacket. The whispered argument was forgotten, replaced by the dizzying rush of the make-out session, a silent promise and a fervent plea in the dim light of the storage room.

The initial shock rippled through you, a fleeting jolt that quickly dissolved into something much deeper, much more primal. His lips, initially demanding, now moved with a familiar tenderness that stirred a fierce hunger within you. Your hands, still encased in the bright yellow rubber gloves, found purchase on his lapels, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The cleaning uniform, once a symbol of your furious anger, now felt like an absurd second skin, a barrier you were eager to shed.

His hand, warm even through the fabric of your apron, traced the curve of your back before dipping lower, fumbling with the ties of your apron. You gasped into the kiss as the knot loosened, the apron falling away with a soft whisper of cotton against the floor. The mask, now forgotten, was pushed up by the angle of the kiss, catching in your hairnet, a comical detail lost in the escalating heat.

You broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, your eyes locking with his. The unspoken words of anger and frustration still hung in the air, but they were being swiftly suffocated by a more urgent need. His eyes, usually half-lidded in flirtation, were now dark with desire, reflecting your own unmasked longing.

"Sanji," you breathed, your voice husky, your fingers already working at the buttons of his vest. He groaned, a low, guttural sound as your touch ignited a fresh wave of intensity. He pulled away just enough to tear off his own suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly onto a stack of crates. His tie followed, a quick, practiced movement.

With renewed fervor, his lips descended again, hungrier this time. You tangled your gloved fingers in his golden hair, pulling him impossibly closer as his free hand found the hem of your shirt, his calloused fingertips brushing against your skin. The cool air of the storage room suddenly felt stifling, the space shrinking around you both as the last vestiges of anger burned away, replaced by the blazing fire of long-suppressed passion. The ship, once a witness to your rage, now creaked softly, a silent accomplice to the secret unfolding within its hidden depths.

The storage room, already stifling, grew even warmer with the escalating passion. His hands, no longer fumbling, were now confidently under your shirt, the cool metal of his rings a stark contrast against the sudden heat of your skin. A soft moan escaped your lips as his thumbs grazed your ribs, sending shivers through you. Your own hands were busy, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desperate to feel more of him. The anger that had fueled your cleaning frenzy was now a distant memory, completely eclipsed by the overwhelming desire that coursed through your veins.

You pressed closer, the sounds of the ship outside fading into an indistinct hum as your world narrowed to just the two of you, consumed by the frantic rhythm of your shared breathing. The air thickened, charged with the intoxicating scent of his cologne, of salt, and of something uniquely him. Your lips were bruised and swollen, your body alight, every touch igniting a deeper spark.

Just as the intensity reached an almost unbearable peak, a sudden, jarring sound shattered the moment. The door, previously a silent barrier, slammed open with a resounding thud.

The harsh light from the deck flooded the small, dark room, illuminating the scene in stark, unforgiving detail. Frozen in a desperate embrace, shirt undone, hairnet askew, you and Sanji whipped your heads towards the intrusion.

And there he stood.

Zoro.

His swords were still sheathed, but his hand rested on their hilt. His face, usually a mask of indifference or a scowl, was now a portrait of bewildered shock. His eyes, wide and unblinking, scanned from your disheveled form to Sanji's equally undone state, before finally landing on the rubber gloves still firmly gripping his own shirt. The air in the room, already heavy, became impossibly thick with unspoken words and the sudden, devastating realization that all secrets were out.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant lapping of waves against the hull. Zoro's eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual annoyance or battle focus, were wide, scanning the incriminating scene. His gaze moved from your startled face, still wearing the slightly askew hairnet and rubber gloves, to Sanji, half-undressed, his perpetually lovestruck expression replaced by pure, unadulterated horror.

A slow, derisive smirk began to spread across Zoro's face, replacing the initial shock. He hooked a thumb into his belt, leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking any escape.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, mocking rumble that cut through the tension like a dull blade. "Look what the current dragged in. Didn't realize the love-cook was finally aiming a little higher than his usual pathetic attempts." His eyes flickered to you, a glint of genuine surprise mixed with his usual antagonism. "Though, honestly, Y/N... I thought you had better taste than this curly-browed pervert. You're clearly out of his league."

He let the words hang in the air, a barb aimed squarely at Sanji's inflated ego, then pushed himself off the doorframe. Without another word, without waiting for a reply, he simply reached out and, with a soft thud, pulled the door shut, plunging the storage room back into dimness and leaving you and Sanji in the suffocating aftermath of his discovery.

The click of the latch echoed in the sudden quiet, a death knell for your secret. You stared at the closed door, heart pounding, adrenaline surging through your veins. The heat of the moment had evaporated, replaced by a cold wave of mortification. Your face, already flushed from the kiss, burned even hotter with embarrassment. You were utterly, completely busted.

Sanji, however, was already reacting, his initial panic quickly morphing into furious indignation. He hadn't even processed the full implication of being caught, not when Zoro's words were still ringing in his ears.

"OUT OF MY LEAGUE?!" he shrieked, his voice a furious whisper-yell, completely forgetting their precarious situation. He gestured wildly at the closed door, as if Zoro were still standing there. "That moss-headed brute! How dare he?! My Y/N-chan is the most beautiful, most exquisite lady on this entire Grand Line! He just doesn't understand true beauty when he sees it!" He puffed out his chest, completely missing your wide, panicked eyes. "And I am a gentleman of the highest caliber! To imply that I'm not worthy of my darling Y/N-chan is an insult to my very being, my honor, my entire culinary philosophy!"

You stared at him, torn between utter disbelief and a desperate need to bang your head against the nearest wall. Here you were, caught in a profoundly compromising position, your relationship exposed, and Sanji's primary concern was Zoro's insult to his perceived attractiveness and your supposed "league."

"Sanji!" you hissed, finally finding your voice, grabbing his arm. "Never mind your pride right now! Zoro just saw us! He knows! The whole crew is going to know by dinner!" The reality of the situation crashed down on you with a sickening lurch. There was no hiding it now. Your secret, so carefully guarded for seven months, had been blown wide open by the most unlikely of culprits.

"Sanji!" you hissed again, your voice rising in a panic, completely overriding his indignant squawks about Zoro. "Forget your stupid pride right now! Zoro just saw us! He knows! The whole crew is going to know by dinner!" You tore off the offending rubber gloves, flinging them across the room, then frantically pulled at your hairnet. "Oh my god, what are we going to do? Nami's going to demand to know everything! Robin will just give us that knowing look! Luffy's going to make some stupid comment about 'Sanji and Y/N's secret love nest' or something equally embarrassing! Franky's going to build a love sauna!" The scenarios flashed through your mind, each one more mortifying than the last. "This is a disaster, Sanji! A complete and utter disaster!"

Sanji, for his part, finally seemed to register the full weight of your words. The indignant flush drained from his face, replaced by a ghastly, ghost-white pallor. His eyes widened, and he swayed slightly, the image of Zoro's derisive smirk flashing before his eyes. He pictured Nami's calculating stare, Usopp's dramatic gasps, Chopper's innocent confusion, and even Franky's potential "love sauna" idea. For a terrifying second, the world seemed to tilt on its axis, and he felt a cold dread colder than any ocean current. His carefully constructed persona, his chivalrous mask, his secret world with you—all of it teetering on the brink of chaotic exposure.

Then, a surprising calmness settled over him. It was as if the shock had finally jolted him out of his self-pity and into a more protective, resolute state. He took a deep, steadying breath, his golden eyebrow furrowing with determination.

He reached out, taking your still-trembling hands in his, his grip firm and reassuring. "Hey. Hey, Y/N. Look at me." His voice, though still a whisper, was now steady, imbued with a newfound strength. "It's okay."

You stared at him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "How can you say that? It's not okay! Our secret is out! Our private thing, Sanji, it's—"

"I know," he interrupted softly, squeezing your hands. "And yes, Zoro's an idiot. And yes, the others might be a little… surprised." He even managed a faint, reassuring smile. "But listen to me, my beautiful Y/N. This is our relationship. Our love. What does it matter if that moss-headed moron saw us? Or if the others find out? If they laugh, we'll deal with it. If they question, we'll answer."

He pulled you closer, ignoring the slight crunch of your discarded apron under his feet. "We've faced down admirals, Yonko, literal gods! We can handle a few surprised crewmates. Besides," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "now we don't have to hide anymore. Maybe... maybe this isn't a disaster, Y/N. Maybe this is a new adventure for us."

His words, delivered with such unexpected calm and conviction, slowly began to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. You leaned into him, still trembling, but a fragile sense of relief began to unfurl within you.

The hours leading up to dinner felt like an eternity. You spent them in a state of agitated anticipation, pacing the deck, replaying Zoro's stunned expression, and imagining every conceivable reaction from the crew. Sanji, ever the devoted partner, stayed by your side, a calming presence amidst your rising panic. He offered soft reassurances, brewed you calming herbal teas, and even tried to distract you with gentle touches and whispered compliments, but the knot of anxiety in your stomach refused to loosen.

Now, as the aroma of Sanji’s cooking filled the air, the moment of truth had arrived. Everyone was seated around the long dining table in the galley, their usual boisterous energy subdued by an unspoken tension. The clinking of cutlery, the soft lapping of the waves against the ship, and the gentle creaks of the Sunny filled the silence.

Your eyes, wide and darting, were fixed on Zoro, who sat across the table, seemingly engrossed in his sake. Every slight movement, every flicker of his eyes, sent a fresh wave of dread through you. Had he told them yet? Was this strained silence the calm before the storm? You barely touched the delicious food on your plate, your appetite completely gone.

Sanji, usually a whirlwind of graceful movement as he served, was unusually stiff. He moved around the table, meticulously placing plates, his back ramrod straight. His usual flamboyant "Nami-swaaan!" and "Robin-chwaaan!" were noticeably absent, replaced by quiet, almost mechanical movements. His head was turned slightly, his single visible eye constantly tracking Zoro, a silent, desperate plea for discretion in his gaze. He kept glancing at you too, a fleeting, worried look passing between you two each time. The air in the galley was so thick with unaddressed tension, you could practically cut it with a knife.

The silence at dinner was a heavy, suffocating blanket, but it was Zoro who decided to rip it off. He'd been quieter than usual all day, a rare occurrence for him, and you’d hoped he'd simply forgotten or, even better, decided to keep his mouth shut. You were wrong. His usual stoicism was replaced by a mischievous glint in his eye, a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He took a deliberate sip of his sake, then leaned back in his chair, his voice cutting through the tension with a casual, almost bored tone.

"Funny," Zoro began, his gaze drifting lazily around the room before settling on Sanji, who was meticulously plating Nami's food. "I figured with all the... extra work being done on this ship today, someone would be a little more relaxed by now."

Sanji's hand, holding a serving spoon, visibly twitched. He kept his back to Zoro, feigning deep concentration on the perfect arrangement of vegetables. You, however, felt a cold dread trickle down your spine.

Luffy, oblivious, chimed in, "Extra work? What extra work, Zoro? The ship's just super clean!"

"Yeah, but why would that make someone 'relaxed'?" Usopp pondered, scratching his head.

Zoro ignored them, his eyes now finding yours across the table. You stiffened, forcing yourself to maintain a blank expression, though your heart hammered against your ribs. "Or maybe," he continued, a sharper edge to his voice, "some people just need a good, thorough scrubbing to get all the tension out." He paused, taking another long drink of sake, his gaze never leaving you. "Even if they need a little help with it."

Sanji nearly dropped the serving platter. He spun around, a vein throbbing in his temple, his glare a silent warning to Zoro. "What are you even talking about, Moss-Head?! Are you feeling alright?"

"He's probably just drunk already," Nami sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ignore him, Sanji-kun."

But Zoro wasn't done. He set his empty sake cup down with a deliberate clink. "Just saying," he drawled, pushing back from the table, a shark-like grin spreading across his face, "some people clean very thoroughly when they're angry. And some people apparently need a little... motivation to clean up their act." He rose, stretching languidly, his eyes locking with Sanji's. "Wouldn't you agree, Cook?"

Chopper looked up, bewildered. "Are you talking about cleaning, Zoro? But Y/N did all the cleaning!"

Robin simply took a sip of her tea, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips, her gaze flitting between you and Sanji.

Sanji’s face had gone a shade of deep purple, a stark contrast to his earlier ghostly pallor. His lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line. You, meanwhile, could feel the blood draining from your own face. The thinly veiled hints, the pointed remarks – they were like daggers, each one confirming that Zoro knew, and was enjoying every agonizing moment of your collective discomfort. This wasn't just teasing. This was a deliberate, slow-motion exposure, and the silence that followed Zoro's final jab was deafening.

