#“Kneel... Gay man...” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebumblebeesworld · 1 month ago

Text

NSFW! • ALPHABET

annie x fem reader

summary: bunch of gay shit with my girl annieee

cw: everything smut related obvi, use of the nword, mentions of violence, knife play, impact play, the works

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a = aftercare

Annie likes to know you’re taken care of in all ways. Whether it be making sure you have a full stomach early in the morning or a warm place to rest your head after a day of work, she takes care of all your needs. That extends perfectly to your after sex care as well.

Annie loves to massage your body—rid you of the aching in your thighs or pain in your knees from kneeling on the hard wooden floors of her shack, eating her out.

You extend this courtesy to her as well. When Annie has spent a particularly long time pleasuring you or giving you her pleasure, you make sure to fix her a nice bath. You heat up a pot of water on the stove, pouring it into her tub and joining her if she so desires.

b = body part

Annie adores your titties. Couldn’t get enough of them if she tried. She likes it when you sleep in your silk chemise with nothing underneath. It gives her the perfect opportunity to rest her hands or face in your chest. She once said, “If I ever suffocate in yo’ titties, it’s the best way I could go out.”

Annie loves every part of her own body, but as she’s aged, she’s found an adoration for her curves. She loves the way her body dips and turns and flushes in certain spots. She loves the way your hands fit in her curves most of all.

c = cum

The first time you two had sex was the first time you learned that Annie was a squirter. It was the first time she learned that as well.

She had good sex before you but never to the point of blacking out and cumming like a mad man who didn’t know any better.

You love it about her—you love drinking up every bit of her she has to give.

d = dirty secret

Annie is an open book.

She never keeps any secrets from you about her desires or fantasies or kinks. She tells it all, knowing you will supply her needs.

e = experience

Before you, Annie had never been with a woman before. Or anyone besides Smoke, but she didn’t let that stop her.

She loves to make up for the lost time and chance for experience by learning all of your body’s quirks. She revels in being able to bring you to a quick orgasm just as much as she loves drawing your pleasure out.

She’s learned with time what your sex faces mean and when you’re on the verge of orgasm or simply wanting more.

Even though she lacked the experience you had with women, she gladly allowed you to teach her.

f = favorite position

It’s hard for Annie to choose just one position as her favorite, but she could easily narrow it down to you on your knees while she rides your face or you laying on your back while she takes care of you in every way you desire.

She loves to watch every face you make while giving and receiving pleasure. It spurs her on.

g = goofy

Annie doesn’t like to limit herself in the bedroom, and in the beginning of your relationship—as she tried to explore and learn—you both would find yourselves breaking into a fit of laughter fairly often.

One time, when Annie was trying to climb on top of your face, she ended up slipping and falling off the side of the bed. You scrambled, raising your voice and asking if she was ok. Blanket wrapped around your waist, you kneeled on the floor to help her up, but all Annie could do was laugh.

“Are you ok,” you ask, a confused look pulling at your eyebrows. You grab her face, pulling her into you to check for any damage to your love, but she just laughs.

“Did you see that,” she giggles. “You eat it so good I couldn’t even sit down well enough before falling over.” You blink you eyes in amusement, never having seen her so carefree and light.

h = hair

Annie definitely has a full on bush. She keeps it nice and tidy, but she—and you—prefer to leave her pubic area more natural.

i = intimacy

Your woman shows love in a way you’ve never experienced before. She balances the erotic, passion-filled sex and romantic, intimate sex well, not favoring one over the other.

You appreciate romantic Annie. Romantic Annie likes to have candles lit and Bessie Smith playing smoothly through the phonograph in your bedroom. Romantic Annie likes to sip on cherry wine while slow dancing with you, windows open to let it the cool air of a late summer night.

When you have true intimate and romantic sex, it’s slow and not reliant upon a quick orgasm or breaking down of the other person’s body. You get to explore each other and whisper I love you’s to the tune of blues.

j = jack off

She fucks herself to the thought of you. Your moans. Your body. Your hot, aroused skin pressed against hers. Everything about you gets her going to the point of not being able to stop her fingers from trailing underneath the fabric of her dress.

You come home early from work, missing your woman and simply wanting to love on her. It had been a hard week of grueling work, and you hadn’t been able to spend as much time together as you’d prefer.

Walking through the front door, her name on the tip of your tongue, you stop as you hear a sound coming from the back end of your home.

Your bedroom.

You walk down the hall, muffled cries becoming more distinct the closer you get. You find your shared bedroom door slightly ajar. On the bed is Annie. Her legs are spread wide. Her dress is hoisted up to her full hips, and the top that’s meant to cover her breasts is down, allowing her titties to bounce freely.

You admire her form as she fucks herself wildly. Three fingers are being thrusted in and out of her dripping cunt, and her chest heaves at the intensity.

“Oh, y/n,” she moans. You think for a second that she caught you watching her, but her head is thrown back and her eyes are squeezed shut.

You then realize: she’s cumming to the thought of you alone.

k = kink

Annie is definitely down for some impact play, there’s no doubt about it. Whether she’s feeling more dominant or submissive, she’s willing to partake in a little bit of painful pleasure.

When she wants to give, she lets you choose what method she’ll inflict, giving you options between her hand or a belt.

When she receives, she wants to go the whole way: tied up, eyes covered, ass in the air, and taking it. You love to watch the way her ass recoils as you spank her progressively harder. Her moans heighten, bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Music to your ears.

Annie also has an affinity for calling you daddy when she’s in a submissive mood. But you’ve come to realize that she uses it to get her way every time.

l = location

When the weather permits it, you and Annie fuck outside. She always said it was a spiritual experience to be in nature, so when you recommended that y’all have sex in the wide open Mississippi sun, she was all for it.

“Fuck yes, baby,” you cry directly into Annie’s pussy as her head is buried between your trembling legs. Underneath you is nothing but a sheer blanket and tufts of overgrown grass and Annie.

You love when y’all change up the routine and fuck under the clouds, and giving and receiving at the same time has your body feeling like it’s floating amongst those clouds.

Annie groans as you get back you work. She nibbles at your folds, trying not to drown in you but ultimately wanting to.

You fuck each other with a burning passion. The slight breeze that rustles the grasses around you tickles your skin. It eases the perspiration brought on by the sun and it whispers in both of your ears. The wind seems to talk to you both, urging you to give each other what you desire. To make love like you never have before.

You listen, leaning fully into Annie and palming her plump ass. She brings your own pelvis closer into her desperate lips, and for just a second, it seems like the whole earth goes quiet, waiting for what’s next.

Your breathing falters—as does Annie’s, and in a flash of cries and cum, y’all are orgasming into each other’s mouths.

m = motivation

When out on the town and at somebody’s juke, you and Annie are sure to pull in a lot of attention. Women and men alike flock to you both, offering to buy you drinks or asking for a dance, but you both shoo them off with a calm no thank you.

On one occasion though, you planned to meet Annie at the juke instead of riding together on account of her wanting to arrive with a few of her friends.

As you stroll in, you search high and low for your Annie, needing to reach out and hold her to the tune of some slow, crooning blues.

You look around and see Mary and Pearline, knowing Annie just had to be close by. They meet your gaze as you walk their way, but worry quickly flashes over their faces. They share a look before glancing to the side for just half a second. But you catch it.

You move your gaze toward that direction to find your woman in the arms of another man.

Leroy Archibald. That nigga been trying to get Annie alone for the longest, and the one day you arrive after her of course he takes it as his chance.

You straighten out your clothes, smoothing the non-wrinkled fabric in order to cool your nerves. Mary and Pearline attempt to stop you from making a scene, knowing you don’t play when it comes to Annie, but when Leroy pulls Annie into him and she tries to fight back against him, you jump into action.

“So you gon’ sit up in my face and fool ‘round with my woman, nigga?”

You revel at the way Leroy immediately let’s Annie’s body go, trembling at the feeling of a well-sharpened blade lined up perfectly at the base of his throat.

In your youth, you were known to do damage to a man, but people began to take your matured-adulthood for weakness. Everyone in the juke stopped dancing to watch as you confront Leroy, but all you can care about is Annie.

“Lo-look, y/n,” he stuttered. “I ain’t even mean nothing by it. I promise! She asked me for a dance—SHIT!” You kick him in the back of the knee, causing him to crumble into a kneeling position. You lay your eyes on Annie as the blade presses further into his neck.

“He hurt you any, sweetheart,” you ask her gently. Her eyes are blown. Seeing you so protective of her, ready to cut this man in front of a juke full of people has her body warming up all over. Mary and Pearline come to stand by her side again.

“He,” she begins, interrupted by his cries for you to let him go. You press the blade a little harder to shut him up.

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout him, suga’. Now go on. Tell me.”

Your persuasive and guiding voice just adds on to her growing arousal. You prompting her to speak, pulls her submissive side out of her.

“He wouldn’t let me go when I asked ‘im,” she admits, making your blood boil. “But I’m good, love. I think he learned his lesson.” She gazed down at Leroy’s tear-streaked face. You believe what she’s saying, but you aren’t gonna let any man feel like he could get that close to your woman again.

You force Leroy up to his feet, pushing him through the crowd. You stop at Annie and whisper in her ear:

“I’m just gon’ go handle this right quick, baby. Don’t worry.”

You assurance forces butterflies to flutter around her insides as she—along with the crowd—watches you take Leroy into a side room. Before the door closes fully, she sees you throw him to the floor and begin punching the asshole out of him.

The whole scene has her motivated to treat you well tonight. When y’all get home, she vows to give you some good loving.

n = no

Annie is open to most things, but in the trying of new positions and ways to have sex, she realized that she isn’t a huge fan of knife play. Intrigued by your show of aggression with Leroy Archibald, Annie wanted to play around with your blade. But she quickly realized that it wasn’t for her when she actually felt the weight of it on her neck, even though you were as gentle as ever.

Afterwards, you gave her as much love as she could handle, thanking her for her time and effort. You ran her a warm bath, placing dried rose petals in to calm her body.

“Can you get in with me,” she stops you just before you can cross the door’s threshold. Her eyes are big with emotion, and you can tell that she just wants to be close. So without answering, you strip off your few clothes and settle in the tub behind her.

Annie’s body fully melts into yours, the hot water and rose petals tickling your skin.

o = oral

As stated, Annie loves head. Giving. Receiving. It doesn’t matter. She has never had her pussy ate so good until you came into her life, and she never thought pussy would taste as good as yours does.

Whenever Annie can get a mouthful of you, she is a happy woman.

p = pace

Annie has times where she likes it fast and times where she likes it slow. It all depends on her mood or if she’s been stressed recently. When she’s stressed, you make sure to take her slow and calm her worried mind bit by bit.

More often than not, it works.

q = quickie

She doesn’t prefer quickies in the slightest. She likes to have her hands on you for as long as humanly possible, but if needed, she’ll settle for quick sex.

Sometimes when you’ve spent the entire day thinking about her, you’ll come home during your short lunch break. When she hears your truck pounding down the dirt road, she knows exactly what type of time you’re on. She pounces on you as soon as you make it through the door, wasting no time at all.

r = risks

Everything has technically been a risk so far. Since you’re the second sexual partner she’s ever had, she’s been open to trying a plethora of different things.

Risks are what make the bedroom fun.

s = stamina

“I wanna go again,” Annie breaths, climbing back on top of you. You both have already gone three rounds. The night has consisted of you on your knees near the front door, barely getting inside the house good before ravaging her body; you on your back with Annie’s fingers knuckles deep in your arousal; and you grinding your clit against your lover’s as she pulled on your hair roughly and with no remorse.

Annie has a sexual appetite that you can definitely satiate, so as she practically demands for more, you are quick to give it to her. You throw her off of you, her back meeting the firm surface of the quilt-covered bed. She lets out a huff at the harshness of your love, but you soothe her with an unchaste kiss.

“Please, y/n,” she cries, grinding against your thigh that’s made it between her legs. Looking down, you get an idea. A sinister grin causes her body to shiver.

“You want it, suga’,” you question in a lower, teasing voice.

“Please, daddy,” she coos, trying to get you to break and just let her have it. “I want you so bad.”

You kiss along her already mark-riddled neck, pushing her just a tad bit further into her submission. She grabs at your body, clenching around your thigh. You lean into her ear:

“If you want it so bad,” you growl, “then fuckin’ work for it.” You slap the side of her ass and force her hips to grind harder on your exposed thigh. The feeling of her arousal on your skin and the way she gave in so easily makes you want to cry.

You and Annie were meant for each other in every way.

As she moans your name and cums on your thigh, you’re made even more sure of that fact.

t = toys

She believes in pleasure that is for sure. She loves getting in touch with her body by taking care of her own needs. In a Modern AU, Annie is a bullet vibrator type of girl. Something small to satisfy herself. She takes care of the rest of her needs with her hands alone.

u = unfair

“You remember when you made me work for that orgasm, daddy,” Annie questions, harping down your ear as she lightly spanks your clit. She has you tied to the bed, something about trying new things since it was normally her that liked being restrained.

You jump as she lands a heavy hand directly to your jewel, you try to close your legs to rid yourself of the torture, but it backfires.

“You had me humpin’ your thigh like a bitch in heat,” her Louisiana accent curls around you. A false sense of safety pools in the air; Her voice is so sweet yet so deadly.

“Come on, Annie,” you grumble, pulling at the ties around your wrists as she toys with you. She laughs deeply at your attempts

“Oh, daddy,” she purrs. “You’re deeply mistaken. I’m gon’ make you pay. Gon’ have you moanin’ my name like it’s the only word you can remember.” Annie lays a harsh slap to your inner thigh, making you tremble at the way it sends pleasure straight to your core.

You look at her with low, pleading eyes.

“Tomorrow Sunday, baby,” she nods while trailing her nails down your exposed chest. “The Lord’s day. That means we got all night to have fun and all day tomorrow to rest.”

v = volume

You live in the middle of the Mississippi Delta which lends itself to the opportunity of being loud whenever you feel like it. There’s no neighbors within a five mile radius. Nothing but coyotes, tall grasses, and wide ponds, and you like it that way. Especially when Annie gets particularly into it, screaming things like “Fuck me like you mean it;” “Eat this pussy, daddy;” “You know, I’m all yours.”

It’s like a game you play with yourself, trying to get her to be louder than she was the time before. It’s like beating your own high score.

w = wild card if smoke came home after 7 years but walked in on y’all fucking.

Annie never imagined Smoke would come home. He has been away so long that other people began to fill the spaces he previously occupied. Annie was her own woman with a good, stable life. So when he came barging into your home, seeing the both of you laid across the living room floor, all of you were beyond shocked.

“Right there, baby,” Annie moans as she grinds against your face. Her hand is behind your head, providing her with good stability to be able to fuck into you. “Look at that pretty face. All covered in me.” You whine into her, grabbing onto her thighs and going to town.

Her grip on your head loosens as she lets out a wail of pleasure so loud that you both missed the sound of a truck door slamming outside.

You stick your tongue into her and watch as her titties flail from the erratic movement of your thrusts.

“YES!”

Just as she cums on your tongue, the front door bursts open, causing you to quickly pull a blanket from the couch to cover her before grabbing your gun that stays hidden in the floor boards.

You’re met with the sight of an aggressive-looking man. Clean cut with a nice suit on. Gun pointed at you. You’re about to pull the trigger, but the sound of Annie’s voice stops you.

“Smoke?”

x = x-ray

Annie is a beautiful woman with a sturdy body. She grew up with people calling her solid, and she certainly is that. You love to just trace her naked form with your eyes. Not touching. Just looking.

There’s something about her curves that simply mesmerizes you.

Your eyes become caught in the valley between her breasts, unknowing of what direction to follow next. They glide over her waist and hips, delighting in her hip dips and stretch marks.

Annie is all woman, and as you watch her, she doesn’t think once about shying away. Your desire-laced eyes fuel her and heighten her confidence.

y = yearning

You sit across the table from Annie, unable to concentrate on the conversation being held because she won’t stop throwing you looks. Y’all are at Grace and Bo’s for dinner. Pearline and Mary are here as well, but as always, it feels like you and Annie are in your own world.

She bites her lip, and you feel her heeled-foot sneak up the side of your calf. A shot of electricity runs through your body as you envision all the things you could be doing to her body.

Her dress sits lower on her chest, showing more cleavage than you think acceptable for a dinner, but you support her nonetheless. In the background is just a mess of muffles as you both seem to communicate telepathically.

“Damn,” Mary breathes, breaking you from your reverie. “Do y’all not get tired of jumpin’ each others bones?” The table agrees with her question, giggling and shaking their heads at the way you continue to eye each other.

“Not when it’s as good as it is,” Annie remarks with a sly grin.

z = zzz

“Annie,” you whisper softly, rocking her body to see if she is finished recovering. After your fourth round of the night, Annie rested her head in your titties comfortably, citing that she needed to close her eyes for a spell.

You knew that was code for I’ll be asleep in five minutes, but you didn’t stop her, knowing she needed a break from all the pleasure.

When she doesn’t answer your call, you pull the quilted blanket over both of your bodies, tucking it in to make her feel more secure. You place a loving kiss to her forehead and rub your hand along her back. Facing your head toward the ceiling, you smile at the wonderfulness that is your life.

#sinners #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #annie sinners #annie sinners fanfiction #annie moore #wunmi mosaku #wlw #lesbian #annie x reader #sinners x reader #black tumblr #sinners fanfic

181 notes · View notes

elexaria · 1 year ago

Text

we all know johnny would happily let simon fuck his girl bc they’re best friends, but when simon finally settles down, he’s a little hesitant.

simon is a man whore, he enjoys being balls deep in a pretty thing, mindlessly feeling each pulse of the ridged warmth that sucks his dick in so nicely. his eyes can white over, blood rushing to his face because he’s got a bad habit of holding his breath when he’s having sex.

but when he meets someone who he actually cares about, someone who’s more than a nice face and a pretty pair of legs— he feels drawn to them. he’s… whipped. before, he wouldn’t really mind sleeping around behind people’s backs— hey, it’s not a real commitment, it’s only fucking! but when he really finds himself stuck on that someone, he begins going out less and less— he’s actually committing.

and it SHOCKS johnny. “whit d’ye mean yer not goin oot?” he whines, eyebrows furrowed as he watches simon relax in the rec room, feet propped up on the coffee table as he enjoys the man u match. “am bringin’ ma wee lass out, ye can even bring—“ johnny’s cut off by simon glaring at him, a look that reads ‘drop it, i’m not interested’

it’s not the same when johnny goes out by himself, no sleezy simon by his side! and simon BITES when johnny proposes a foursome between the four of you, your cheeks bright red. he starts going off on one, about how he doesn’t want to do that shit anymore— it’s gay, blah blah blah. and johnny’s all like ?? “its nawt gay ye stupid eejit, its no like we’re shaggin each other! yer just pussy whipped!”

and then johnny goes through a breakup— it’s like the world comes crashing down. he’s moping around, melting into the rec room couch with a decrepit look as he holds his second beer of the night, not amused even in the slightest when you and simon try and get him to smile :( but he soon perks up when you’re on your hands and knees between his legs, one hand cupping the shaft of his aching cock, while your tongue dances and traverses each vein and pulse point. he almost cums right then and there when you tease his slit, his honey coloured eyes twinkling with restraint. “just this once.” simon grumbles, kneeling behind you as he teases your dripping wet cunt with the pads of his calloused fingertips, his other hand rubbing through his boxers to tease his erection :((

“just this once” he says, but simon gets fed up of johnny pulling the “am heartbroken, simon! :(“ and accepts that it’s more fun fucking a girl when its with ur bestie <3

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #simon riley #soap cod #soap smut #ghoap x reader #ghoap smut #simon riley smut

2K notes · View notes

redroomreflections · 4 months ago

Text

Her Best Secret Final Chapter

1950s Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Natasha and R are having an affair.