The air in the galley grew heavier, thicker than the deepest ocean trench. Your fork pushed a single pea around your plate, your appetite completely vanished. You, usually a lively presence at dinner, were now unnervingly quiet, your silence a stark contrast to the buzzing tension. Sanji, meanwhile, continued to hover, serving food with a forced politeness, his usual exuberant flirtations with Nami and Robin entirely absent. He wouldn't even meet their eyes, let alone offer a sweet remark.

Zoro, emboldened by your and Sanji's obvious discomfort, seemed to relish his role as the master of ceremonies for your impending doom. His earlier hints, subtle as a brick, now became outright suggestions, aimed with pinpoint accuracy.

"You know," Zoro mused, taking another loud slurp of his sake, his eyes fixed on you and Sanji. "It's funny. You two have always been so... close. Always in each other's space." He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't realize how close that actually was, though. Seems like someone found a new way to get their daily dose of affection."

Sanji's head snapped up, his eye twitching. "What in the blue blazes are you implying, you miserable marimo?!" he seethed, his voice a low growl that barely contained his rage.

"Oh, no implication, Cook," Zoro drawled, shrugging nonchalantly. "Just an observation. Especially after seeing a certain cook and a certain cleaner getting a little... hands-on in the storage room today."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine.

A collective gasp rippled through the table.

Luffy's eyes, usually full of food, now widened to comedic proportions. "EH?! Sanji and Y/N?! In the storage room?! Doing what?!"

Usopp choked on his rice, sputtering, "No way! You mean... like, together together?!"

Nami's fork clattered loudly onto her plate. Her expression, usually composed, twisted into a mixture of disbelief and dawning realization. Her gaze snapped between you and Sanji, suddenly understanding the day's abnormal quietness, the frantic cleaning, Sanji's uncharacteristic lack of flirting. "Sanji-kun... Y/N..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Chopper looked completely lost, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Storage room? Were you helping Y/N clean, Sanji? Was it really messy?"

Franky stared, his mouth slightly agape, before a slow, knowing grin began to spread across his face. "SUUUUPER... intimate cleaning, huh?"

Robin simply placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes glinting with amusement and a quiet triumph, having seemingly pieced it all together long ago.

You, however, felt the blood drain from your face, then rush back in a furious blush. Your earlier fear was replaced by a wave of mortification so intense you wished the floor would swallow you whole. Sanji, meanwhile, had gone from purple to a deep, incandescent red. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to formulate a denial, a defense, anything. But Zoro's final, damning statement had obliterated all pretense, laying your most carefully guarded secret bare for the entire, shocked crew.

Zoro, having clearly had enough of his own subtle artistry, scoffed, a look of triumphant exasperation on his face. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and delivered the final blow, his voice devoid of its earlier teasing, replaced by a blunt, almost bored declaration.

"Alright, fine, you morons," he grunted, looking pointedly at Luffy and Usopp. "I saw the Cook and Y/N making out in the storage room. Happy now?"

The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than a cannonball dropped into still water.

Luffy was the first to break it, his mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers. "WOAH! Sanji and Y/N are making out?!" His head snapped between you and Sanji, a slow, incredulous grin spreading across his face. "Does that mean you're... together?!"

Usopp pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, his jaw practically on the table. "You mean... the cleaning was just a cover?!" He looked utterly betrayed by the mundane nature of your secret.

Nami gasped, her eyes narrowed, a mixture of shock and a flicker of something akin to hurt. "Sanji-kun! Y/N! How long?!" She thumped a fist on the table, demanding answers. "And why didn't you tell us?!"

Chopper whimpered, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Does this mean they're going to... leave the crew to be together?!" The innocent fear of losing nakama was clear in his voice.

Franky let out a booming laugh, slapping the table. "SUUUUPER SECRET LOVE AFFAIR! I knew it! The romantic tension was off the charts! This calls for a celebration!"

Robin simply smiled, a serene, knowing expression on her face. "Indeed. It was quite obvious to those who observed closely."

Sanji, however, was a statue. Zoro's bluntness had finally broken him. His face, which had been bright red, now went a patchy, mottled white. He stared at Zoro, then at the gaping faces of his crewmates, then at you. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish out of water. The shame of being exposed, coupled with the sheer audacity of Zoro's revelation, paralyzed him. His hands began to tremble, and a small, almost imperceptible plume of smoke started to curl from his perpetually lit cigarette. He looked utterly, completely devastated that his private world with you had been so crudely laid bare.

You, on the other hand, felt a strange mix of relief and lingering mortification. The cat was out of the bag, no turning back now. You met Zoro's gaze, a flicker of defiance in your eyes, then turned to face the rest of the crew. Your voice, though still a little shaky, held a newfound resolve.

"Yes," you said, taking a deep breath, looking from Luffy's goofy grin to Nami's stern expression, to Chopper's worried face. "Yes, we are. We've been together for about seven months." You shot a glare at Sanji, who was still in a state of shock. "And we didn't tell you because... well, because it's our business, and we weren't sure how to bring it up in the middle of fighting pirates and saving islands."

A flurry of questions erupted then, a cacophony of voices demanding answers:

"Seven months?!"

"Is that why Y/N was cleaning like a maniac today?!"

"Does this mean you're getting married?!"

"Are you going to be all mushy now?!"

"Were you really making out in the storage room?!"

The dam had broken.

The galley, usually a scene of boisterous camaraderie, had transformed into an interrogation room. A barrage of questions, fired from every corner of the table, assaulted you and Sanji.

"So, like, how long have you two been doing this?!" Luffy's voice, always loud, cut through the din.

"Seven months," you repeated, feeling your cheeks burn. "Since that island with the singing clams." You shot Sanji a look, a silent agreement to keep the details of your first kiss to yourselves.

"Seven months?!" Nami shrieked, slamming her hand on the table. "You mean you've been keeping this from us for seven months?!" Her eyes narrowed, suddenly sharper than any blade. "And what about that woman today, Sanji-kun?! The one you were practically drooling over all day?!"

Sanji, finally regaining a sliver of his composure, puffed out his chest, though a nervous sweat beaded on his forehead. "Nami-swaan! My affections for all ladies are pure and untainted! She was simply a damsel in need of—"

"A damsel in need of a good shove off the island, maybe!" you interjected, glaring at him. The memory of his prolonged flirtation, and her reciprocal interest, still stung. "That's why I went back to the ship, Nami. I was pissed."

Nami's eyes widened, then a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. Her gaze flickered between you and Sanji, then to the impeccably clean galley. "Aha!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "So that's why the ship is sparkling! You weren't feeling sick, Y/N, you were just furious with Sanji-kun for being a love-struck idiot!"

Sanji flinched, shrinking slightly under Nami's accusatory gaze. "My dear Nami-swaan, I would never—"

"Oh, you would, Sanji!" you shot back, jabbing a finger in his direction. "You did! And then Zoro walked in on us making up!"

Zoro, who had been quietly enjoying the chaos he'd unleashed, snorted. "Making up, huh? Looked more like you were trying to strangle him with that hairnet."

"So you two are... dating?!" Usopp stammered, still processing the sheer magnitude of the revelation. "Like, proper boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Is this going to change anything?" Chopper asked timidly, his big eyes filled with concern. "Are you still going to be our nakama?"

You reached across the table, taking Chopper's hoof in your hand. "Of course, Chopper! Nothing changes. We're still your nakama. This just means... well, it means we're a couple."

Sanji, regaining some of his chivalrous swagger, though still visibly nervous, cleared his throat. "Indeed! My heart, though overflowing with devotion for all you lovely ladies, now beats with an even deeper, profound love for my Y/N-chan!" He bowed theatrically, then risked a glance at you, a hopeful plea in his eyes.

The questions continued to fly, a whirlwind of curiosity and mild disbelief. You and Sanji, a united front in your new, exposed reality, did your best to answer, stumbling over details, occasionally bickering, but always, always facing the crew together. The awkwardness lingered, thick and palpable, but beneath it, a new layer was slowly being woven into the fabric of the Straw Hat Pirates – one of accepted, if surprising, romance.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #straw hat pirates #straw hats #straw hats x reader #one piece angst #angst with comfort #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #op sanji #one piece sanji #suggestive

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lynlee494 · 1 year ago

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Winterhawk Community Sourced Recommendations, A Master List

This post is a long time coming, but finally I’ve finished a master list from when this fandom really helped me out.

The original post is here:

^ Just in case I have forgotten or skipped over a recommendation, or if more are added in the comments since making this post.

My original plea for help was, for context on the type of recommendations you may find (though delightfully, there are others mixed in):

‘I'm looking for Winterhawk fic recommendations.

Ones where Clint finds/meets the WS (as either Hawkeye or an AU Clint, not picky)

Or ones where it is Winterhawk with a Hurt Bucky or Bucky in Distress kind of vibe.

AU or otherwise, even if it is a full on Clint/Bucky AU.’ I also had asked simply for favorite authors and favorite stories. The answers were plentiful and wide spreading, and I’m still making my through (I am a multishipper as long as one of ‘em is Bucky Barnes – welcome to my hyper fixation. So I jump around).

So, in thanks to so many who took time to dig for the recommendations, I wish to spread the love and make it easier to view what others took the time to dig up for me. It really did help. ❤️

I tried to make it easy and may have gone overboard, but hopefully ‘Ctrl-F’ or copy + pasting the text because I typed this out instead of using image snips (oh my gods the time this whole thing took) makes it easier to search tags.

Hopefully this helps others, and so now, organized for all our reading pleasure: A special thanks to sunny-rants for jumping in to give recommendations sooo fast!

*Please note: I have included tags, but not pairings, for times sake. All the stories are Winterhawk, and I believe there was a Clint/Bucky/Steve as well. *I also did not include archive warnings, etc. so please review the tags at your own risk.

*Also, cause I’m absolutely shameless, if you want to include anymore recs, that would be amazing… just putting that out there. Also, don't worry if you think it may be a repeat, I can always sort it out/organize later. (wink, wink: got any bottom Bucky, angst, long fics, AUs (current fav)? Clint taking care of Bucky etc.?)

'Keep Reading' for the recommendations bestowed upon me in an hour of need, along with summary, tags, and wordcount

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889561/chapters/8697424

Summary:

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

"When Steve brings Bucky back to the tower for the first time, Clint’s first thought is that Tony Stark’s pride and joy is quickly becoming a less of a very tall and expensive ‘fuck you’ in the faces of investors who don’t believe in self-sustaining energy, and more of a superhero rehabilitation center."

Tags: Discussion of Canon Child Abuse; Discussion of Canon Brainwashing; Seizures; Epilepsy; Fluff; SHIELD Agent Clint Barton; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Strike Team Delta (Marvel); Sharing a Bed; Sharing Body Heat; Stranded; Slow Burn Word count: 67k+

(rec by tumblr: @sunny-rants)

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Outnumbered by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954669

Summary:

Bucky Barnes returns to Brooklyn ready to get back into the world, make friends and sleep with Steve's super hot neighbor. The fact that the guy turns out to be a single dad to two-year-old triplets who spend most of their time causing mischief, trouble and mayhem doesn't deter Bucky at all. Steve would like it on record that he thinks Bucky is insane.

Tags: Kid Fic; Parent Clint Barton; Triplets; Post-Recovery Bucky Barnes; Steve Is a Good Bro; Bucky comes home to New York; Single Dad Clint Barton; Deaf Clint Barton; Bucky Barnes Feels; PTSD RECOVERY; Happy Bucky Barnes; Kids; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Clint Barton is terrible at relationships; Insecure Clint; Happy Ending

Word count: 18k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Play It Again by sakkakitty

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206579/chapters/35269208

Summary: After a mix-up in a Hydra base, Bucky Barnes finds himself transported to the 21st century.

Tags: Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant; Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant; Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant; WinterHawk Big Bang 2018; Time Travel; Pre-Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Deaf Clint Barton; Canon-Typical Violence; Background Stony – Freeform

Word count: 100k+

(rec by tumblr: @sunny-rants)

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Nobody Lost, Nobody Found by ClaraxBarton

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15634884/chapters/36306264

Summary:

"Look, dude, I get it. You’re fucked-up. HYDRA fucked you up. I’ve been there. But you’re my fucking Soul Mate!"

“I can kill you. I could kill you without even realizing what I was doing. I’m not fucked-up, I’m a monster. I’m a nightmare. You can’t be here. You can’t- All the people I’ve killed- I will not murder my Soul Mate too. Not after everything else I’ve-”

Clint worked his left hand between their bodies and managed to land a punch to the man’s right side, forcing him to shift his weight, and Clint brought his right hand down on the place where the man’s metal arm met his torso - hidden by the shirt he wore, but on full display in the video Clint had watched.

The man released Clint with a grunt of pain, and Clint pressed his advantage, landing another punch to his abdomen, backing him up against the opposite side of the RV and then pressing the kitchen knife he had pocketed while cleaning up earlier to the man’s throat.