Note: I wrote this after watching Mother's Instinct with Anne Hathway and Jessica Chastain. I needed to make it gay. I don't know what this truly is, but it's here.

Note: Me and my cliche endings. It's my own personal trope at this point.

w/c: 7k

Natasha could tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wore.

Scuffed boots meant hard work and long days spent on their feet. They were usually worn by men who were sleazy enough to give her looks but too tired to be bothered. Shined leather meant money and status—someone who never had to kneel or scrub. Those types showered her with presents and toys to keep her out of the house.

Women’s shoes were different. More challenging for her to understand. Her mother’s shoes had always been worn thin, heels clicking against wooden floors as she danced with the newest addition to their lives. Neena Romanoff was not rich by any means. She knew how to work her charm. Natasha memorized how her mother moved, how she laughed at men’s jokes, and how she never let anyone get too close.

They never stayed in one place for long. A new town, a new apartment, a new man. Natasha learned to pack light to keep her expectations low. She had never met her father—never even heard his name. When she was younger, she made up stories about him, piecing together fantasies of a man who might’ve loved her mother enough to stick around. But as she got older, she stopped wondering. Neena never seemed to care, and Natasha convinced herself she didn’t either.

If anything, it taught her what to expect from people. Love, in her world, was something fleeting—conditional. People came and went, and even the ones who claimed to stay had limits.

Now, standing on the carpet of the inn, barefoot, heels abandoned by the door, Natasha wondered what her shoes said about her.

Could people look and see the times she’d cheated? Could they tell by glancing that these were the only pair she had brought when her husband kicked her out?

The leather was creased, and the soles were slightly worn. She didn't wear them often—only on nights when her feet felt like they might give out, and she needed the added support. They were her second skin—one she could take off at the end of the day.

Natasha had always preferred to walk barefoot.

She sat on the bed, feeling the springs bounce and shift beneath her. The sheets smelled clean, fresh out of the wash. She could see by now that the housekeeper was growing suspicious about her time here at the inn. It had been nearly a month, and she still hadn’t found the courage to go home. It wasn't for lack of trying. She'd called home more times than she could count.

The phone rang and rang and rang, but nobody answered.

Natasha thought maybe, after a few weeks, Steve would get tired of waiting and come to find her. But he hadn't. Not yet. He must've been more furious than she realized, which was to be expected. She wasn’t naive. She didn’t think he would forgive her and he had a right not to.

A knock sounded on the door, and Natasha froze.

She hadn't ordered anything from the front desk or even called the kitchen.

She stood on the tip of her toes, peeking out the peephole, gasping at the occupant on the other side. She quickly unlocked the door, tearing it open and gently pulling you inside.

"You shouldn't be here," She whispered, but she didn’t let go of your wrist.

Neither of you moved for a moment. Too overwhelmed and apprehensive about how to properly greet each other.

"I had to see you," You admitted.

Natasha swallowed. She didn't know what she expected—to be relieved, to feel something solid beneath her feet again. But she only felt that same gnawing uncertainty, the same ache in her chest that hadn't left since Steve found out.

"You look tired," You murmured, scanning her face.

She huffed a humorless laugh. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"I figured," You said softly. You hesitated, then reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of her jaw. "Natasha..."

She shook her head, stepping back. "Don't. Please."

You let your hand drop.

"Why did you come?" She asked.

"To bring food," You lifted the Tupperware to show her the contents. "It's a casserole. I'm unsure if you like those, but they seem the easiest to make. And I didn't want to make anything too complex, but I figured you haven't had anything home-cooked in a while and-"

"Thank you," She nodded. "You can set it down here." She gestured. You stepped further into the room, glancing around as you set the Tupperware on the small table by the window. The place was tidy enough, but it was almost disorganized for Natasha. The sheets, though clean, were half-pulled from the mattress, the desk was cluttered with cigarette cartons and half-empty glasses of water, and a few articles of clothing were draped carelessly over the chair. It wasn’t what you expected.

Natasha had always been meticulous, with everything in its place and never a wrinkle out of line. But in this dimly lit room, it looked like she had unraveled.

You didn’t say anything about it.

Instead, you cleared your throat, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress. “Is this a bad time?” You asked, hesitating. “You don’t seem like you want to see me.”

"I do, " She said softly. "I just haven't heard from you in a week."

"I was sick," You explained. "I came down with a case of stomach flu."

Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Really," You affirmed.

She glanced away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. You weren't sure if she believed you. It was better not to ask.

"How are you doing?" You tried, stepping closer to her.

She shrugged.

"You've been drinking a lot."

"Not more than my body weight," She attempted to make a joke.

"Natasha."

"What? I'm fine. I can stop whenever."

"Nat-"

"Stop it," She snapped. "Just stop. I'm fine."

You swallowed thickly, taking a step back. "Okay. Fine. You're fine."

"I am."

"Then why are you still here?"

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go," She shrugged. "No family. My friends are his friends. I'd imagine he's told the entire neighborhood."

"He hasn't," You shake your head. "Neither has Sam. He's ignoring me. Which is better than the alternative, I'd say. We've fallen into a sort of weird co-parenting situation." You wanted to explain more but didn't know how she would take it. She hadn't made much eye contact with you since you stepped foot inside of the room.

The silence between you was heavy. You shifted on your feet, fingers curling at your sides, wanting, aching, to close the space between you. You wanted to hold her, touch her, kiss her—anything to take away the pain. But you weren't sure if that would help or hurt the situation.

Natasha seemed to think so, too.

She sighed. "Why did you come, Y/n?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And why did you want that?"

You exhaled slowly. “Natasha—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “I know what you’ll say, and I don’t need to hear it.”

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. “And what do you think I’m going to say?”

“That it’ll all be fine. That things will work out. That you’re not angry.” She scoffed, shaking her head. “You should be angry. I ruined your life.”

You took a step closer, and she stiffened. She was shutting down, retreating behind her iron will, the same one that had made her so untouchable all these years.

“My life isn’t ruined,” You said softly.

Natasha laughed humorlessly, but no real fight was left in it. Just exhaustion. "You should hate me."

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I know how it feels to be so in love you forget what's right and wrong," You dared to lift her chin for her to look at you. "I'm not angry with you. I'm unhappy with the circumstances, but don't blame you."

"You should," Natasha repeated.

"But I don't," You shook your head. "I couldn't."

"I was reckless, and I shouldn't have kept a journal,"

"Have you been doing this all this time? Beating yourself up about all of this?" You questioned, cutting her off.

"Y/n," She warned, but she didn't back away.

"It's not your fault, Natasha."

"He hates me," She choked out, eyes brimming with tears.

You shook your head. “He’s hurt. But he doesn’t hate you.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, her gaze darting away. “He should.”

“But he doesn’t.” You softened your voice, thumb brushing lightly over her chin before you let your hand drop. “And neither do I.”

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly like she could will the tears away. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled slowly. “Maybe it’s not about fixing it. I don't think this is something we can apologize for and fix. It's-" You shook your head. "We chose to be together in whatever way we could. We acted on lust at first, and then, well, we fell in love. This isn't a mistake, Nat. You can't apologize for love."

"I can try," she whispered, looking up at you.

"Why?"

"Because I broke apart a family."

"I'm not one hundred percent sure we were well put together to begin with," You bit your lip. "Also, you weren't the only one doing the work."

Natasha shook her head, eyes fluttering closed.

"Hey, none of that. Don't beat yourself up. Please." You begged.

"I have to go back eventually," she mumbled. "And he won't forgive me. I won't ask him to."

"Do you want him to?"

"I want him to understand why I did it. Why we did it."

"Nat, this was between us. No matter what he thinks, we're the only ones who could ever know the true nature of what was happening. If you tell him, great. If you don't, that's fine too. But the one thing we both have to remember is that Steve doesn't own you. Sam doesn't own me."

"So," Natasha sat back on the bed. "You're a whole new person now. With this confidence..."

"I'm not a new person," You chuckled. "I'm still the same me. But I've had a long time to think, and I've made peace with myself. And I hope you can do the same."

"I'll try."

"Can I have a hug?"

"A hug?" She smirked, standing up.

"Yeah. A hug." You smiled.

Natasha took a few steps towards you, her arms wrapping around your waist. You held her tight, closing your eyes, relishing in her touch, the warmth of her body against yours. It was like coming home after a long trip away.

"Are you going to be okay?" You whispered.

"Eventually," she nodded.

"I've missed you so much," You confessed quietly into the collar of her shirt.

"I missed you, too."

"I want to be there for you," You leaned back. "However, I can be your friend and partner. I want to support you, even if it's just a shoulder to cry on. But I need to know that's what you want."

"It is," She assured.

"Do you need more time before I see you again?" You tilted your head.

"No, no," She shook her head. "Please. Stay."

You smiled. "Then, I'll stay. However long you want me here."

Natasha kissed you, her hands cupping your cheeks, lips brushing lightly over yours. You melted into the touch, kissing her back.

When you pulled apart, she rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

"How's Claire-Bear?" She asked.

"Claire is good," You nodded. " Sam and I are in this sort of silent agreement. I think he doesn't know what to do with me, so we work around each other. She's been asking about you. Says she likes the way you do braids better than me."

"Well, she has the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. She's a lucky girl."

"I agree," You smiled.

"Y/n," She paused.

"Yes, Natasha?"

"I...I know this is hard. But I want you. I want you in my life, and I know it's selfish, but I want you, even if Steve hates me for the rest of our lives."

"I want that too," You agreed. "I don't care what the world thinks of me. I know the truth."

"You're not scared?"

"No," You hesitated. "Yes."

Natasha kissed you again; this time, it was tender, as if she were afraid to hurt you. Her lips pressed against yours, soft and warm, making your heart pound and your head spin. You didn't know how long you had been without her touch. How long had you gone without feeling her skin under your fingertips?

But here, in her arms, the world was right again.

"Are you okay?" You asked, leaning back. “Truly?”

"I'm okay," She smiled.

"I can sit with you a little longer," You suggested. "Maybe help you tidy up a little?"

"You don't have to,"

"But I want to," You insisted.

Natasha kissed you, smiling softly as her lips brushed against yours. She was still smiling when she pulled away.

"Okay," she agreed. "But only because you asked so nicely."

*****

There were moments when Natasha wished she could turn back time and redo it all. When her guilt ate her alive, she could think of nothing else but how horrible she felt. When the days seemed longer and the nights were darker, she could only think about how alone she was. She looked up at the home she'd built with Steve and felt nervous. She was not an anxious person. She was someone who was always in charge of her emotions. Always knowing what was going on and able to deal with the situation accordingly. But right now, she was lost, unsure.

It was hard.

To face the person who thought he knew her. The man who loved her.

It was difficult.

She had to live a lie, to pretend she wasn't hurting, and to smile and pretend everything was okay. She wasn't a martyr. She was the cheater. She stomped on their vows. She broke Steve's heart, so she avoided this for so long. Coming home after being away felt different. She was a stranger in her own home.

She let herself into the house. Hanging onto the key rack, she’d painted herself. The radio played softly in the background, and she could smell something cooking in the oven. She hadn't expected anyone to be home since the car wasn't out front.

He looked up, hearing the sound of her heels. His eyes widened when he saw her.

"I'm sorry," Natasha began. "I ran out of clothes and didn't expect you to be here. I can come back."

"No, it's fine," Steve shook his head. He turned back to the oven, leaving her standing there and wondering.

"Are you cooking?" Natasha dared to ask.

"Yes," He nodded. "Well, I am trying to, at least. It's a recipe from my mom's recipe book."

"It smells good," She commented.

"Thank you,"

They stood there for a moment, both of them staring at each other. Neither seemed to know what to say or do next.

Finally, Natasha cleared her throat.

"I'll just go and grab my clothes," She hitched a thumb over her shoulder.

"Okay," Steve nodded, turning back towards the stove.

Natasha walked quickly down the hallway, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness further. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach twisted. She wanted to throw up, but she pushed the urge away, swallowing down her nerves and anxiety.

She reached the top of the stairs and turned towards their bedroom. It was the same as she left it. Not that she expected there to be much of a difference. It had only been a month.

Natasha walked over to her side of the bed, grabbing her suitcase. She packed some of her favorite pieces and another pair of shoes.

"Natasha,"

Steve's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. She didn't respond; she just continued packing.

"How are you?"

"Fine," Natasha shrugged, her gaze focused on the clothes.

"The inn's getting expensive," He tried again.

"I know," She nodded.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Natasha paused. She glanced up at him but couldn't look him in the eye.

"No," she answered honestly.

"We should talk," Steve said. "About us."

''Is there still an us?"

"Of course," He replied.

Natasha swallowed thickly. "I can't go back to how things were."

"I know," Steve shrugged. "I don't want to either."

"You didn't do anything wrong," She started. "You were perfect. You are perfect."

"I'm just not her," He finished.

Natasha sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping forward. "Yeah."

"When did you know you were a lesbian?" His brows furrowed as if it were painful to say.

Natasha hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not sure."

"Did you have a crush on your best friend in middle school? The way you would talk about her always seemed a little odd."

"I did," Natasha said. "Hilly Thompson was a girl in my class. She was smart and funny and pretty. But I didn't realize I was in love with her until we got older. After she moved away."

"Did you ever kiss her?"

"No," She admitted, blushing. "Y/n was my first time being with a woman."

"How many times have you slept with her?"

"Steve, that's-"

"How many times?"

"Eight or ten? It could be more. I haven’t exactly counted. It was only a couple of months."

"That's all?"

"It's not like we had time."

"Was it the sex that made you cheat? I could do more. We could try new things," He suggested. "I know I wasn't as experienced when we got married."

"Neither was I, Steve," Natasha sighed.

"What if I learned," He swallowed. "Would that be enough for you?"

"What are you saying?"

"That I can't lose you," He admitted. "That I don't want to lose you."

"I don't think changing how we have sex would make me feel any different," She swallowed.

"We never had children," Steve looked down at his feet.

"We tried," Natasha pointed out. "It wasn't something we could control. It just didn't happen for us."

"You didn't want a baby, did you?"

"Not especially," Natasha sighed. "But I wouldn't have minded."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you did." Natasha shrugged. "I wanted to be a mother. Then I didn't. When we found out I had trouble conceiving, I just threw the idea away."

"What else aren't you telling me?"

"There isn't anything,"

"Don't lie."

"I'm not. I'm not lying," She shook her head.

Steve sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. "Then why did you come back here at this time? You know my schedule like the back of your hand. You knew I’d be home.”

"I didn't know what else to do," She admitted. "I missed you. I came to get my clothes, but part of me hoped to see you."

"Have you seen her?"

"Don't make me answer that," Natasha swallowed.

"So, you have," He nodded, a bitter tone seeping through his words.

"Yes," Natasha exhaled. "We've talked."

"You have an affair with a married woman, and you still choose her over me," He chuckled.

"Steve-"

"No, no. I understand. You two have history. I'm just the one who had to find out the hard way."

"It's not like that. If I could, I would go back and change it all," Natasha insisted. "Please believe me."

"What happened? Did you realize she was the love of your life?" He scoffed.

"Yes," Natasha said without thinking.

"You're serious?" Steve gaped.

"You wanted the truth," She sighed.

"She's not leaving Sam," Steve stated. "I've seen them together recently."

"I don't care," Natasha shook her head.

"But she's still married, and she's the mother of a young child."

"And I'm still married," Natasha countered.

"So you remember?"

"I'm not divorcing you," She stated.

"Then what's the point of this?"

"To give us both time to figure things out," Natasha explained. "You can't expect me to jump straight into a decision. We both have some healing to do."

"But if she leaves Sam-"

"She's not leaving Sam. He's her husband, and Claire needs both her parents."

"If she leaves him, will you run to her?"

"I don't know."

"I want a divorce, Natasha," He said suddenly.

"Okay," She nodded. "I'll get a lawyer."

"And I'm staying with Bucky until I find a place." He nodded. "You can keep the house."

"Whatever makes you happy."

"I'll have all my things out by the end of the week." He decided. "The car is at an auto shop."

"That thing crap out on you again?"

"It did," Steve nodded. "Buck's got a spare bed for me. I'll stay there."

"Okay,"

"Nat," He started.

"I'll leave," She grabbed her bag.

"I'm sorry,"

"For what?"

"For not being the right man for you."

"You were the right man, Steve."

"But I'm not her."

"No," Natasha swallowed thickly. "You're not."

"She makes you happy?"

"She does," Natasha nodded.

"Does she make you feel alive?"

"Yes."

"Like the sun's coming up inside you,"

"Yeah,"

"Then, I can't compete with that," Steve said. "I wouldn't want to."

"So this is it for us? Our marriage is just over?"

"I guess so," He tucked his hands into his pocket. "I've been thinking about joining the army again." He admitted. He didn't know why he told her. Maybe because he felt he had nothing to lose.

"Really?" Natasha raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah," He nodded. "My therapist thinks it could be good for me."

"You're seeing a shrink?"

"It helps," He shrugged.

"What do you need from me?"

"I need you to sign the papers," Steve answered.

"You have them drawn up already?"

"No, but I will."

Natasha studied him for a long moment. There was something deeply unsettling about seeing Steve like this—so resigned, so… defeated. He had fought for so much in his life, their marriage, and the future he thought they would have together. And now, he was letting go.

But what else could he do? She had given him no choice.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she admitted quietly.

“I know,” he said. “But it did.”

Steve had always been good, always steady. If anyone could have given her a safe life, it was him. She had tried to love him how he deserved—to be the kind of woman who would never stray or feel the pull of something beyond her quiet, respectable life. But trying had never been enough.

She thought of you, of the way you looked at her like she was something precious, something worth breaking all the rules for. She thought of how her chest felt lighter when you were near and how your touch made her feel like she was stepping into the sun after years of cold.

Steve must have seen the answer on her face before she could even say it because he exhaled deeply and nodded. “That’s all I needed to know.”

He wasn’t bitter. He wasn’t cruel. It would almost be easier if he were.

“Steve…”

“I’ll have the papers ready in a few days,” he said. “Take care of yourself, Natasha.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Natasha in the middle of the room, her bag hanging loosely in her grip.

******

Through all of the commotion, Claire had been the highlight of your life. Her constant, steady presence gave you a reason to believe you were still a good person. Her tantrums gave you something else to focus on, her giggles reminded you there was still joy in the world, and when she tucked her little hand into yours without a second thought, everything felt less impossible.

She sat cross-legged in the grass, plucking petals from a daisy, humming some half-remembered tune. You stretched out beside her, letting the sun warm your face as you glanced toward the porch where Sam leaned against the railing, watching the two of you with the look he always got when he was about to ask something you were not ready to answer.

"Mama," Claire said, drawing your attention back to her. "Are you sad?"

"No, love," You frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you didn't smile at my joke," She shrugged. "And daddy didn't give you a kiss for morning wake-up."

"Your dad was busy this morning," You told her. "And I was tired."

You hadn't realized how important something like a morning kiss was for her.

Claire considered that for a moment, her little fingers twirling the daisy’s stem. She doesn’t look entirely convinced.

"Do you want me to tell you another joke?"

"Yes, please." You smiled, and she beamed up at you, her eyes bright.

"Okay, okay. What did the grape say when he got squeezed?"

"What did the grape say?"

"Nothing, he just let out a little wine!" Claire burst into giggles, dropping the ruined flower in her lap.

"Who taught you that joke?" You questioned with a smirk. You weren't even sure she understood what she was saying.

"Daddy did," She said. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," You replied.

"Good." She smiled. "Mama?"

"Yes, honey."

"Will you be happy now?"

"I am happy," You promised. "I'm always happy with you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Claire seemed satisfied with your answer, and she leaned back onto the grass, her hair fanned out around her head, eyes closed.

"Daddy, you should come over here and feel the sun with us," Claire called to Sam. You looked over to him. Family things like this made him uncomfortable now. He had been actively avoiding you except for when it came to Claire. You didn't understand how long the two of you could keep this act up.

"Sam," You sighed.