“Like I said, I’m not a Boy Scout. I’m plenty dangerous myself. We clear on that?”

OR:

This looks bad, because it is.

OR:

How Clint Barton met his Soul Mate

Tags: Soulmates; Soul Bond; winterhawk – Freeform; Slow Burn; No I mean the slowest of burns; Canon-Typical Violence; canon divergent/canon meandering starting with Age of Ultron; Smut; eventually I swear; Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Angst; Feelings; Clint Barton Needs a Hug; Bucky Barnes Feels; Steve Rogers Needs a Hug; BAMF Clint Barton; BAMF Natasha Romanov; Oral Sex; Frottage

Word Count: 108k+

(rec by tumblr: @sunny-rants)

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Choose Every Single Day by Noxnthea

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708083/chapters/70385346

Summary:

Clint has once again been wrangled into doing something because Natasha thinks it’ll be good for him; he’s not sure why she thinks she needs therapy too, but he knows better than to question her logic at this point.

Bucky’s doubtful that group therapy is going to do much for his crippling sense of self-loathing (and to be honest, he really doesn’t want the help), but Steve’s convinced it will be beneficial for both of them to learn to deal with the mistakes from their past.

None of them ever expected to have to deal with secret government organizations, eccentric billionaires, or unwanted super powers on top of their personal problems, but then, they are already paying Sam.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting; TherapyCanon-Typical Violence; Clint Barton's low self-esteem; Sam Wilson is a Saint; Everyone Needs A Hug; Deaf Clint Barton; Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot; Group Therapy; Slow Burn; seriously the slowest this is a fic first and foremost about individual growth; Found Family; Misunderstandings; Getting Together; wanda maximoff is everyone's little sister

Word count: 103k+

(rec by tumblr: @sunny-rants)

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Gold On Your Fingertips by Kangofu_CB

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21434821/chapters/51074443

Summary:

“So,” he said, unwrapping the foil of the bar, “I’m Clint.”

The Soldier just blinked at him, caught somewhere between confused and surprised.

Which, fair, Clint got that a lot.

But he figured the Soldier hadn’t expected him to acquiesce so quickly, and Clint fully intended to capitalize on that, either in information or opportunity to escape or both.

He flashed a half-smile at the other man, one he’d flashed at a dozen other people in the last few years, one that got him a second look at least seventy percent of the time, and a quickie a fairly significant portion of that. He stretched his arms up over his head and cracked his spine, working the stiffness out of the shoulder that had, until ten seconds ago, been shackled to the furniture.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” Clint said. “Or something to call you by,” he amended.

Or: Clint meets his soulmate.

Tags: Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Circus Performer Clint Barton; baby criminal clint barton; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant; or anything after that either; Alternate Universe – Soulmates; Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Marks; Kidnapping; Deaf Clint Barton; Breaking and Entering; Voyeurism; Exhibitionism; Masturbation; wow that escalated quickly; Himbo Clint Barton; Diners; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Bucky Barnes Remembers; On the Run; Canon-Typical Violence; Shooting Guns; bad guys die etc etc; minor descriptions of wounds and wound care; barney barton sucks you can't change my mind; so does Trickshot; hydra also sucks; getting in a brawl with the Avengers was a bad idea; it's not Clint's fault; except for how it kind of is; Protective Clint Barton; Competent Clint Barton; Rutting; Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm; Disappointed Steve Rogers; but he gets over it; eventually; bad jokes and worse ideas; hey kids who wants to be an avenger?

Word count: 27k+

(rec by tumblr: @sunny-rants)

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Like Real People Do by Kangofu_CB

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15937667/chapters/37163564

Summary:

And now Steve had brought him home like a goddamn found puppy he wanted to keep.

“What the fuck, Rogers?” Clint asked, his hands itching for a bow, a gun, an anything, but not stupid enough to make any sudden moves. There was no way to casually reach for the pistol he’d tucked into the back of his jeans, not with Steve so close and the Winter Soldier so unkillable.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier,” Steve said in a rush of expelled air, reading the tension in Clint’s arms correctly. “He’s Bucky Barnes.”

Either there were two silver-armed motherfuckers running around - and Clint could believe anything at this point - or this situation was even more bizarre than he’d first thought. And he knew bizarre. He’d been part of a circus.

A love story involving Billboard's Top 100, chopping firewood, and not looking like incognito serial killers when out on the town.

Tags: Cabin Fic; Tropes; Slow Burn; or at least my version of it; learning to be people again; sniper assassin courtship rituals; sniper nerds; Things This Is Canon Compliant With: Nothing; actually not true; possibly canon compliant with Captain America: TFA and also Iron Man; but I'm not positive; Civil War Fix-It; I honestly just wanted to watch these two idiots fall in love in a secluded cabin ok; Canon-Typical Violence; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; FlashbacksPost-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Canon Disabled Character; Deaf Clint Barton; Texas Two Stepping is a thing; Sorry Not Sorry; tags updated to include country music; winterhawk – Freeform;magic woodland archer cabin; HYDRA supersoldiers; a small selection of violence; Canon-Typical Injuries; a tiny bit of angst; Happy Ending; found family trope abounds; Sex

Word count: 67k+

(rec by tumblr: @sishal01)

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Making Me A Habit by Kangofu_CB

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706253

Summary:

Bucky is a disabled vet struggling with reintegrating into civilian life. He has a routine and a rhythm, and he doesn't like to let anything - big or small - disrupt it. That all changes the day Bucky finds himself inside CATastrophe, the local pet rescue, recovering from a panic attack in the back room of the shop. He’s used to walking by the place, not visiting, but the next thing Bucky knows, he’s hanging signs and being used as a climbing tree for a bunch of freshly-acquired kittens. And he just...keeps going back. First for the kittens, then for the disaster shop owner who rescues actual kittens from actual trees and teaches archery as a side-gig, and eventually because he’s hopelessly in love.

(Clint was in love before Bucky ever walked in the door.)

Tags: Modern Era; War Veteran Bucky Barnes; Amputee Bucky Barnes; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Bucky Barnes Has PTSD; Civilian Clint Barton; Pet Adoption; Kittens; so many kittens; Archery Instructor Clint Barton; Alternate Universe - Pet Store; Slow Burn; Pining; Misunderstandings; WinterHawk Big Bang; Word count: 20k+

(rec by tumblr: @sishal01) (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Look What The Cat Dragged In by flawedamythyst

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084847/chapters/66134170

Summary:

The Winter Soldier was looming over him, dressed in full combat gear and hung all about with weapons. Blood was seeping out of a wound on his arm and there was a smear of it down his cheek that was starting to flake off as it dried. He was staring at Clint with a jaw-clenchingly intense glare and Clint felt every cell in his body freeze up under his scrutiny, expecting pain of some kind.

Instead, the Winter Soldier held a fist out containing Clint’s hearing aids and then, once he’d tucked them in pretty much on autopilot, thrust a cat in Clint’s face and growled out, “Tell me about this kitten,” like he was demanding the passwords to a nuclear weapon.

Somehow Clint ends up co-owning a kitten with the Winter Soldier.

Tags: Bucky Barnes is a Cat Lover; Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug; Bucky Barnes has a sweet tooth; Alpine – Freeform; Clint Barton Is a Good Bro; Just Add Kittens; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Domestic Fluff

Word count: 22k

(rec by tumblr: @sishal01) (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Sing Me That Old Song Again by mariana_oconnor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976866

Summary:

After breaking free from Hydra's control, James Barnes is keeping his head down. Captain America and his team are miles away, and he's better off alone. He's not expecting to be found by an Avenger. An Avenger who proves hard to get rid of.

Somehow, in spite of himself, Hawkeye ends up growing on him, and he realises that maybe alone isn't the best way to be.

But as Bucky's working out his own past, Hawkeye's coming face to face with his. They never should have gone to Budapest.

Tags:

Alternate Universe – Canon; Bucky Barnes's Notebooks; Road Trips; Sort Of; Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant; Winterhawk Reverse Big Bang; Bucky Barnes's Plums; Deaf Clint Barton; Hurt Clint Barton; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Bucky Barnes Remembers; Bucky Barnes Needs a HugWhat Happened in Budapest

Word count: 27k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Warming Up by pherryt

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003336/chapters/45126904

Summary:

The last thing Clint expected when SHIELD went down and he had to make his way to his safehouse was to find the Winter Soldier already using it.

No, maybe the last thing he expected was for all his survival instincts to say screw it, and let him stay.

This couldn't possibly go wrong, could it?

Tags: Implied Tony/Steve – Freeform; Brainwashing; post winter soldier; deaf!cllnt; PTSD; Nightmares; hurt; comfort; bed sharing; tub sharing; Cuddle for Warmth; some violence but not too graphic; First Kiss; Low Self Esteem; Misunderstandings; hurt!Clint; First Aid; Running Away; Artist!Steve; mild to moderate hypothermia; Snowed In; cint's farm; PiningMutual Pining; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; safehouse

Word count: 45k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Sticks and Strings and Christmas Things by PhoukasPenmanship

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5433500

Summary:

12 connecting vignettes for the "12 Days of Winterhawk" prompt challenge.

Tags: 12 Days of Winterhawk; Christmas Fluff; Swearing; Slow Burn; A little angst; Family of Choice; deaf!Clint

Word count: 66k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Nowhere You Can Be by jstabe https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012795

Summary:

Sometimes fate gets a little help from FedEx.

Tags: Bucky Barnes Recovering; Amputee Bucky Barnes; Deaf Clint Barton; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; References to Depression; Happy Ending; Alternate Universe - No Powers

Word count: 26k+ (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Lucky in Love by dr_girlfriend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230013/chapters/40516820

Summary: Clint is only a couple of sips into his cardboard cup of coffee, his brain barely out of neutral, which is probably why it takes him so long to realize that some damn psycho is trying to kidnap his dog.

Excerpt:

“I’m not some charity case,” Bucky says pugnaciously.

“I didn’t think you were,” Clint answers back readily enough. “I mean, I can tell you’re fucked up for sure, but of the two of us, I’m probably the bigger disaster. My sleep schedule is shit, and I drink coffee straight from the pot. I sing in the shower even though I’m deaf as fuck. I have arrows everywhere because I’m an archer — did I tell you that? And I was raised in a literal circus, so I’m not exactly domestic. Let’s see, what else?” He squints down at the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, I won the building in a poker game with the Russian mafia and every once in awhile they show up and try to take it back, but usually I handle it, no problem. Uh...”

Clint happens to looks up and Bucky’s eyes are wide, his mouth hanging open. Clint’s hand freezes where he’s rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. Yeah, when you put it all out there at once, it doesn’t sound so good.

Tags: Fluff; Romance; Slow Burn; Oh my god they were roommates!; Alternate Universe - No Powers; War Veteran Bucky Barnes; Deaf Clint Barton; Ableist Language; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Mutual Pining; Hurt/Comfort; Touch-Starved; Friends to Lovers; Fraction/Aja Comic-based Clint Barton; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Ambiguous Cuddling; Touch Aversion; I Dunno Maybe a Little Praise Kink?; Circus Veteran! Clint Barton; SHIELD Veteran! Clint Barton; Slow Build; meet ugly; Idiots in Love; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; References to Depression; Not Gonna Tag Every Sex Act Just Trust Me There's Plenty; Body Worship; A Little Gentle Dominance Stuff Maybe?; Edging; Crying During Sex; What Can I Say the Winterhawk Crowd Are Dirty Enablers; #Make Clint Cry 2019; meet cute; Deaf Character Word count: 59k+ (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Battle Born by sian1359

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960690

Summary:

Bucky Barnes decides he needs to come in from the cold soon after the events that happened in DC. He can't go to Steve or Natalia, as both would have expectations of a man he cannot ever be again. So he turns to someone who wouldn't have any expectations: Clint Barton.

Tags: Slice of Life; Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant; Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant; Angst with a Happy Ending; Relationship(s)Aftermath; Hydra (Marvel)Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Word count: 22k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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The Anthem of a Dead Man Walking by EVVS

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7962379

Summary:

“I’m Clint,” he says again, knowing that he’s going to have to force this if he’s not going to go insane in here. He lasted this long, but knowing that there’s someone else? Someone else who he could talk with? No, he needs that right now. So badly. Someone who isn’t Tasha coming in to update him on the real world. Someone else who’ll help him make fun of the guards and maybe who’ll harmonize with him to Bohemian Rhapsody. He’s not looking for a new best friend, just someone who’ll commiserate. “I’m gonna call you John.”

There’s some movement. Sounds like someone’s head bumping the wall. “Why John?”

“Since you aren’t giving me your name to work with, you’re a John Doe to me, right? So I’ll just… call you John.”