"Y/n," He began.

"I'll go," You sat up, brushing your hands off. "Spend some time with her."

"It's fine." He shook his head. "She wants both of us."

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"It's fine," Sam repeated. He walked over to the pair of you, crouching to Claire's level. She rolled onto her stomach, a smile on her lips.

"Hey, baby," He greeted. "How's the sun feeling?"

"Good," She said. "Warm and soft."

"Good," He nodded.

"Do you feel it, too?"

"Yeah," He said.

"And Mama," She pointed to you.

"I do feel it, baby," You nodded.

"Hey, why is there so much grass in our yard and not in Mr. McCready's yard?" She asked with wide eyes.

"Hmm, I don't know, pumpkin," Sam shrugged. "We take care of our yard a little better.”

"Because Mr. McCready is not nice," Claire stated.

"Right," Sam chuckled. "And you have to be nice to your plants and flowers, right?"

"Yes," Claire nodded.

"And why is that, sweetie?" You prompted.

"Because the world is beautiful, and we have to take care of it," Claire recited, and Sam shot you a grin. It was the first time he'd smiled at you in a while. Claire pushed herself up, brushing grass off her dress before taking off across the yard. She giggled in a way that indicated it would be nap time soon. It was the sort of subtle loopiness that only children could manage. You smiled after her, but a wave of dizziness washed over you when you moved to stand. You pressed a hand to your temple, blinking hard as the world tilted slightly.

"Whoa, easy," Sam said, stepping forward to steady you with a firm grip on your elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah," You exhaled. "Just stood up too fast."

Sam watched you for a second longer before letting go. You took a slow breath, shaking off the feeling.

"She’s somethin’ else, huh?" Sam nodded toward Claire, now twirling in circles near the oak tree.

“She is,” You agreed, softening.

Sam shifted, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You went to see her," he said casually.

Your stomach clenched. "Sam—"

"I'm not mad," he interrupted. "Well, actually, I'm pissed, but I'm just sayin'—I know."

"I wanted to make sure she was okay," You explained. "She's alone."

"You're her best friend, I get it," He nodded.

"She is,"

"You know when we got married, I thought it was the best day of my life," He folded his arms over his chest. "I told my sister that as long as I had you, she never had to worry about me or us."

"I never thought you'd have to worry about me." You admitted.

"But then I found out about the affair." He said more to himself. "I found that this happy life that I thought was happy wasn't."

"I'm sorry."

"You've been sorry," He pointed out. "It hasn't fixed anything."

"What do you want me to say, Sam? What can I do to make it better?"

"Nothing," He shook his head. "You can't."

"We're leaving each other in limbo," You sighed. "Claire's picking up on it. I don't think you realize that."

"So, what?" He scoffed. "You're telling me I should divorce you?"

"I'm saying, I think it would be better for us."

"You mean for you," He narrowed his eyes.

"No," You denied. "This isn't what I want, and you know it."

"You can't have both of us," He said. "You can't have a husband and then have an affair. It's not how this works."

"I know that," You said, your jaw tightening. "And I don't want that. I never wanted to hurt you, Sam. I never wanted any of this."

"Then what did you want?"

"I wanted someone to love me," You whispered. "I wanted her to love me."

"Oh, so my love wasn't enough?"

"No, yes, Sam," You squeezed your eyes shut. Why were feelings always so complicated? "I told you how she makes me feel. Claire, honey, not too close to the street!" You called after your daughter.

"Why her?" He asked. "Why not someone single?"

Why not a man? It was a question left unsaid but settled loud between the two of you.

"Because I fell in love with her," You answered.

"And how am I supposed to trust that now?"

"You're not," You sighed.

"So what now?"

"I don't know."

Sam exhaled, his shoulders falling forward. He seemed tired, his usual optimism gone.

"What if I wanted to leave you?"

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. It's a big decision," Sam said.

"Yeah,"

"But maybe we should think about it," He swallowed. "I didn't come from a broken home."

"I know,"

"And Claire—"

"We would figure it out," You reassured. "You're my best friend, Sam."

"You were mine too," He said, his expression painful.

"Were?"

"Am," He sighed. "You're still my best friend. No matter what. Even if I'm not yours anymore."

"Sam,"

"Don't." He shook his head. "Please."

"We don't have to figure it all out right now," You said.

"We need to figure out something."

"Yes," You nodded.

"And you want to be with her?"

"Yes," You closed your eyes.

"I guess I can't compete with that," He mumbled.

"There's no competition, Sam. This isn't a contest."

"It feels like it," He admitted.

"You're still my child's father and best friend," You explained. "No one can replace that."

"Not even her?"

"That's different."

"It shouldn't be,"

"Sam,"

"What?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore,"

"Then what do you want to talk about, y/n?"

"Nothing."

"You can't keep shutting me out,"

"I'm not,"

"Yes, you are."

"Can we just not fight for five minutes?" You pleaded. "Just for a little bit? Most days you ignore me. Other days, it's this. Talking in circles. I think I would feel better if you just kicked me out."

"Why haven't you left yet, then?"

"Because Claire is here," You explained.

"Nah, that's not it," He narrowed his eyes at you. "You're scared."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're afraid to lose us,"

"Us?"

"Claire,"

"Of course, I'm afraid of losing Claire," You snapped.

"But you're also afraid of losing me,"

"Sam,"

"And Natasha,"

"You don't know what you're talking about," You glared.

"You're afraid you made a big mistake," He continued. "You're afraid that whatever life you had with me is the best it gets. That what the two of you have done is the biggest mistake of your life."

"It's not the mistake," You whispered. "Cheating is a mistake."

Sam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And yet, here we are."

You didn't have anything to say to that. Because he was right. Because you did this, both of you did. And now there was nowhere to put it—nowhere to hide from the weight of it.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, then exhaled. "You think I don’t know what this is like for you? You think I don’t get it?"

You swallowed, looking away. "You don’t."

He huffed out a humorless laugh. "I don’t? You don’t think I wake up every damn day wondering where I went wrong? If there was some moment where I could’ve done something different, said something different, been different? And then I look at Claire, and I think—none of it even matters. Because we have her, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not even to go back and fix whatever the hell happened to us."

"Are you still in love with her?" He asked after a beat.

Your breath caught.

"I don’t—"

"Don’t lie to me, Y/n," he said quietly. "Please."

Your eyes burned as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. "Yeah," you whispered. "I think I am."

Sam nodded once as he expected it like he’d known it all along. "Then what are you still doing here?"

You thought over his words. This entire conversation was almost as if he was urging you to go to Natasha.

"You should have her," Sam added.

"What are you talking about?"

"If you want her," He said. "I won't stop you."

"What about Claire?"

"I would never take her away from you," He promised.

"Mama, I have to potty bad," Claire chose that moment to abandon her flower picking.

"Come on," You sighed, scooping her into your arms. You gave Sam one last glance.

"Mama, hurry," Claire wiggled.

"I know, baby," You nodded, rushing her inside.

What now?

***********

The knock at Natasha's door came later than she was used to. She wasn't used to visitors, it was too late for housekeeping, and she wasn't expecting a second visit from you. But she knew. Before she reached for the handle and pulled the door open, she knew it was you. She hoped it was you.

"Hi," She greeted, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of her heart.

"Hey," You smiled, leaning against the frame.

"You're here pretty late," She commented.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to see you," You shrugged. "Can I get a proper hello this time?"

"Really?"

"Yes," You grinned.

Natasha stepped back, pulling the door wide enough for you to enter. Your eyes met hers, and suddenly, all the words she'd planned to say disappeared.

"Come here," She whispered, pulling you in.

"God, I missed you," You murmured against her mouth, hands sliding over her hips.

"How much?" She challenged.

"So much," You pressed another kiss to her lips, this one harder, more desperate. Natasha moaned softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You broke the kiss only long enough for her to pull it over your head.

"Not that I'm not happy that you're here," She said through peppered kisses against her neck. "But I thought we weren't doing this. At least until we figured things out."

"What if I said they're figured out?"

"Sam-"

"He wants a divorce," You explained.

"Oh," Natasha breathed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not," You shook your head. "But, we've been talking and... I can't stop thinking about you. So, we decided—"

"We?"

"We talked," You nodded. "A long talk. Lots of wine and tears. He's willing to let me go."

"To me?"

"If I want," You confirmed.

"And you want this? Us? All the things that come with it?"

"More than anything."

"Are you sure, y/n? Because the second we do this, there's no going back. You know that, right? We won't be able to show or tell anyone."

"I don't care," You cupped her cheeks. "As long as I have you and Claire has us. I don't care what the world thinks."

"And what about your family, y/n? The neighborhood? We have to keep things a secret."

"I'm a sinner," You shrugged. "So, fuck them. I want you. All of you. And no matter how hard the world tries, they won't be able to take us apart."

"What's gonna happen with Sam?"

"He's keeping the house," You explained. "For Claire's sake. There will be too many changes for us to take away from her right now."

"Will he tell?"

"No," You shook your head. "I'm the bad guy here, not him. It's easier for him this way."

"How are we going to do this, y/n?"

"One day at a time," You answered. "I have no idea. I have no clue what the future holds, but I know I want you, Natasha."

Natasha leaned in, kissing you softly. "You have me, Y/n."

"I love you," You mumbled.

"I love you,"

"Natasha," You breathed.

"Yeah?"

"Let me touch you," You whispered.

"Okay,"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," She nodded. "Touch me."

Your hand slid under her nightgown, caressing the skin of her stomach. Natasha gasped, arching into your touch.

"Bed," She urged, tugging you by the hand.

You followed her inside, pressing her up against the wall and kissing her hard. Her nails dug into your shoulders, and you hissed, grinding your hips into hers. You hadn't realized how much you missed her until you were touching her. Her lips were everywhere, and her touch seared.

"I've been thinking about this," You told her, pulling her top over her head and letting it fall to the floor.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes,"

"What else have you been thinking about?"

"About your legs around my waist and your nails on my back," You said as you fell back onto the bed.

"That's a lot of thinking," She smirked as she hovered over you.

"I've had time," You ran your hand up the back of her thigh, tugging her toward you.

"Show me," She urged. And you did just that.

After what could have been hours of lovemaking, you collapse onto the bed with Natasha in your arms. She traced patterns into the skin of your chest as she cuddled closer.

"There's something different about you?" Natasha broke the silence.

"Is there?"

"Mhmm," She hummed. "I don't know. Maybe it's the sex. It's been a while since you've had any."

"Maybe," You chuckled. "I think it's more than that."

"Do tell,"

"I finally found a way to live without lying," You explained.

"How's that?"

"By not hiding who I love," You turned and kissed her forehead.

"You're cheesy,"

"You like it,"

"Maybe,"

"Tell me something,"

"What?"

"What are we going to do next?"

"I found a place right outside of Colombus," Natasha began. "Just a drive away. It's beautiful. I've already put an offer on it."

"They let you do that? By yourself?"

"I have a good realtor," She grinned. "And they're not a bunch of close-minded assholes like around here."

"So, when are we leaving?"

Natasha smiled wide at that.

"We're doing this,"

"I love you, and I don't want to spend another day without you,"

"You know I was so scared to let myself have this," She admitted. "I knew what the consequences were."

"And now?"

"Now I have hope," She answered.

"For us?"

"Yes,"

"We can make it work,"

"I know,"

"You're so beautiful," You breathed.

"And you're sappy," She giggled.

"But I'm all yours," You leaned over to kiss her cheek.

"Y/n?"

"Yes, my love,"

"Thank you,"

"For what?"

"For giving me a chance,"

*********

Living on Natasha's farm was a dream and a learning curve. It differed from the lives both of you led in the city. Natasha divorced Steve. They kept minimal communication as he kept true to his word and joined the army. You and Sam were still married but had plans to divorce eventually, wanting to avoid raising suspicion. Sam ended up selling the family house and moving to the next town much closer to the farm. So Claire still had that stability. She loved the animals you had and didn’t fully understand the nature of your relationship, but she enjoyed having two moms.

You didn't think that life would ever be this perfect. It was better than perfect.

"Daddy's coming," Claire announced, hopping onto the porch with a bright smile. She was much taller now and certainly more energetic, if possible.

"Is he?" Natasha asked from her spot next to you on the swing.

"Yup," She nodded. "And he said he has a surprise for me."

"Oh yeah? What kind of surprise?"

"I don't know," Claire shrugged.

"Did you give him any hints about what you wanted?"

"I already had my birthday," She furrowed her brows.

"So a late gift,"

"Yeah,"

"It must be a pretty good surprise,"

"It must be,"

Sam pulled onto the dirt road like always, and you watched as he parked. The door opened, and he stepped out with balloons and a box of chocolate.

"What's all that for?" You stood, walking down the stairs to greet him.

"Just a sweet gift for my pumpkin because I missed her." He greeted her with open arms.

"Hi, Daddy," Claire jumped up and hugged him. She left a slobbery kiss on his cheek that had him feigning annoyance.

"How are you, little lady?"

"Good,"

"Did you eat your vegetables like I told you to?"

"Yup,"

"And did you help Mama with her chores today?"

"Yes,"

"Good girl," He smiled. "You've gotten so tall. Soon, I won't be able to carry you."

"No, I'm not getting too big," Claire waved a hand. She wiggled out of Sam's arms to show the chocolates to Natasha, who was still sitting on the swing.

"Natasha," Sam acknowledged shortly. There was still tension there, but they were cordial. "And how's my little man?" He asked, directing his smile to the baby boy in your arms.

William Sawyer Wilson.

You hadn't expected your belly to get bigger in the months after your separation. Swept up in the whirlwind of divorce and heartache, you hadn’t realized you were pregnant. Coparenting with Sam was already great, but another baby made you nervous. Especially since his parents and the community would question how a woman could get pregnant during a divorce, Sam and his mother had tried their best to explain it away as a miracle child, and the gossip eventually died down.

“He’s perfect,” you answered.

Sam reached out, his large hands cradling the baby’s tiny form. William blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Hey, little man,” Sam murmured, his tone softer now. “You’re getting big on me too.”

You watched as Sam gently bounced the baby, his movements natural, familiar. Despite everything, the past and the tangled mess of emotions, there was no denying his love for his children and even you. After all this time, he was still a part of your life, and there was no one else you would trust more to be the father of your kids.

Sam looked up, catching your eye. His gaze was steady, unreadable. Then, his lips curled into a small, private smile.

"We did good," He nodded, and your heart squeezed.

"We did," You agreed. "Come inside, we cooked dinner."

"Daddy, do you want some cake?" Claire asked, pulling on his shirt.

"Cake?" He repeated. He bounced William in his arms and followed the three of you into the kitchen.

"Mama made it."

"Oh?" He gave you a knowing look. "Which one?" He eyed Natasha suspiciously.

"It wasn't me. You don't have to worry about it," Natasha smirked.

"It's really good," Claire added.

"I'm sure it is," Sam rolled his eyes.

"It's strawberry," You smiled. "It's her favorite."

"Can we have dinner now?" Claire asked.

"We can," Sam answered.

"And cake after,"

"Mama, can daddy come live here too?" Claire asked.

"Not yet," Sam said before you could answer. "But I'm only a couple of miles away, okay? So I can visit any time."

"How about a sleepover?"

"A sleepover, huh?" Sam looked up at you.

"Maybe," Natasha shrugged. "If that's what daddy wants."

"Then we can have a sleepover," Sam confirmed. As the conversation died down, Claire beamed, satisfied with the idea of a sleepover with all of her parents. She skipped towards the kitchen, already gabbing about setting up blankets and pillows.

You met Sam’s gaze, a quiet understanding passing between you. It wasn’t conventional; it wasn’t easy, but you were making it work. For Claire. For William. For yourselves.

Natasha stood, stretching her arms before resting a hand on your lower back. “Dinner, then?” she asked, voice warm, steady.

You nodded. “Dinner.”

Sam exhaled, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Let’s eat.”

And just like that, the four of you entered, the scent of home-cooked food filling the space. It wasn’t the picture-perfect family you once imagined—but it was yours. And that was enough.

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanov #black widow x female reader #natasha x you

192 notes · View notes

sacred3ugene · 3 months ago

Note

I need a story with Nate Jacobs, where after Nate and Maddy break up, a boy appears, and from the moment Nate sees him, he falls in love and wants to protect him with all his heart. Maddy and Cassie feel jealous because only this boy was able to make Nate treat him so well, like a true prince. And if possible, Nate didn’t struggle much to come out of the closet because it was for this boy.

THERE'S THIS BOY . NATE JACOBS X MALE! READER

SUMMARY ; nate's going through a breakup, he drowns his sorrows on alcohol while at a party where he happens to meet a boy who will change his whole life - for good.

TW ; homophobia by third party.

The air was thick, the smell of booze and sweat loud among the room. People were naked, some eye catching bodies meanwhile others weren't worth of looking, that's what Nate thought.

He avoided to look too much, his eyes contradicting his mind as he catches himself looking at the dicks surrounding him in the tight place. He was drowning his sorrows in alcohol, sniffing drugs and smoking weed.

People was crashing into each other, the room full of people. There wasn't place to walk and you had to scream so your friends could hear - incoherently - what you were saying. The music was loud, the room smelled like poppers and drugs, people was naked, you couldn't speak without yelling and you couldn't move without being skin to skin with sweaty bodies, yet among so many stimulants, his eyes caught yours, lost in your mind as you didn't know where to go next.

He won't lie, you were pretty, but it ain't gay to think about other men like that, right?. I mean, it's not like he's looking at you with other eyes, contemplating every part of your face as if to remember once you're gone, or wondering why your lips looked so smooth under the dim light of the room, or how your hair started to stick against your forehead, I mean, obvious details everybody would notice.. right?

His hands gripped the bottle tightly, drinking a huge sip before walking towards you, cleaning the dripping drops off his chin with the back of his hand, like an animal ready to hunt his prey.

"Who invited you?" his rough tone loud so you can hear, attracting minor attention towards both of you. He didn't like seeing new faces wondering around his place.

You looked up, his tall entity intimidating anyone but you, his eyes were soft when spotting you, sparkling under the dark light while trying to keep up his intimidating mask.

"Friends." you answered simply, watching his face slowly wrinkling into frustration, body language was loud and he won't tolerate the new kid trying to act tough, people started to gather around, small group, but enough to pressure a fight into Nate's shoulders. "Why?"

He ignores the people around him, an action even him is shocked to do, he was all about throwing fists to anyone who would get in the way, but is the new kid who avoids them all of the sudden. "Have fun.." he left, trying not to catch any words as he passes through the multitude, going upstairs to his room.

"Fuck!" he slams the door shut, holding himself in place to not destroy his whole room as he watches his facade fall apart before his eyes, the man he used to be kneeling to the feet of the unknown new kid in town.

The click of the lock tries to keep his violent manners inside his room, throwing a lamp as he walks to his bed, laying in there, hands in his face wanting to erase him from earth. "What the fuck..." the whisper falls from his lips, the doubtful feeling tingling inside his body while the world falls shut. "What the fuck is wrong with me." some tears start to draw a path down his face, wetting a spot in the pillow.

Nate tries not to cry, something he can't get to control, the internalized homophobia everybody around him taught him too much to bare. He's feeling something he shouldn't, he knows. Why would he feel this was towards someone unknown and that is a man?

He feels drowning in his own breath, his head spinning around too much it makes him dizzy, his veins popping out his arms as he grips his hair tightly, wanting to erase the face of that boy out of his mind, wanting not to have these self-destructive thoughts.

"So new kid, what is the life of a fag like you in the city?" he chuckles quietly, enjoying how much he is annoying you, knowing you can't really beat him because that would cost your scholarship.

"Fuck you!" you say, rolling your eyes as you try to grab some books inside your locker.

"Watch out what you sa-"

"Hey, don't mess with him." a rough yet quiet voice gets between you and the guy trying to pick on you. Nate doesn't look like playing games, so the guy is quick to walk away while giving you a last glance. "You okay?" he whispers, loud to hear, two girls look at you from a couple lockers away, the unexplainable jealousy in their eyes pierce through you.