Tags: Prison; Suicide mention; alcohol mention; Courtroom Drama; Crayons are involved; Not Canon Compliant; Marvel Universe

Word count: 14k+ (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Outnumbered by sara-holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7954669

Summary:

Word count: 18k+ (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Falling Off the Face of the Earth by Teeelsie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951468

Summary:

Cap relaxes his hold, but he stays where he is, still looming over him. “Clint. The compound’s been breached,” Rogers whispers urgently, then finally sits back and lets go of him.

There’s another explosion, closer this time and throwing more light. He turns his head sharply and sees Bucky Barnes hovering near the door, looking… off. Clint pushes Rogers and he finally stands up so Clint can scramble out of the bed and grab some clothes. He’s wearing only boxers because it’s fucking hot in Wakanda, and he catches Barnes’ eyes flicking across his body.

Clint long ago stopped being bothered by people’s reactions to the many scars on his body – not that that many people actually see them - but that doesn’t mean he appreciates when they stare. “Like what you see?” he asks with a hard edge as he pulls on his shirt. Barnes turns his head, at least having the decency to look embarrassed for being caught staring.

Rogers looks at them both impatiently and quickly switches gears. “Clint, I need you to take Bucky. Get him out of Wakanda and somewhere safe.”

OR Bucky and Clint fall into each other. Bad shit happens. Then it all works out in the end.

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie); On the Run; BAMF Clint Barton; BAMF Bucky Barnes; Developing Relationship; Slow Build; Brainwashing; Mind Control; Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Clint!Whump; Hurt/Comfort; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Angst; winterhawk – Freeform; Winterhawk Reverse Big Bang; WinterHawk Big Bang; Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant; Long Live Feedback Comment Project

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

(author rec by tumblr: @jinxquickfoot)

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Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3889561Summary:

Clint Barton's Super Secret Snipers' Club. (Invitation and pending mental health evaluation required.)

Tags: winterhawk – Freeform; sniper bros; References to PTSD; Therapy; Recovery; Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery; Avengers Family; Avengers Tower; Bonding; Drinking; Alcohol; Steve Feels; Protective Steve; Tony Stark Needs a Hug; Tony Feels; Deaf Clint Barton; Clint Is a Good Bro; Bucky Barnes Feels; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Ceiling Vent Clint Barton; Humor; Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism; do not copy to another site

Word count: 67k+

(rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Broken But Mending By Lissadiane

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782863

Summary:

Bucky's not sure what he expects when he picks up the free local paper in his therapist's office, but it's not advice on losing things in his butt, that's for sure.

In which Bucky Barnes is a recovering war vet with a whole bunch of issues, none of which can be solved by a small time sex advice therapist, no matter how pretty his smile is. Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; War Veteran Bucky Barnes; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Amputee Bucky Barnes; Discussions of Asexuality; sex advice columnist Clint; Panic Attacks

Word count: 15k+ (rec by tumblr: @effervescentaardvark)

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Silhouette by mariana_oconnor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956760/chapters/18197191

Summary: After a mission in Mexico goes wrong, SHIELD Agents Barnes and Rogers are given the job of hunting down the notorious Hawkeye and the Black Widow, the only problem being: no one even knows what they look like.

On the other side of the law, Clint's enjoying messing with their new SHIELD shadows, especially seeing how close he can get to Agent Barnes without him realising, but he makes the mistake of getting attached, and that makes everything more complicated. Tags: Alternate Universe; SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes; SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers; Assassin Clint Barton; Assassin Natasha Romanov; Slow Build; very slow build; WinterHawk Big Bang; winterhawk – Freeform; Natasha Is a Good Bro; Mission Fic; A lot of people get assassinated; Torture; Mentions of past brainwashing; epic bromances; Deaf Clint Barton; Identity Porn; Steve Rogers is a little shit; Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro;

Word count: 105k+

(rec by - tumblr: @itsalinski; note from itsalinski: ‘Silhouette is such an awesome fic, with a cool flip where Clint is the assassin and Bucky is the SHIELD agent’)

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All My Mistakes by ClaraxBarton

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14774933/chapters/34171013Summary:

Next job I’m taking is going to be south of the equator, Clint promised himself as he finished zipping up his down coat. He wished he had another. He was already wearing a black balaclava and a black beanie, thermal underwear under his clothes and two pairs of pants, but it was freezing on the rooftop.

The wind and the fine, misty rain that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be snow, ice or rain definitely didn’t help matters.

Clint hated the cold.

He didn’t understand why millionaire criminal masterminds couldn’t meet in exotic, warm locations to do their deals.

If he was a millionaire criminal mastermind, he sure as hell wouldn’t do deals in London in February.

-o-

It's February, 1999, and Clint Barton is about to encounter the Winter Soldier

Tags: Pre-Canon; or well pre-Avengers; Clint still doing his solo assassin thing; Smut; Adventure; Action; Angst; plumbing; Coffee; Spanking; jumping off roofs; shooting bad guys; Movie References; winterhawk – Freeform; Word count: 10k+ (rec by - tumblr: @itsalinski; note from itsalinski: ‘All My Mistakes is actually exactly what you were asking for, with Clint running into Bucky when he's still the winter soldier’)

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The Other Man out of Time by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6004771

Summary:

Also known as Time Travelling Clint Wrecks the Universe.

Due to The Time Stone having a great day screwing around the fabric of reality, Clint finds a copy of himself thrown back into Normandy, 1944. Cue Clint 2.0 meeting Bucky Barnes, the Howling Commandos and a pretty different version of Steve.

Tags: Time Travel; Author has messed with timelines again; Dubious Science; The Time Stone; World War II; WWII Bucky Barnes; Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Clint Barton-centric; Deaf Clint Barton; Bucky Barnes Feels; The Asset remembers; Original Character Death(s)Falling In Love; Angst and Hurt/Comfort; Humor Word count: 97k+

(rec by - tumblr: @itsalinski; note from itsalinski: ‘And, The Other Man Out of Time is one of my absolute favourite Winterhawk fics’)

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Hope It Leaves a Mark by thepartyresponsible

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762500

Summary: A collection of short fics inspired by the 2020 whumptober challenge.

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence; Fluff and Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Word count: 72k+

(rec by - tumblr: @itsalinski; note from itsalinski: ‘Also 'Hope it Leaves a Mark' is just a collection of truly awesome short fics that I wish were each long 100k fics, they're all that good and interesting (even the ones that aren't even Winterhawk, the author just writes so well and does such awesome things with Clint, Bucky and Frank’))

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Americana is for Lovers by ccbytheseashore

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10129133/chapters/22524080

Summary: Please tell me you are still alive, read Steve's text.

In Virginia, Bucky replied.

The hell are you doing in Virginia?

Would you believe me if I said trying to find a foam sculpture of Stonehenge?

Tony said to make sure his car comes back in once piece. Please don't shoot each other.

Clint and Bucky set off on an adventure to find an infamous work of Americana history, but find literally everything else (including love) instead.

Tags: Road Trips; Americana; Sexual Content; Developing Relationship; Getting Together; monstrous abuses against perfectly good bedframes

Word count: 8k+

(rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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Bent by jstabe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17413493

Summary: “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

He felt Clint’s lips curl up where they were resting at his temple. “Yes.”

“I am an Avenger.” Which was frankly ridiculous and impossible to believe sometimes, but it was true so it went on the list. Tags: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Past Rape/Non-con Word count: 3k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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I'll Keep You Safe Here With Me by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907085/chapters/4113102

Summary: Yes, Clint is avoiding the other Avengers. No, he does not want to go back to New York. But then again, he didn't exactly want to be kidnapped by the Winter Soldier either. Really, he just wants to go back to bed. Tags: Kidnapping; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Canon-Typical Violence; Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Where the hell was Clint Barton; Bucky Barnes Feels; Clint Barton Feels; Depression; Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery; Implied Relationships; Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark; Panic Attacks Word count: 110k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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A Little Less Bloodshed Would Be Nice by youcancallmearrow

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972900

Summary: Clint Barton may be a human train wreck, but when it comes to befriending ex-mind controlled assassins, he's pretty much the best there is. Unfortunately, he's not nearly as good at being kind to himself. Lucky for him, Bucky's got it covered. Tags: Fluff with Feels; pizza dog – Freeform; Mind Control; Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery; You Will Pry Jarvis Out of My Cold Dead Hands; Falling In Love; Domestic Avengers; Dog Cops; WinterHawk Big Bang; Angst; Comfort; Tony Is a Good Bro

Word count: 8k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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A Thistle Cannot Grow by ccbytheseashore

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956835

Summary: Clint stood at the bottom of the stairs in his boxer shorts and socks with his bow aimed at Bucky Barnes.

Bucky held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I didn't mean to sneak up on you.”

Clint didn't lower the bow.

“I didn't know you had a kid,” Bucky added conversationally.

“I should shoot your ass on principle.”

Tags: Kid Fic; Deaf Clint Barton; Developing Relationship; Getting Together; Panic Attacks; Mild Hurt/Comfort; WinterHawk Big Bang; Happy Ending; Sexual Content; Frottage; winterhawk – Freeform; Word count: 12k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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Liminal Spaces by thepartyresponsible

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086175

Summary: “Clint,” Steve says, and it’s that same no-bullshit, do-or-die, I really, really mean it voice he used to trot out in the last few innings of close games in high school. “Bucky’s not gonna fly. He’s not going to drive himself. He can’t— I need you to drive him here.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Clint says, and hangs up. Tags: Alternate Universe - Road Trip; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Idiots in Love; Mutual Pining; Exes; Angst with a Happy Ending; Past Child Abuse; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Clint Barton Needs a Hug; Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug Word count: 20k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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Draw, Breathe, Fire by FestiveFerret

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218880

Summary: If Bucky's not the Winter Soldier - not a weapon - anymore, then who is he?

And who is this smart-mouthed, cocky, flirty, pushy archer, Clint Barton? Tags: Bucky Barnes Recovering; Falling In Love; Get Together; Romance; Flirting; Banter; Hurt Clint Barton; Clint Barton's Bow & Arrows; Bucky Learns to Archery; Bucky Barnes Has PTSD; First Kiss; Sexual Content; Animal Shelters; Ferrets; Noodle no Noodling; Little bit of angst; lotta fluff

Word count: 14k+ (rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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if god is in the lens by shatteredhourglass

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19123954

Summary:

The Asset pauses. He remembers the first few days after dragging St- dragging Captain America out of the water, the aimless emptiness that had filled him, with no mission and no knowledge of what to do next. He’d spent a week staring at the peeling wallpaper in a motel. There had been butterflies patterned on it. He hadn’t known what direction to go in next, because he was (is) scared of Captain America, and he didn’t want anything to do with Hydra, and he’d just… stopped. That’s when he realizes Barton isn’t going to move unless he gives the man a reason to move, something to do that isn’t related to a past he can’t remember or the threat of imminent death. (It’s been burned out of him, the Asset can relate.)

A mission.

He's leaning on the button to the microphone before he thinks about it. “Come with me and you can kill more of them.”

Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie); Recovery; Denial; Brainwashing; Protective Steve Rogers; Bucky Learns To Be A Person Again; Blood and Violence; Deaf Clint Barton; Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship; Bucky Barnes Feels; Psychological Trauma; Angst and Hurt/Comfort; Mostly On Bucky's Part; Clint's Just Like 'Ah Yes This Is My Life Now'; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Hand Jobs Word count: 40k+

(rec by – tumblr: @luredin)

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Got a Heart in Me, I Swear by thepartyresponsible

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846980

Summary: The pictures leak on a lazy off-season Sunday, in that muddled bit of midafternoon Clint never knows what to do with when he isn’t training. He curls up with Lucky on the couch and naps through the end of his whole damn life. And that, honestly, is pretty much perfect.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Baseball; Implied/Referenced Homophobia; Internalized Homophobia; Team as Family; Fluff and Angst; Mutual Pining; Idiots in Love Word Count: 36k+ (rec by – tumblr: @1968bullittmustang: ‘one of my all-time favorite au’)

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Patricia the Superior Vehicle: The Helpfulness Mission by Aelfay, pietray, Sagacity, Twindragons

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42875178

Summary: The Soldier is doing his best. He’s not quite up to trying to deal with Rogers, Steven G. (Captain), but he’s found another way to be helpful: keeping an eye on one Clint Barton. He’s kind of a mess, but that just gives the Soldier more ways to help, right?

Clint is confused about why Natasha keeps following him around – he keeps seeing glimpses of black out of the corner of his eye. The constant presence means he’s a little suspicious of his next mission. Unfortunately, it’s still not enough to keep him from being caught.

In which: Clint sings the disco stick song, Patricia is a Superior Vehicle, and the Soldier buys underwear. A balance of humor and intimacy as Clint and Bucky both recover a little bit of who they are.

Tags: Kidnapping; Cabin Fic; Mission Fic; Hand Jobs; Frottage; Deaf Clint Barton; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Patricia the Superior Vehicle; Disco Stick; Fluff and Smut

Word count: 16k+

(self-rec by tumblr: @alchemistdoctor)

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What Happens in Vegas… by Aelfay, Twindragons

Summary: Clint gets sent to check on a 'friend' of Natasha's in Las Vegas. Only this place is really nice, and her 'friend' is hot as hell. How is he meant to cope!? Answer: he can't. Featuring bunny ears, a fluffy tail, and Clint never quite having enough clothes.

Tags: Pole Dancing; Aerial silks; casino – Freeform; Crack Treated Seriously; Looney Tunes – Freeform; Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship; Natasha Romanov is a good friend; Illustrated; Don't post on another site; Clint Barton loses it when Bucky pole dances; brief masturbation

Word count: 10k+

(self-rec by tumblr: @alchemistdoctor)

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Boys of Summer by Aelfay

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711700

Summary:

Bucky wants a goat. He gets robots, a dog, and Clint Barton.

And the goat.

Tags: Trashcan the Goat; James "Bucky" Barnes; Clint Barton; Steve Rogers; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanov (Marvel); DUM-Ebite-Size; U (robot); Cricket (robot); Hamburger Helper (robot); Fidget (robot);

(self-rec by tumblr: @alchemistdoctor)

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Fair Game by NotEvenCloseToStraight

Summary:

...being courted by a wolf!shifter is hard.

When Clint accepts the Game Warden/Shifter Pack Liaison position in Willow’s Run he thinks he'll be signing hunting licenses and maybe writing a few tickets. He doesn't expect to start a brawl on day one, be claimed by the definitely scary Beta!Wolf Bucky on day two and begin what might be the worlds slowest courtship.

...oops?

Eventually Clint settles into his new role, strikes up a friendship with precocious scientist!Tony and a careful affair with Bucky. He navigates awkward shifter courtship rituals and misunderstandings, surprising romance and increasingly bitey kisses and for a while, all is well in the mountains.

But hunting season brings strangers to the town and when increased tension and broken rules bring up old prejudices and new fears, their quiet life turns dangerous.

Clint has his hands full with aggressive hunters, defensive pack members and a town pushed towards chaos.

Torn between the law and what his heart wants, the Game Warden knows something's gotta give--

--but will that 'something' end up driving Bucky and the pack away?

Tags: winterhawk - FreeformStony – Freeform; Shifter AU; Wolf Shifters; Strangers to Lovers; True Mates; Matt Fraction's Hawkeye; Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship; awkward dating; Werewolf Courting; Hunters vs Shifters; Fluff and Humor; FunnyAngst and Feels; Mild Peril; Falling In Love; Developing Relationship; Awesome Clint Barton; Tony Stark Does What He Wants; Alpha Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes Feels; Pack Dynamics; Hurt Characters; Hurt/Comfort; sex then feelings; Eventual love confessions; happily ever after guaranteed;

Word count: 139,000k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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if you were a mythical thing by Kangofu_CB

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42952029/chapters/107913444

Summary:

After winding up in hot water with the Ukrainian mob, Clint finds himself relocating to a small town in northern Indiana to work as an elementary school gym teacher, and finds his new home invaded by a series of suspiciously wolfish puppies determined to be Lucky's BFFs, and his life invaded by over zealously friendly neighbors determined to feed him. In a startling twist of events, three of his favorite students happen to be his next door neighbors, along with their ruinously hot single dad Bucky, who proves to be just as enamored of Clint as he is of Bucky.

What follows is a classic rendition of thirsting over the hot neighbor, bizarre small-town behavior, and so many puppies.

Tags: modern suburban fantasy au; Alternate Universe – Teachers; Kid Fic; Werewolves; disconcertingly friendly locals; puppy invasions; bizarre subtle interrogations; roving packs of scheming children; awkward seduction attempts via edible arrangements; a ruinously hot single dad; Werewolf Courting; Werewolf Mates; Oblivious Clint Barton; Protective Natasha Romanov; Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship; Alpha Steve Rogers; Peggy was and remains a spy and it shows; Sam Wilson is a Gift; First Dates; Slow Burn; the things werewolves find attractive are more surprising than you think; SexAnal Sex; First Time; fluff and joy and jokes mostly; No Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

Word count: 74k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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Lost & Found by mariana_oconnor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230097

Summary:

Clint Barton’s got a bag full of stolen money and a burning desire to stay under the radar. His old friends in the Carnival will be looking for him and they sure as hell won’t be happy. In a desperate attempt to stay off their radar, he ends up in Timely, a small town so far off the beaten track he’s surprised he even found it, and waits for Barney to comes and get him. Because Barney will be coming. Clint knows he will.

But there's something about the town. Maybe it's the strange wolf that watches him from the trees, and the way people finish conversations when he enters a room. Or it could be the bartender, Bucky, who decided to hate him on sight. Something’s going on in this small town, and Clint’s not sure if he’s jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Werecreatures; Werewolf Bucky Barnes; Werewolf Steve Rogers; Werefox Natasha Romanov; Protective Natasha Romanov; Carson's Carnival; Hard of Hearing Clint Barton; Canon Disabled Character; Bucky Barnes Has Issues; People Trafficking; forced cage fighting; dubiously consensual heavy petting; on the part of the petter; Pack Dynamics; Not Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics; But Steve is the alpha; Sheriff Steve Rogers; Bartender Bucky Barnes; Criminal Clint Barton; Werewolves; werewolves mate for life; Clint Barton's Excellent Self Esteem; Barney Barton's A+ Brothering; Barney Barton is not a good bro; WinterHawk Big Bang; Implied past emotional abuse; Identity Porn; Slow Burn; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Public Sex; Inadvisable attitudes to wild animals; Seriously people; Don't Try This At Home; Clint Barton is not a good role model

Word count: 89k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

___________________ Mokusatsu by shadesfalcon (Wintershieldhawk)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227904

Summary:

Clint Barton has been strung along from abusive relationship to abusive relationship all his life. Not that he would use the word “abusive”. He would argue that, as a sub, he was born to take whatever it is his dom feels like throwing at him.

But even with that attitude, he’s nervous about his current situation. Trapped in a bureaucratically mandated relationship with not one but two doms is going to be difficult and dangerous. Especially since these two doms are both members of the Avengers themselves.

He hopes that whenever he disappoints them, they’ll have at least a little pity on him, even though he knows he won’t deserve it.

Tags: Alternate Universe – BDSM; Dom/sub; Power Imbalance; Communication Failure; and given that power imbalance those communications failures have real consequences; Spanking; Belts; Canes; Bondage; Hurt/Comfort; references to past abuse; accidental abuse; Unhealthy Relationships With Food; self-harming behaviors; Sub Clint Barton; Dom Bucky Barnes; Dom Steve Rogers; Domestic Violence; Sexual Content; Angst with a Happy Ending; Polyamory

Word count: 125k+ (rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

___________________ Speechless by sara_holmes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647540

Summary: It's not that Bucky doesn't want to talk. It's that sometimes (most of the time) he can't. So learning ASL is 50% getting around that slight issue and 50% getting Steve to shut his cake-hole about the necessity of him learning to speak again.

Well, to begin with. Then it's pretty much all about him falling head-over-heels for his incredibly hot - yet slightly tragic - ASL teacher.

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers; Deaf Clint Barton; ASL teacher Clint Barton; Mutism; Bucky Barnes Feels; Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship; Anxiety; Anxiety Disorder; Therapy; Physical Therapy; Mentions of PTSD; Steve and Bucky are ex military; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Happy Ending; Humor; Fluff; Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm; dumb boys; Falling In Love; an incident with an egg; Clint Barton is tragic and adorable and not as dumb as he makes out Word count: 10k+ (rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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Hipsters get Remembered, Legends Never Die by sara_holmes https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471969/chapters/41145935

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a broke millennial hipster and one-armed veteran who somehow ends up as a science project for Tony Stark, a PA for Steve Rogers and a fling for Clint Barton. What even is his life.

Tags: Modern Bucky Barnes; Awesome Clint Barton; Commander Rogers; SHIELD 2.0; War Veteran Bucky Barnes; Canon Disabled Character; Millennial Bucky; Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD; Recovery; Do not repost; Do not post to other sites Word count: 89k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth: ‘this is a different take with hipster!Bucky and he's annoying but in a good way lol’)

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This Just In by Noxnthea https://archiveofourown.org/works/44128362

Summary: George C @dapperdanman if I was Hawkeye this might be the worst day of my life. 1: I get the shit beat out of me. 2: I find out my Soulmate is the Winter Soldier. 3: I pass out while a villain is monologuing at me on live television and the internet makes a meme of me talking about sandwiches in my sleep.

Clint and Bucky are having a rough month, and the whole world has something to say about it.

Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Alternate Universe – Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Marks; Identity Reveal; Light Angst; Humor; Epistolary; Chatting & Messaging; Social Media; News Media; Texting; Twitter; reddit; YouTube; POV Outsider; The Avengers vs their worst foe yet: the media; Clint vs his self-esteem; Slow Burn; Even though the news moves fast; Steve Rogers Rages Against The Machine; Clint Barton Needs a Hug; Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug; Somebody tell these people to hire a PR team Word count: 29k+ (rec by tumblr: @southern-goth: ‘there's social media posts in this fic and it's so well written I could cry’)

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Complications by flawedamythyst https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700921/chapters/15325426 Summary:

Clint's got a plan to retire and go find himself a simple life at his family's old farm. Simple is good, right? Easy to remember. Simple is why he doesn't really mind that his soul-print has never activated, because a soulmate could only add another layer of complexity to his life.

And then the Winter Soldier turns up at his archery range on the Avengers base, and simple slips through Clint's fingers.

Post Age-of-Ultron (minus Clint's wife&kids) Soulmate AU.

Massive thanks to Chucksauce for betaing. Tags: Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie); Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant; Soulmate-Identifying Marks; Main Pairing is Clint/Bucky; Mention of past violence towards children

Word count: 84k+ (rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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A Heart Worth Loving by Kangofu_CB

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34870519

Summary: Fate has it out for Clint Barton.

After a few too many heartbreaks, he's given up looking for his Soulmate; who needs happily ever after anyway? He’s perfectly content with his dog, his job, guarding eccentric billionaires, and drinking Natasha’s contraband vodka. Just ask anyone.

So he doesn’t think anything about inviting a random sex worker home for coffee to get him out of the cold - no need for any special company, thanks - because that’s just the decent thing to do. But when he keeps meeting Bucky again and again, it’s not fate he’s gotta worry about, it’s his heart.

Bucky’s just living his life. He’s got work he doesn’t hate, a degree program he loves, and and a side project out to prove Green Arrow's archery antics aren't possible outside the comics. He’ll meet his Soulmate when the time is right, but for now he’s content to wait.

But then his roommate pulls a Breaking Bad, leaving him caught up in an NYPD investigation, out of his regular work, and scrambling for a place to stay where his demon-cat won’t get them both evicted. Before he knows it, Clint is turning his whole life turned upside down, and Bucky thinks fate shouldn’t be tempting him.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Soulmates; Soulmates; Soulmate-Identifying Marks; Sex Worker Bucky Barnes; Sex Work; Jewish Bucky Barnes; SHIELD Agent Clint Barton; SHIELD Agent Natasha Romanov; Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; War Veteran Bucky Barnes; Modern Bucky Barnes; Deaf Clint Barton; Past Relationship(s); Concussions; Forced Cohabitation; Miscommunication; Fake/Pretend Relationship; Angst and Fluff and Smut; Tony Stark Does What He Wants; Pop Culture References; Archery; Masturbation in Shower; Clint is emotionally constipated; Poor attempts at seduction; the love is requited but they're both idiots; Sex; (of course there's sex - I wrote this)

Word count: 82k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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something magic, something tragic by squadrickchestopher https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487004/chapters/69802917

Summary:

After making a fatal mistake on a mission, Clint Barton vanishes into the depths of the Midwest.

What he wants is to be left alone for a bit, to take a couple weeks of peace and quiet and get his mind straight.

Instead, he finds himself caught up in a nationwide game of cat-and-mouse with a brooding, metal-armed vampire.

Natasha’s right. He’s got the worst fucking luck in the world.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements; Supernatural Creatures; Vampire Bucky Barnes; Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug; Canon-Typical Violence; Deaf Clint Barton; Competent Clint Barton; some non-consensual biting; because Vampires; Attempted Kidnapping; Sassy Clint Barton; Other Additional Tags to Be Added; Enemies to Lovers; creative escapes; Non-Consensual Blood Drinking; Implied/Referenced Suicide; Drunken Kissing; Torture

Word count: 55k+

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth: ‘supernatural!Marvel’)

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Once Lost (now found) by Teeelsie https://archiveofourown.org/works/35419939Summary:

There’s a beat and then Phil says, “Clint, you don’t have anything to prove.”