"Yeah" you give the simplest answer. From the biased mouths, you heard he wasn't someone to trust, so you try not to put so much attention to him, although his actions contradict the popular opinion, maybe his violent and horrible persona will soon appear.

He opens the locker next to you, grabbing some books and placing them in his bag. Great, just what you needed. "So, you're new."

"Is that a question or...?" you could swear you hear everybody holding their breath, as if you've just challenged the king to a death ending battle. He laughs, a cute, sweet chuckle as he lowers his head, his teeth shining through his smile. Pretty, you think to yourself.

"What i meant is, where you come from, you're not from here, right?" everybody exhales, his body language doesn't show any signs of frustration or annoyance, and you're starting to think people were on drugs when they told you he was not a good person.

The bell rings, an annoying sound that causes you satisfaction as the school day ends, saving you from a very awkward interaction that you had ever since you came here.

"My number's 01---" he says quickly, your body spinning around to face him, a proud smile planted on his face as he watches you leave. "Fuck..." he mutters to himself, a new feeling burning inside him tells him he might be in love.

"Hey." you greet, your eyes looking up at him, a shy smile forming as he wiggles his finger that hold the strap of his backpack in his shoulder. "Sooo..." your eyebrows move in direction to the two gorgeous girls whispering to each other while they look at you, quickly removing their eyes off you when Nate looks back at them.

He chuckles slightly, letting his head fall, looking to the ground before looking at you, his smile somewhat fading as he talks. "She's my ex girlfriend and her friend, Maddy and Cassie." he explains exhausted, as if the memories still hold a heavy position on him. "She's a crazy bitch if I'm being honest." his characteristic smile is contagious, stealing a small chuckle from you as he opens the locker, shoving some books and belongings inside.

You've been chitchatting for a while now, you got to know him better, although you're still cautious, the people's advice ringing in your head everytime you look at him. You try to ignore those people, he's different, you know it, you can see it in his eyes, maybe as if you're the reason he's like this.

"I was thinking mayb-"

"Shit." you rolled your eyes, watching the guy who likes to pick on you getting closer, his cocky smile glued to his face.

"What?." he turns around, his eyes lock on the same guy as he passes by, embarrassedly walking away once he spot Nate next to you. "Ain't he the asshole that was annoying you?" his tone's rough, protective rather, looking at you with his brows frown, obviously upset.

"Don't worry about it-"

"I do worry about it!" he cuts you off, eyes penetrating through you, his frustration and anger showing, your alerts starting to go off as you remember people's words on his behavior. "They shouldn't be picking on you just because you're a new face in this shitty neighborhood." yet, you can't but look at him with adoration as he tries to protect you, to shield you from the ones who are problematic.

"You worry about me?" and with the loud bell ring, the conversation ends, and you know nate is thankful of that, almost as if he was praying to not have this conversation. But you won't let it go so easily. "No, answer to me first!" you raise your tone, people looking at you, eyes advising you not to.

"I guess." he roughly shakes his arm, taking your hand off him as he walks away, knowing you had broke through the walls he had worked to build for no one to see who he truly was, he's now watching them crumble thanks to the new boy in town. "I'll see you at my house, I'll dm you the address." he tries to sound angry, trying to get angry at you with a failing outcome. You just smile, mesmerized as he disappears into the crowd of people trying to get to their classes.

"You're lucky, he's most of the time selfish." the black-haired girl whose moments ago was gossiping about you with her friend irrupts your thoughts, your eyes filled with confusion, to which she laughs. "You'll see his true colors once it's too late."

She leaves, giving you a last glance before walking with her blonde friend, who also gives you a last glance, although she gives you a more threatening one, you're stealing something from her.

The night is cold, the birds singing start to shut as they fly to sleep, the moon is the only source of light in the dark of his room, his laugh being the only noise filling your mind. His feet at the end of the bed caresses yours as his eyes speak more than his words could. "You're pretty..." he speaks between giggles, eyes shining and reflecting the full moon.

His smile, his paper white teeth, his slightly closed eyes as he laughs, his wrinkling nose, his hollow cheeks, everything about him is perfect to say the least, everything everyone said about him falls into lies as you start to think how can someone hate somebody like him.

You can't deny it, you feel like floating everytime his eyes are put on you, it doesn't matter what he'll always look for you gaze, your heat rises along with your heartbeat everytime your feel his strong arms wrapped around you. And he can't deny it either, he can't deny the nameless feelings he has for you, the way he has more patience since he met you, that he's growing a big soft spot on you.

"Pretty?" you question, staring at him in look for answers, a cocky smile on your face as he shuts, eyes a little wide. "You said I was pretty-"

"Pretty funny!" he cuts you off, exclaiming as he regains his posture, sitting with his back straight against the wall, avoiding to look at you at all cost. "You're pretty funny- I mean you're funny, you make me laugh and you're pretty as well but that it's not what I meant- I mean I do mean your pretty because you are but you made me laugh and that's what I wanted to say, you're pretty.. and funny." his breath is heavy, chest rising up and down after speaking more words than he should have.

The room stays quiet for a while, both of you looking in separate ways, trying to figure out what to say or whose going to talk first. Silence, silence and silence.

"I need to go to the bathroom, sorry." he abruptly gets up, leaving you alone in his room watching him part, and it's in that brief moment you find yourself holding your hand in the air, trying to make him stay and failing.

You swallow, your mind not knowing what to think, your lips dry as they try to look for words to say to make him come back. I should give him time, you think.

"Actually no!," Nate comes back, entering the room with outstanding energy in his body, as if adrenaline was running his his visible veins in the dark. His breath still heavy as he tries to force himself to say something you still don't know. "I-" he stops, rethinking his words before he makes a mistake. "I like you..."

The once awkward silence becomes anxious, his words lingering in the air as you try to process what just happened, the words that come out of his mouth so quick that it stuck you.

"Say something, please." words fall from Nate's lips in desperation, his eyes soft, almost pleading you for mercy, pleading you to say it back.

"I like you too, Nate." the wait ends, his eyes widening in excitement as his lips curl into a smile that you never seen on his face, throwing himself in bed, crawling to you and softly grabbing your face between his big hands.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, the world felt heavy, it stopped spinning, the air was lacking as your faces got closer, eyes blind as your lips sew together, the night young and the moon the only witness of the passion igniting in the room.

The soft caresses of his fingertips are enough to make you sleepy, laying your head on his lap, fingers tangled around your hairs and the soft cracking noises of the leafs make you feel in heaven.

You know he's looking at you, admiring you better said, eyes unable to unglue from your beauty. If you would said to Nate the same day he met you he'll be falling in love with they new boy in town, he would probably beat the shit out of you, send you to the hospital and leave you paralyze for the rest of your life instead of ignoring it, but here you have him, looking all dumb for the boy he thought was just another person in his life he felt curious about.

"Woah, Nate, I didn't knew you liked cocks." a voice makes you open your eyes, trying with your whole strength not to beat him after he broke the most beautiful moment of your life. "Mostly from guys who are new around here." he gives you the most disgusted look ever, why the fuck is this guy so obsessed with you, that looks more gay than nate jacobs hugging a guy.

"What, you're jealous?" Nate is unfazed by the boy's words, still caressing your hair as he tries to ignore him, a drastic change in his behavior that has everybody around surprised.

"What? No!" the guy is quick to answer, dismissing the question with a disgusted tone. "That's gross!"

"Then why are you so obsessed about who I fuck or not?... Mhm? That sounds fucking gay to me!" everybody stays silence, and when I mean everybody, I mean everybody, you can hear the birds chirping so clear it hurts your ears. The boy tries to formulate words, falling into deep silence when he doesn't found anything to refute Nate's claim.

His big arms wrap around your torso, as if he was afraid of someone else taking you away from him, still unfazed by the boy's presence. You hear his steps as he leaves, knowing it'll take him a time to recover from the wild comeback. Oh, how you love a man who knowa how to fight - fist included -.

"I love you." you hear him mutter before closing your eyes, feeling his lips press against your forehead and a few ' awws ' in the back from some girls. "I love you too." you respond, knowing he'll always have your back, in every sense - pun intended -

A/N ; i totally forgot about this acc omg, anyway here's this soft little fanfic - if u can call it so - about our favorite toxic man, nate fuckin jacobs. tell me how i did and please give me some honest feedback so i can do better for next time. thank u for your time and hope you enjoyed my writing.

dividers credits ; cafekitsune

Remember you are loved and appreciated, stay hydrated !!

160 notes · View notes

chizuke · 3 months ago

Text

webcam porn star

Streamer!Seungmin x fem reader, dubcom (reader doesn’t know she's being recorded) enjoy!

Seungmin spent the ENTIRE day gaming with his friends, Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung. Of course, this was his job after all, he's a streamer and gaming YouTuber. But you couldn’t help feeling left out, especially since Seungmin started playing this new game that got tons of views and positive responses. He and the guys were so pumped and focused on making content for their audience. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but today was Saturday! It was supposed to be your day with Seungmin.

It was probably after 8 PM when you decided to head into the room. You knew Seungmin wasn’t streaming, just recording, so it wouldn’t really be a big deal if you walked in they could always edit you out later. In your best attempt to seduce him, you wore nothing but an oversized shirt with Seungmin's name on the back, no panties or bra. You opened the door quietly, hoping to surprise him.

What you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was in a video call with his friends, who could all see you. “Hey dude, your girlfriend,” probably Jeongin, warned him. He just ignored them, waiting for you to get closer, as you draped your arms over his shoulders, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Minnie… I’m feeling needy.” You pouted, basically begging for his cock. His friends' reactions were instant. “Dude, how the hell do you have a girl this hot at home and you’re still here playing with us? Are you gay, Seungmin?” Jisung asked, laughing in disbelief. Felix, who had been quiet up to this point, chimed in boldly, “You know… I’ve always thought Seung’s girlfriend was pretty hot. I wouldn’t mind a little show.”