And that stings, because, “If you think I’m doing this to prove anything to anyone, then you don’t know me half as well as I thought you did.” He hears Phil sigh on the other end of the comm. “Besides,” Clint tells him, “I’ll have back-up. I’ll have Barnes. Hawkeye out.” He reaches up and clicks off the comm, cutting off Phil’s continued objection mid-word.

Eight days these assholes have had Barnes and he’s not going to let them keep him for another hour, much less another day. He doesn’t have anything to prove, but he sure as hell isn’t going to give anyone any reason to question his actions, either. Tags: Whump; Hurt/Comfort; Blindness; On the Run; Blood and Injury; Self-Sacrifice; Hurt Bucky Barnes; Hurt Clint Barton; BAMF Bucky Barnes; BAMF Clint Barton; Developing Relationship; Rivals to Friends to WinterHawk Word count: 40k

(rec by tumblr: @southern-goth)

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blood on my hands, love in my heart by hawksonfire https://archiveofourown.org/works/33643102/chapters/83604322

Summary: The lines in the Soldier’s forehead are gone in his unconsciousness, leaving a relatively young looking top half of a face. Clint has to put his bow away to get the mask off him, but it slides off pretty easy and he sets it aside.

The instant he turns back and sees the Soldier’s face, his jaw drops. “Holy fuck,” he says, astonished. “You’re Bucky goddamn Barnes.”

Tags: Deaf Clint Barton; Mercenary Clint Barton; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Not Canon Compliant; BAMF Phil Coulson; Director of SHIELD Peggy Carter; boomerang arrow; Sassy Clint Barton; Sassy Phil Coulson; BAMF Clint Barton; Violence only in the first and second chapter; Home Renovations; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Clint Barton's Farm; Clint Barton's Shitty Childhood; PiningMutual Pining; Sexual Tension; Nightmares; Chickens; Domesticity; Bucky Patching Clint Up; Chickenus Interruptus; Sharing a Bed; Cuddling & Snuggling; Boys In Love; Boys Kissing; Clint Barton's Arms; Hand Jobs Word count: 12k+

(self-rec by @spacey-acey-artemis: ‘this one has Hawkeye meeting the Winter Soldier’)

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blood on my hands, love in my heart by hawksonfire

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33643102

Summary: What if, after Clint Barton was left for dead by his own brother, he didn't become Ronin and instead became someone else? This is the story about the Winter Soldiers, and how they became two

Tags: Winter Soldier Clint Barton; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Pining; Idiots in Love; mentions of torture; Mentions of brainwashing

Word count: 7k+

(self-rec by @spacey-acey-artemis: ‘this one has a fun twist on Winter Soldier Bucky’)

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The Storm Shall Not Wake Thee by dr_girlfriend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52165594

Summary: Following the events of CA:TWS, the Winter Soldier finds Hawkeye. Clint is still haunted by his own experiences with having his control stripped away, but together they find a way to heal.

Excerpt:

“How did you even … how are you tracking me?” Clint tries.

The question seems to confuse Barnes even further. He looks at Clint, and then somewhere behind Clint’s shoulder, and then back to Clint’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Barnes says again.

“Listen,” Clint says, taking a step forward, and Barnes flinches back instinctively, stumbling for a moment.

“Whoa,” Clint says. Before he knows it he’s sheathing the knife and grabbing Barnes’ arm, steadying him. Barnes blinks rapidly a few times, wobbling a bit before he seems to find his balance again. His slate-blue gaze, so intent a moment ago, seems a little unfocused.

“When’s the last time you ate? Drank something? Slept?”

“I don’t know,” Barnes says, Clint mouthing the lines along with him.

Christ, Nat is going to kill him when she finds out about this, but there’s nothing else Clint can do.

“Well, c’mon in the house. We’ll get this figured out.”

Tags: winterhawk – Freeform; Canon Divergent; Post CA:TWS; Selkie Bucky Barnes; Selkies; Deaf Character; Deaf Clint Barton; Clint Barton Has ADHD; Demisexuality; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con; Canon Disabled Character; Secondary Relationships are Background; Matt Fraction-inspired Clint Barton; All Characters Outside of Winterhawk Are Very Background; Single POVPOV Clint Barton; Clint Barton Has Self-Esteem Issues Word count: 45k+

(self-rec by tumblr: @drgrlfriendrgrlfriend) (I also love their stuff, so consider this a rec from me as well! - Lynlee494)

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My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42901050

Summary: Four years after the Battle of New York, Clint has created a stable life for himself and his young daughter, free of the dangers of SHIELD work.

The Winter Soldier turned himself in to the Avengers, expecting a death sentence or lifetime of imprisonment. Instead, he found absolution and an invitation to join the team. He is still adjusting to life as an Avenger when he meets Clint Barton and his daughter.

The young man that Bucky Barnes used to be was wholeheartedly enthusiastic about meeting his soulmate, but Bucky is not sure there’s a place for him in his soulmate’s life anymore.

Clint has spent his whole life dreading meeting his soulmate, drawing false conclusions from the hurtful words that were spoken in haste. They are both drawn to each other and are willing to give this a try, but will have to work together to overcome the shadows of their past.

Excerpt:

It’s one of the largest soulmarks Bucky has ever seen. The script in Bucky’s neat cursive handwriting starts at the crest of one shoulder and arcs below Clint’s collarbones to end at the crest of the other shoulder, golden letters that no tattoo ink has ever been able to replicate.

What kind of idiot are you?

Tags: winterhawk – Freeform; AU; alternative universe; Soulmates; Alternate Universe – Soulmates; Soulmarks; Soul Bond; Soulmate-Identifying Marks; Single Parent Clint Barton; Single Parents; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; SHIELD Veteran Clint Barton; Secondary Relationships are Background; Deaf Character; Deaf Clint Barton; Jewish Character; Jewish Bucky Barnes; Picking Through Canon Like a Junkyard to Find the Parts I LikeSingle POV; Referenced Canonical Character Death (Phil Coulson); Mild Derogatory Language (e.g. Idiot and Stupid); Canon Disabled Character; Disabled Character; original robot character – Freeform; Harm to a Child in the Context of a Nightmare; Fluff Word count: 49K+ (self-rec by tumblr: @drgrlfriend)

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Freefall by dr_girlfriend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36074404

Summary:

It’s a small hunting cabin. It’s unlikely to have heat or electricity, and it looks uninhabited, but it’s shelter, and Clint is beyond relieved to have managed to make it within striking distance. Just a little longer … a little farther …

It takes him long enough that he would be ashamed under any other circumstances, but eventually he gets the lock open and swings the door wide.

“Fuck me.”

It’s a small one-room cabin, dark and dusty, and notable primarily for the fact that the fucking Winter Soldier is inside, straightening up from where he was hunched by the fireplace, drawing his knife. Tags: Discussion of Canon Child Abuse; Discussion of Canon Brainwashing; Seizures; Epilepsy; Fluff; SHIELD Agent Clint Barton; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Strike Team Delta (Marvel)Sharing a Bed; Sharing Body Heat; Stranded; Slow Burn

Word count: 49k+

(self-rec by tumblr: @drgrlfriendrgrlfriend)

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(Tell Me) It'll All Be Alright by Lynlee494

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54368605

Summary:

How do they do it? Boxed in like that. Back to the only open space around you? Sitting around all day. Nothing to do...” Clint’s voice is tinny through the comms. “Ooh, if you see any decent munchies, snag me a few. I missed dinner.”

“Hey, bird brain, focus. If we’re too late getting back, I can’t pick up Alpine from Kate’s till late tomorrow.” Bucky’s voice is low, while the building should be empty, they aren’t able to watch all the entrances from Clint’s angle on the opposite building. A lot of this relies on the element of surprise and stealth.

"Dude, you just walked past a break room.”

“Are you looking for stray guards, or are you looking for snacks?”

“Both, of course.” Clint scoffs on the open mic. “Wait! Nine o'clock!”

Bucky growls but reaches out and grabs a handful of caramels from a desk and puts them in the breast pocket of his tactical vest.

“You’re the best.”

“Shut up, Barton.”

Tags: Missions Gone Wrong; Hurt/Comfort; Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug; Hurt Bucky Barnes; Protective Clint Barton; Clint & Bucky’s Mutual Love for Explosions; Canon-Typical Violence; Clint Barton Needs a Hug; Bucky Barnes Needs A Bandaid; Whump; Clint Barton is a BAMF; Unreliable Narrator; Matt Fraction-inspired Clint BartonClint Barton Doesn't Have A Secret Family; winterhawk - Freeform; sniper bros; Pre-Slash

(self-rec by Lynlee494: *see above reference to 'shameless')

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Barton and Barnes, the Marvelous Ex-Assassins by Lynlee494

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50450977

Summary: It wouldn’t have been so bad, Bucky could have shrugged this off easily once he caught his breath, but he found the more he pulled to free himself the worse it seemed to be. Barnes thinks he hears shouting, but it is distorted and drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Ripping further at the trap that was furthering ensnaring him he found himself snarling and just ripping at it with brute strength and panicked rage that echoed of the Asset’s frustrated rampages through Hydra personnel.

Tags: Hurt Bucky Barnes; Whump; Bucky Barnes Whump; Hurt/Comfort; Whumptober; Whumptober 2023; Day 1 Prompt; Safety Net; Panic; "How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?"; Circus Performer Clint Barton; Circus Has Come To Town; Canon-Typical Violence; Bucky Barnes Recovering; Panic Attacks; Alternative Prompt; Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes; Clint Barton Feels; Dehumanization; preslashwinterhawk - Freeform

(self-rec by Lynlee494: *see above reference to 'shameless')

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I Don't Remember How by AvaKelly (Part 1 of Kitty)

https://archiveofourown.org/series/308049

Summary:

"How the hell did they wash you," he mutters as he raises from the chair.

"Hosed the blood down," comes from behind as the Soldier follows him toward the bathroom.

Clint almost screams right then and there.

Tags: Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie); Where Was Clint Barton During Captain America 2?; the farm house; Gif Inspired; Oblivious Clint; there's a kitty; Memory Loss; clint adopts assassins; clint is in denial

Word count: 7k+ (Part 1) (rec by tumblr: @nana-evans) (assistance from tumblr: @therulingqueen)

___________________ Nameless by AvaKelly

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827387

Summary: A gun is pointed at him before he can even move from his position, the Soldier's metal arm steady in its aim. Clint sighs.

"Nemo," Clint says. "It's tattooed on your wrist, right here," he lifts his right hand and taps his left index finger where his palm ends.

The Soldier's eyes widen. "How do you know this?"

"I put it there." Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier; Past meetings; starcrossed assassins (not really); Memory Loss; Tattoos; jules verne references; Canon-Typical Violence; Hurt/Comfort; Recovery; Infinity Gems; Time Loop; Time Travel; Slow Burn; Action; Rescue Mission; Saving the World; mentions of torture; Tearjerker; Healing; obliviously falling in love

Word count: 101k+ (rec by tumblr: @nana-evans) (assistance from tumblr: @o-kaythislooksbad)

___________________

Author recs:

'Definitely try squadrickchestopher’s and teeelsie’s fics!' teeelsie: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teeelsie/pseuds/Teeelsie/works

(rec by tumblr: @jinxquickfoot)

(rec by tumblr: @broken--bow ) -- squadrickchestopher: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher/works

(rec by tumblr: @jinxquickfoot)

Lissadiane: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/pseuds/Lissadiane

(rec by tumblr: @sishal01)

‘I'm shocked that no one has recommended ArtaxLivs yet--particularly the True Colors series; Through the Looking Glass; Both, Both is Good; And the Stockings Were Hung; and The Happiest Place on Earth. The character insight! The inner anguish! The humor! The smut! ’

ArtaxLivs: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtaxLivs/works

(rec by tumblr: @feistygina )

___________________

***I was unable to find the following, however: ‘You should check Ava Kelly's "Kitty" series for Clint finds Bucky, it's awesome! Also, "Nemo", from the same author’ (rec by tumblr: @nana-evans) ***If anyone has a link? I tried to find both author and stories, and failed.

Thank you to @therulingqueen and @o-kaythislooksbad! The above fixed are now at the end, right before the 'Author Recs'!

167 notes · View notes

areyouwell · 8 months ago

Note

Is there any chance you'd do one shot still relating to Phobophobia series? Like how they both adjusting their lives back to the mansion after two years. I just loveeee their dynamic sooo much I physically need moree <33

turns out... yes. it seems there was a chance. a large chance... so here it is <3

'Til One of Us Keels Over' – A Phobophobia Oneshot

Pairing: Logan Howlet x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: None :)

Word Count: 5.6K

A/N: BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! to other's who've sent in requests, IM ON IT DONT U WORRY, almost halfway through one of them already and have another planned out. though whilst idk if this counts as a request i simply couldn't say goodbye to Firefly and Logan quite yet. anon, it turns out i also physically needed more of them, so we shall both be feasting

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

The shrill ringing of the school bell interrupted the calm, studious silence of your classroom, instantly every single one of your students put down their pens and started to pack up their books. It was a shame since it had been forever since you could get them into a studying trance such as this, but they’d worked hard enough and you weren’t about to be one of those teachers who kept their students behind after the bell had rung just for the sake of wielding the power of being a professor.

“I want that mission analysis on my desk by next Wednesday. No excuses, Bobby, I know there’s a game on Monday but you have ample time to work around that,” You gave the boy one of your hard stares that told him there was no room to argue before he could even open his mouth.

“Will we be in the danger room next Wednesday?” Jubilee asked, almost skipping up to your desk, her books held tightly against her chest. You hummed thoughtfully, casting another raised brow to the rest of your students who’d each gathered in little groups with their friends to discuss whatever it was they were doing next.

“That highly depends on the rest of your classmates and how many reports I have on my desk next week.” You didn’t have to worry about Jubilee, whilst yes she could be a chatterbox in class, and yes she could get easily distracted by the others, she tried exceptionally hard with her studies, and you had no doubt her report would be the first one on your desk come next Wednesday.

Her eyes lit up as you told her your terms and conditions, turning back to the small group of three and bounding up to them, explaining emphatically that they all had to get their homework in or they’d be stuck in the stuffy classroom for another week. You huffed an amused smile as they all turned to Bobby pointedly, Marie poking the centre of his chest with her gloved hand. You couldn’t believe they all only had one year left of studies before they were free to be whoever they wanted to be. You knew a large majority of them wanted to join the X-Men, but you also knew there were a few who wanted to attend university as well, further their education and find their place in the world. It warmed your heart to think you’d contributed somewhat to their futures. It made everything worth it.

With a crack of your neck, stretching your hands high above your head to loosen up your shoulders, you exhaled a heavy sigh as the last of the stragglers left your classroom, muttering apologies by the door as they exited. You frowned in confusion, looking over to ask them why they were apologising, before your features relaxed into a fond smile, now understanding that they weren’t apologising to you, but to the man currently leaning against the doorframe, broad arms crossed across his chest.

They must have bumped into him on the way out.

Your heart grew three sizes just seeing him, any tension in your body left over from a day’s teaching leeching from your body as you took in his soft, fond smile bathed in the afternoon sunlight.

Six months. Six months and he was still trying to adjust to having you back. To not wake up soaked in sweat and choked with grief. To not wander the halls of the school aimlessly looking for you despite knowing you weren’t there. Six months and he still had to make sure you were alive and well at every opportunity he got—break times, small gaps between classes, lunches, and when classes ended. You never needed to go looking for him because he was always by your door waiting for you.

“You’re gonna permanently dent my door frame if you keep leaning on it like that.” You said flatly, trying in vain to seem like seeing him didn’t light you up from the inside. You turned your attention back to the stray papers on your desk, aimlessly organising them to stop yourself from looking in his direction. It was just a little game the two of you played. Logan would show up at every opportunity he could and you’d pretend to find it irritating, despite the both of you knowing you still needed this. Still needed the reassurance that the both of you were still alive and well and here and breathing and–

“Jean’ll fix it.” He shrugged, heart blossoming as you huffed a reluctant smile, finally looking back to him, your one golden eye glistening in the amber glow of the afternoon sun. Nothing really had changed about you other than that. You had no scars left from your life before, and one of your eyes was now a completely different colour, but other than that you were exactly the same as the day he lost you.

Well, almost.

With a wry smile, you sent him a wink before dissolving into the sunlight, reassembling yourself from the shadows in front of him cast from the breaks in the windows. That was something he still needed to get used to. You had a whole new host of powers to work on, but most of it came to you naturally. When he’d taken you back six months ago, he’d carried you straight to Charles and Jean, the two of them running test after test after test on you. For the most part, you couldn’t help lashing out, the poking and prodding of white coats flaring your fight or flight response, far too similar to the horrors you’d endured. Jean had to teach Logan how to take blood since you wouldn’t let her anywhere near you.

But when the test results came back, he’d never seen Jean so excited. Your brother’s DNA had somehow bonded itself to yours, intertwining your mutations and granting you access to a whole new range of powers previously inaccessible. You explained how you could communicate with Rowan throughout the two years you were gone, and most of the time he spent arguing with you, spitting pointless insults. The only times he would fall silent were when Logan would visit, and after countless conversations, listening to everything he was saying, he’d finally come around to your side, realising what he’d done, and what he’d taken from you.

Logan didn’t let you out of his sight for two weeks straight after that. You got back to teaching a week later, and he would just sit in the corner while you taught your students, refusing to leave your side until you had to sit him down and explain you weren’t going anywhere. You were back, and that was that.

It took another week for him to accept it.

You pushed up onto your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck and softly pecking his lips with a swift kiss. His hands instinctively found your waist, lips pulling into a smile as they moved against yours.

You hummed in contentment as you separated a fraction, leaning up to press your forehead against his, and he pulled you closer against him if that was even possible.

“How’s your day goin’?” He asked, and you snorted a laugh, setting yourself back down on your feet before your calves cramped up. It was still slightly strange, to have limbs again after spending the last two years as nothing but consciousness, and you were still getting used to the sensation of muscles.

“As good as it was when you asked me an hour ago,” you responded with a playful grin. Logan rolled his eyes, biting back a smile when he flicked your forehead slightly, resulting in you waving him off.

“No last class of the day bullshit from Bobby?” he asked with slight disbelief, following behind you as you returned to your desk to gather up your materials and various mugs of coffee. His surprise only increased when you shook your head, handing him the things you couldn’t carry.

“Nope, honestly they were great today. Probably because they knew this was punishment for fucking about last week,” You shrugged as Logan took your bag off you and slung it over his own shoulder. “They did grumble a bit when I said we’d be working with books today rather than their mutations, but accepted it when I reminded them of the consequences of their actions. After that, they were good as gold.” You drained the final dregs of your coffee, grimacing as little bits of bitter grounds flooded your mouth and you suddenly remembered why you’d left the little bit at the bottom in the first place.

Logan set his chin atop your head for a brief moment and you leaned back into him, warm adoration wrapping around your heart.

“What’d ya want for dinner?”

You felt his voice vibrate against the back of your head, reverberating through your skull in a way that had your mind blissfully blank, exhaling a relaxed breath caused purely by his proximity.

“Not sure. Could make a stir fry? Oooo, or a curry? I think we still have some leftover rice somewhere. Chicken curry?” You asked, turning to face him only to find his eyes completely lost on your features, drinking you in as if it were the first time he laid eyes on you. “What…?” You prompted, watching him blink from his trance.

“Nothin’... just rememberin’ this isn’t a dream, s’all.” He explained, and your heart broke a little for him. Setting down one of the mugs in your hand, you cupped the side of his fuzzy jaw, brows pinching as he leaned into your touch as if to remind himself it was real. It was something that had happened a few times. You’d turn to find him in his own head as he looked at you, a faraway glaze hazing his eyes before you dragged him back to reality. He’d divulged once what he was thinking about, how fucking lucky he was you were back. How he didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this twist of fate. How fucking terrified he was of suddenly waking up and you being gone again.

“Still here…” you whispered, smoothing your thumb across his cheekbone. He breathed a gentle sigh, nodding infinitesimally, his eyes fluttering closed as he basked in your presence.

“I know.” He answered with equal quiet, readily accepting the much-needed reassurance before he placed a kiss against the heel of your palm. You stayed like that for what felt like hours, simply letting him feel you, letting his heart readjust to being able to love you freely once again when such an act would have caused so much pain six months ago.

“C’mon,” you murmured lowly, smiling softly as he breathed in your scent one more time, before allowing the moment to end. “Kids’ll be getting hungry and I really don’t wanna deal with a hangry Morgana either.” Logan chuckled in response.

You were so fucking grateful Morgana stayed after your sacrifice. Not only for herself and her own mental recovery but also for those who had come to love her dearly. Logan had told you all the good she did in the two years you’d been gone, she’d been a key player in reminding him not to wallow as much, sharply kicking his ass the way he knew you would when getting out of bed seemed like such a monumental task. They’d been each other’s anchors. Each other’s rocks. Picking the other up when they fell. And when Logan returned with you in his arms, she almost fell to her knees in sobbing disbelief, racing across the hall to envelop you in an embrace that had the air in your lungs fleeing.

That, and the fact she’d grown extremely attached to a certain German teleporter had her sticking around.

“Can’t argue with that. Curry it is,” Logan placed a kiss to your forehead, picking up the mug you’d placed down and tucking you against his side as you both left to deposit your belongings in the staff room and make a start on dinner. You didn’t often cook for the older kids, they were content with making or ordering their own meals, but you found immense satisfaction in cooking for the younger ones. Calling them to the dinner table with Ororo in tow, sitting them all down, making sure they ate not only the ‘nice’ parts but the vegetables as well. Most of them were good at eating it all, but there were a few who stubbornly would try to hide broccoli beneath their cutlery.

Thank fuck for Ororo, because honestly? You didn’t have the heart to make them eat it.

You were just about to enter the staff room when Logan stopped in his tracks, pulling you closer to him as he sniffed the air, a snarl bubbling from his throat, arm tightening around your shoulders. Cautious adrenaline leaked into your veins as you looked from your partner to the closed door.

“What?” You asked, placing a hand on the centre of his chest as if you could feel what was going through his head. But your question shouldn’t have been ‘What?’, but rather ‘Who?’.

“Erin.” He ground between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing at the panels of the door as if he could see right through it. Your whole body tensed, eyes blowing wide at his answer. What the fuck was she doing here? “Wha’d’ya wanna do?” His gaze slid from the door to your side profile, watching as you entertained the multiple courses of action. You could turn around, wait until she left and asked what the fuck she was doing later on in the evening, avoid her altogether and continue as if she never existed.

Or…

“Never been afraid of confrontation before…” you raised your chin at the unexpected challenge, a smile pulling at the corner of your lips as Logan pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

“Atta girl.” He murmured into your hair, and you steeled your nerves before pushing the door open and stopping as five pairs of eyes turned in your direction. Most of them you knew well, saw them every day. But there were two you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Atlas gasped your name, mouth agape in disbelief, his eyes welling up as you clenched your jaw. It wasn’t that you had a problem with him, specifically. After all, he’d practically brought Morgo back from the dead. It was the way he’d forgiven Erin for what she did. Not only that but found a way to love enough to ask her to marry him. The way she’d been allowed to get a happy ending whilst you and Logan had been forced to separate for two fucking years, neither of you knowing if you’d ever see the other again.

Logan placed a steadying hand against your waist, and you could almost feel the waves of anger emanating from his body. His protective streak had only increased since getting you back. In unison, you both turned to look at Erin, who’d been staring at you in complete and utter astonishment that you were standing before her. Alive. Your eyes flickered down to the gnarled scar on her neck, and you couldn’t help the twisted satisfaction in your gut that she would forever have a reminder of what she did.

The room was thick with unbearable tension, everyone waiting for someone else to be the first one to say something. You reserved the right to keep your silence, even if it meant you didn’t say anything for however long this situation was going to last. But, predictably, Charles cleared his throat, wheeling forward as Morgana stepped out of the way and closer to you, casting you a glance that you could only interpret as ‘the nerve of this bitch’.

“I believe we should leave these four to catch up. Ororo, Logan, outside please.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m goin’ anywhere,” Logan growled, tightening his hand against your waist, his thumb swiping soothingly against your shirt.

“I’m not gonna do anything… I just wanted to talk. To see if it was real.” Erin offered weakly, and Logan almost lunged for her throat for the crime of merely opening her mouth. But you settled a hand atop his on your waist,

“‘S’okay. She’s harmless to me now,” venomous threat laced your tone as you pulled both light and shadow toward you as if to emphasise your point, allowing the molecules of each to fuse to your shoulder blades, two juxtaposing wings flaring from your back. One of glittering shadow, the other of glowing light.

Logan’s chest flared with pride when Erin took a slight step back, fear dancing in her traitor’s eyes as she slowly put the pieces together of just how much stronger you were now, and how that had come to be. Morgana grinned with complete unrestraint at you, unafraid to show how delicious she was finding your lack of fucks to give now.

“Okay,” he cupped your jaw, tilting your head to look at him before he descended on you, capturing your lips in a searing display of passion. You knew why. You knew it was a fuck you to Erin, a demonstration of what she almost took from the both of you and a message to say, despite everything, you’d made it through. “I’ll be outside, yeah?”

You nodded, breathing a long, grateful sigh against the lower half of his face, before turning to deliberately look at both Erin and Atlas. Logan sent them one final, knife-edge glare before turning to follow Charles out the door. Ororo placed a hand on your shoulder as she passed you, sending you a concerned look.

“You going to be okay?” She asked, loud enough for the two to hear her. You wondered if they’d all had a meeting about this, about how they would behave if Erin ever showed up again after you returned. You sent her a grateful smile in response, nodding with the surety you genuinely felt.

“I’ll be fine. Like I said, she’s harmless now. I’m not the one suffering with the guilt of what I’ve done.” You shrugged, looking over her shoulder to see Erin’s expression falter slightly, her eyes meeting the floor. Ororo clamped her lips to stop herself from smiling, squeezing your shoulder briefly before heading out, shutting the door behind her.

You’d lived through your fair share of awkward silences before, but nothing even came close to his. You could almost taste the unspoken words.

“You’re looking well,” Atlas was the first to speak, attempting to break the thick ice with the verbal equivalent of a toothpick. “Both of you are–”

“Cut the shit, Atlas,” Morgana interjected with venom lacing her tone, eyes hard and lips taut. You blinked in surprise, before remembering that you weren’t the only one who suffered at the hands of Erin. Though they’d seen each other since, Logan had told you just how frosty Morgo was toward the girl, never truly forgiving her for what she did. “Why’re you here? I’m assuming it’s not for wedding gifts.”

Your eyes fell to the matching bands around their fingers, a kernel of spite curling in your gut. How fucking dare she have the audacity to get fucking married. To live a happy life whilst you were readjusting to being alive again.

“No… Erin just wanted to–”

“Did Erin lose the ability to talk after my brother slit her treacherous throat?” You asked with a disgusting amount of faux sweetness in your tone. Atlas visibly bristled, and Erin narrowed her eyes to you.

“Obviously not, since you just heard me speak.” She spat back.

“Point still stands.” Morgo set her hand on her hip, jutting out her chin in challenge. The room fell silent again, charged tension humming in the space between you. Would this end in a fight? You honestly wouldn’t be mad. You’d been itching to beat the shit out of her ever since you returned.

But the fight fell from the green-haired girl’s eyes, her shoulder slumping, a hand braced against the side of her temple. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. Nothing excuses what I did, but you gotta understand, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to get Atlas back.” She linked her fingers through her husband’s.

“Yeah? I hope that helps you sleep at night. We done?” You asked, not bothering to wait for a response before turning to head back out the door, already sick of this conversation. You weren’t about to give her the closure she needed. The villainous bitch didn’t deserve it.

“What if it was Logan?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes blowing wide as if you’d just been struck by lightning.

“What did you say…?” your tone lowered dangerously, deadly clipped notes exaggerating your words.

“What if Kreva had Logan? What would you have done?”

You whipped back, stalking toward her, every step measured. “I would have trusted my fucking team. My friends. I would have put my faith in them and worked together to get him back.”

Erin scoffed a harsh laugh. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Hell, you were ready to storm in there alone because Kreva had Rowan, so don’t stand there and tell me you wouldn’t have broken the world to get him back.”

You were at a loss for words. Because she was right. Fuck, she was right. You don’t know what you would have done if Kreva had Logan rather than Rowan, but you sure as shit wouldn’t have waited around for two weeks planning meticulously.

“That’s not fair, Erin–” Morgana started uncertainly, but Erin cut her off.

“How? How isn’t that fair? Oh, it’s unforgivable when I do whatever I have to to get the man I love back but all of a sudden it’s a-okay for Miss Martyr over here to do it? How’s that fair?”

Your jaw tensed, expression steeling to dismissal as you squared your shoulders. “You live with the weight of what you did, Erin. We all know how guilt can eat us alive but honestly? You live with its teeth sunk into your neck.” You glanced down pointedly to the scar across her throat, before turning your gaze to Morgana. “We’re done here.”

Morgana nodded as you turned to leave, but a tight grasp around your wrist stopped you.

“You don’t understand, I was so afraid of losing him… you don’t get it.”

You mimicked her sharp bark from earlier, raising a knife-like brow.

“I don’t get it? Me? Of course I get it, Erin. But there’s a difference,” you yanked your hand back from her grip. “I wouldn’t be here begging for forgiveness. I wouldn’t be invading the lives of the people I betrayed looking for some pathetic form of closure. I have my closure. Good luck finding yours.” And with that, you stalked from the room, past an obviously eavesdropping Ororo who immediately shifted to look like she was inspecting the backs of her nails. You didn’t mind, though. Because honestly? You were pretty proud of how you handled yourself in there. But there was one thing replaying in your mind as you marched directionless through the halls, not even noticing Logan calling your name from the lounge as you made your way outside.

‘What if it was Logan?’

“Leave her,” Charles placed a hand on Logan’s forearm as he made to follow you, pausing only to give the Professor an incredulous look. He nodded in emphasis. “Let her reflect. Whether she thinks she needs to or not, some things said in that room need to be considered.”

Logan sighed. He’d deliberately moved away from the door, rolling his eyes at Ororo who mentioned she was dying to hear you dress the bitch down. But he couldn’t let himself impose on your privacy like that. If you wanted to tell him, that was fine, and he’d listen diligently. If you didn’t, that was fine too, and he’d serve as a distraction from whatever the hell just happened. Of course, he had a preference, but he wasn’t about to tell you that.

It was dark by the time you returned, and Logan had already rearranged the plates on the table four times out of sheer lack of knowing what to do. He had to fight tooth and nail to save you some dinner, batting away the hands of both students and teachers alike, sending glares to anyone who dared approach the bubbling pot. He’d kept the bolognese at a steady heat, hoping to shit it wouldn’t be horrendously overcooked by the time you came back.

And though he was certain the meat would be hard as leather by now, the concern fled his mind when you trudged back through the front doors, sighing heavily. His heart cracked at how exhausted you sounded, worry eating away at his chest. His brows pinched when you entered the kitchen, looking as if you’d just fought several wars. On instinct he crossed the floor, wrapping you in his arms and guiding your head into his neck.

It was your favourite place on Earth.

“You okay…?” He asked hesitantly, and you breathed deeply against his collar.

“Yeah… no. I don’t know,” you answered, an unnatural quiet hushing your words. Warm hands cupped either side of your neck as he brought you to look up at him, his thumbs smoothing either side of your jaw. “It was weird. Seeing her again. Didn’t really know how it would go but it went about as well as I thought it would.” You shrugged, your hands busying themselves with the buttons on his shirt, fiddling with them to serve as a grounding point.

“Wanna talk about it?” He tilted his head to the side, palms sliding up to brace the sides of your face, the pads of his thumbs now gliding across your cheekbones, caressing the deep purple space beneath your eyes.

Your teeth pulled at the skin of your lower lip in contemplation, and he immediately smoothed over the hurt. “I just– she asked what I would have done if our roles had been reversed,” you began, and Logan raised a brow, silently asking you to elaborate. “If Kreva had you, and not Atlas. She asked what I would have done if I were in her shoes… I don’t know, just kinda made me think that we’re not so different after all, she and I,” You fell silent, your mind still stuck on the conversation from earlier. Taking the last few hours to contemplate your answer, you still didn’t have one. You were ready to forsake the team and go after Rowan alone if you had to. What would you sacrifice for Logan? “I was so ready to hate her for the rest of my life. So ready to condemn her for what she did, withhold closure and forgiveness but… she has a point. Annoyingly.”

Logan tilted his head, his eyes dancing with empathy. He knew exactly what you were going through because it was only thanks to Jean’s reasoning he didn’t come after you alone two years ago. And if he didn’t have the team behind him, who knows what kind of sick, twisted things he’d have done? And now you were struggling not only with the guilt of hating someone for doing something you yourself were capable of doing but also with the heavy realisation that you would do that kind of thing.

“Just scared me, I guess…” you shrugged again, delicate hands gently holding either of his wrists as you gave up on grounding yourself with the buttons on his shirt and used his pulse points instead, your thumbs smoothing over the tendons.

“I get it. Ya know I do. But realisin’ you’re capable of doin’ somethin’ like that doesn’t make you the monster,” he slid his hands from your jaw down to the backs of your thighs, lifting you effortlessly from the ground and placing you on the table, standing between your parted legs. “We had a plan. A plan that, if given half the chance, probably would have worked. Erin chose to sacrifice that chance despite knowin’ everythin’ Kreva had done.

But you? You’re smart, sweetheart. Sure, you probably would have beat the shit outta Scott a few times, but you woulda known it was your best chance. You did know,” his hands found your jaw once again, angling your face back up to meet his eyes. “Just cuz you’re capable of it, doesn’t mean you’d do it. I’m capable of dismembering innocents if it meant I’d get you back, doesn’t mean I’d do it. Though I’d think real hard about it.” Your features scrunched as you fought to fight back the burning tears in your eyes, lips pursing, brows furrowing, you choked back the feeling of being both seen and accepted.

“Okay…” you whispered, nodding a little before fully leaning into his touch as he planted a kiss to the centre of your brow and tucking you safely into the hollow of his throat, his arms slowly wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers winding through your hair.

“Erin chose to act. You chose to trust. Not gonna pretend there ain’t similarities between you, but the differences are greater,” he murmured, the side of his cheek resting against the top of your head. Incrementally, you allowed yourself to feel his comfort, to wrap your arms around the side of his ribs and let yourself feel supported by him. “Although I’m not gonna stand here and say the idea of you tearing the world apart f’me ain’t somethin’ I’d say no to watchin’.”

You snorted a teary laugh, and the tight chains of concern dropped away from his heart with each slight, amused shake of your shoulders. Pulling back from his embrace a fraction, you exhaled your self-hatred and guilt, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Logan looked down at you with nothing but sheer, crushing adoration, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips, finding yourself savouring the familiar scratch of his scruff against your cheek and chin.

“Thank you.” While it was only a peaceful breath of gratitude, Logan saw the weight behind it in your mismatched eyes, felt the depth of feeling in his very soul.

“Anytime, Firefly,” he smiled softly before the irritated rumble of your stomach tore the blanket of reverie over the two of you. “Hungry?” He asked with the slightest smirk, and you grinned back.

“Starved, never got round to that curry. What did the kids eat?” A fresh wave of concern donned your features, and Logan couldn’t help but fantasise for the briefest moment that you weren’t talking about the students. But your kids. His kids.

A family.

“Made a bolognese. Can’t balance the flavours of a curry like you can and didn’t wanna subject them to somethin’ that might be way too spicy. Or not spicy enough. Or just tasted of cardamom pods.” He watched that brief picture of concern wash away from your face, replaced by small snickers.

“Can’t argue with that. And you do make a mean bolognese.”

“Learnt from the best.”

“Damn right, you did.”

Logan took a small step back so you could hop down from the table, finding himself lost in the satisfied craving for domesticity he’d found with you. His eyes followed you as you went to pull out a plate from the cupboard, taking a pair of metal tongs to serve yourself a hearty portion of slightly cold spaghetti and grossly overcooked bolognese. A realisation hit him like one of your punches. He was a damn idiot for not asking you before this.

“Marry me.”

You froze, eyes flying wide as you all but dropped your dinner to the floor, bracing a hand on the counter to steady yourself. Setting the plate down, you slowly turned to face him, those same tears from before returning to your eyes, only for a completely new reason.

“What…?” you whispered, and Logan took a breath.

“Marry me.” He repeated with that same matter-of-fact tone he’d used so long ago, it was achingly similar to when he’d told you to teach with him. “I don’t have a ring or anythin’ yet, wasn’t really plannin’ on askin’ you in the kitchen but–”

“Yes.”

Logan blinked. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t exactly thought much other than asking you. Or, telling you, he supposed. “What?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you. I said I wasn’t mad about it when you basically proposed two years ago. Ya think I would have changed my mind between then and now? Of course I’ll marry you.” You laughed, your smile unrestrained as he strode across the floor, crushing you in a tight embrace, his mouth instantly seeking yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his heart singing for you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, a sudden and intense fervour enrapturing your soul.

You could have whined when he pulled back, the loss of contact causing you near physical pain, but you pushed through it to see those very same tears in your eyes reflected in his own. It didn’t feel real. After everything you’d been through together, the fear, the agony, the grief.

None of this felt real.

“I love you, ya know that?” He murmured against your lips, and you elicited a soft laugh.

“I bloody well hope so, we’re getting married.”

Holy fuck…

You were getting married.

“Though…” You continued, a glint of mischief sparkling in your eye. “On one condition…” Logan raised a brow, once again silently asking you to elaborate. “We change the vows. From ‘Til death do us part’ to ‘Til one of us keels over’.

He huffed a laugh of pure fondness, still reeling from the fact he’d finally had the opportunity to ask you what he should have asked you years ago.

“Til one of us keels over.”

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