You couldn’t hear any of this, of course, since Seungmin had his headphones on. But your boyfriend was pissed he’s always been the jealous type. Thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to show his friends just how hot you were and that you were his, he thought, sure, they could watch and want you, but they’d never be able to touch. “Is that right? Then why don’t you be a good girl and suck my cock? That’s all the prep you’re getting, doll, so you better suck it well.” Seungmin could hear his friends freaking out through his headphones, unable to believe he was actually going through with it. He leaned back to give you space to kneel between his legs, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough for his already hard cock to spring free.

He knew he was big and wanted those three idiots on the call to know that this was the only cock that could satisfy you. He made sure to adjust the webcam just enough so they could see the scene, without you noticing. Kneeling between his legs, you gave his tip a little kiss first. “I love your cock,” your voice was full of need. You spit on it, spreading the saliva with your hand before finally taking him into your mouth. You started slow, licking and swirling your tongue around the head, just the way he liked.

Working the rest of his length with your hand, you gradually took more of him into your mouth, small gagging sounds escaping as his cock finally hit the back of your throat. Meanwhile, the noise from Seungmin’s headphones was deafening. He thought about turning them off but decided the satisfaction of hearing his friends want you but not having you was better. “Holy shit, how the hell do you have a throat goat like this at home and you’re not fucking that throat all the time, man?” Felix’s voice cracked, clearly affected by the sight. Seungmin chuckled. You looked up at him, bobbing your head up and down, your tongue swirling around his shaft. “Fuck, you’ve got such a good mouth,” Seungmin groaned, gripping your hair tightly.

“Dude, she sucks good, but please, I need to see her take that cock in her pussy, Seung. Don’t you want to show us how much your little girlfriend loves a good fuck?” Jisung, impatient as always, said. Seungmin had had enough too, or else he would’ve come in your mouth. He pulled you off his cock by your hair and made you sit on his lap, smirking when he saw you were completely naked under the shirt. “Damn, you naughty slut, walking around like this, just waiting for me to fill your holes. I’m gonna stuff your pussy full of cum,” Seungmin moaned into your ear, loud enough for the guys to hear on the call. He made sure you spread your legs, one on either side of his thighs, wide enough for them to not only see your pretty pussy but your tight ass as well.

“Shit, Seungmin, that’s unfair. Have you done anal with her yet? Please tell me you have,” Jeongin, clearly out of breath, asked. Everyone in the group knew how obsessed Jeongin was with anal. Seungmin slapped his cock against your pussy before slowly sinking inside, savoring the way your tight walls wrapped around him. “Fuck, how do you keep this pussy so tight?” He could still hear the buzzing from the guys through his headphones, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He started thrusting upwards while pulling your hips down. Your sweet moans and the way your pussy clung to his cock were driving him wild. Seungmin picked up the pace, his mind only focused on cumming deep inside you, but he remembered he needed to give his friends a show. So, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, playing with them.

When he thought they were wet enough, he slowly slid one into your ass, and then the second, all while fucking your pussy hard. He scissored his fingers inside you, making sure to put on a good show while also giving you pleasure. Seungmin could hear Jeongin, Felix, and Jisung losing it on the other end, and the obvious sounds of them jerking off. His fingers in your ass only made your pussy squeeze tighter around his cock, pushing him to the edge, but the final straw was you. “Seung, please cum inside me, I want your cum so bad, I need it, please? I love your cock, I’m close,” your desperate whines were all it took for him to shoot three thick loads deep inside you.

Panting, he pulled out of you, his cum making a mess between the two of you. He could also hear the other guys finishing. Deciding that was enough, he pulled off his headphones and ended the call. “Good job, baby, you were so good.” He kissed your hair, and you moaned in response before remembering something. “Uh, Minnie, was the camera recording?” your voice sounded worried and embarrassed, though you knew it’d be easy to delete the video. “Oh? No, babe, don’t worry.”

#smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #seungmin smut

158 notes · View notes

itsgivingmami · 3 months ago

Text

I Would Much Prefer To Watch Her Burn

Sappho- 31.16.168 B.96.130.47

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Bad gay poetry- you’ve been warned

The room is full of people. Music low, drinks clinking, warm chatter buzzing around her.

But she only sees you.

You’re sitting across the room on a low velvet couch, sipping something sweet, your lips glossy and shining in the low light. You’re laughing at something someone said—head tossed back slightly, throat exposed, smile wide. The gold necklace pressed to the spot between your collarbones shimmers as the lights move.

The sight makes something low in Rhea’s chest tighten.

He seems to me equal to the gods

that man who sits opposite you

and listens close

to your sweet speaking.

You don’t notice her watching.

You never do.

And it’s killing her.

She takes a slow sip of her drink, eyes locked on you over the rim of the glass, jaw tight. The burn of her whiskey feels amateur compared to the burning you cause.

She knows she should turn away. Should pull her gaze back to the conversation Dom is trying to have with her, or the message blinking on her phone. But she can’t.

Not when you’re sitting there—legs crossed, one strap of your dress slipping down your shoulder with that soft, careless grace you don’t even realize you carry.

I would much prefer to see the lovely way she walks, and the radiant glance of her face, than war-chariots or the sharpest steel.

Some nights she gives in to the fantasy, allows herself to imagine the things she’d sacrifice to have you. To wonder what domestic nights at home look like, instead of arenas filled with fans and blinding lights. She knows you’d never ask that of her, even hypothetically.

But she couldn’t leave it behind for anything less than you.

You shift in your seat. Tug the strap back into place.

Her willfulness keeps her from combusting altogether.

And Rhea wants—craves—to be the one to fix it for you.

To kneel in front of you.

To run her hands up your thighs, grip your hips with her strong, inked fingers and heavy rings, whisper something filthy and reverent into the soft skin of your shoulder.

Sentences and phrases that live in her mind like a melody—looping and looping until they burn into her ribs. The confessions and desires her heart whispers have seared themselves into the lining of her chest and they never feel louder than they do tonight.

But you don’t know.

You don’t see it.

You don’t see how often she watches the way your fingers curl around a glass or a mic, determined to know what they would feel like tangled with her own. How her breath catches every time you call her name with that casual, lilting “Hey, Rhea,” like you haven’t spent the last God-knows-how-many months igniting her—quietly, moment by moment.

You don’t see how she burns.

—

Later, the night wears thin. The others begin to drift. The moon is high. Your laughter has softened. The weight of your body now leans more into the couch than before, chest and cheeks flushed from frilly drinks.

“Stay the night,” she offers when the room has cleared.

Your eyes lift, bright and soft. “What?”

“My suite,” Rhea adds, offering her hand. Her strength easily pulls you upright. And despite the thoughts of wrapping your legs around her hips, she keeps her tone light.

“Too late to Uber. You can crash there.”

You nod, yawning. “Okay. Thanks.”

As if it means nothing.

As if you didn’t just hand her the longest night of her life.

—

The hotel room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the street below. You peel off your heels by the door, stretch your arms overhead, and collapse on the edge of her bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like you belong there.

Rhea stands in the doorway of the bathroom, towel slung over her shoulder, tank top clinging to her body like it might snap from the tension. She watches as you curl slightly, pressing your face into her pillow. Your dress rides up your thighs and you hardly notice. One bare leg bent, the other stretching toward the edge of the mattress, toward her.

It’s not an invitation—but God, does she wish it was.

She exhales. Deep. Controlled. Her muscles flex before she turns away, sliding the bathroom door shut as softly as her heat-wracked body can manage. Her forehead meets the fogged glass. The relief is small—and she’s unsure if it’s from the coolness of the door or the mercy of not seeing you.

Minutes later, she’s in the same position—now against the shower wall, eyes shut, breath heavy. The white tile around her is harsh and clinical. She misses the dark walls of her shower at home. It irritates her, but not enough to pull her from the moment. She wants to stay here forever, with you just across the suite, blissfully unaware of the storm you’ve set loose inside her.

The chilled stream of water across her back reminds her what it feels like when reality crashes in.

The reality that you have never, and may never, know.

The tears fall before she can stop them, frustration and longing rising like lava in her veins. The sobs break from her body like a volcano—violent and uncontrollable. Her hand hits the built-in shelf. She covers her mouth with the other, silencing herself as the complimentary bottles clatter against the porcelain.

She sinks to the floor. Lets the ever-cooling stream run over her legs.

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, hiding from the lick of fire she can’t put out inside her.

—

You’re already half-asleep when she turns the light off. Her damp hair clings to her T-shirt, trailing droplets down her spine. She moves quietly, gently, as she pulls the blanket up over your body. Her fingertips brush the warm skin of your arm—just once, just enough to burn her all over again.

It’s torture, but she carries on. Maybe if she keeps pretending, it’ll stick.

You don’t stir.

Your soft breaths rise and fall, stoking the flames inside her.

You rest soundly despite the heat.

But Rhea? She doesn’t sleep.

She lays beside you, staring at the ceiling.

The red light from a billboard outside traces the curve of your face.

The moon is set. The Pleiades are gone. It’s deep in the night… and still, I lie awake. I sleep alone.

But she’s not alone—not really.

You’re here. Inches away.

The space between you doesn’t allow for temptation or her propensity to hold you. Only reverence—for everything she’s built so far. For the hills she’s climbed. For the emotions she’s locked away behind clenched teeth and late-night showers.

She could reach out. Could touch you. Could press her palm to the small of your back and see what kind of sound you’d make.

She imagines it would sound like wind in the Garden of Eden—pure, breathless, sacred.

But she doesn’t.

Because you trust her.

Because you have no idea what you do to her.

For when you were beside me,

it seemed to me

that all things were possible.

—

Rhea turns onto her side, facing you now. She watches the soft rise and fall of your breath. Watches the way your lashes flutter against your cheek as you dream.

There’s a voice in the back of her mind that wonders if you dream about her, too.

Since childhood, she’d forgotten her dreams the moment she woke—haunted by nightmares and never knowing the monster.

Until she grew out of it.

Almost a decade of blank darkness. Forgotten surrealism. Nothing that ever lingered.

Then she met you.

And suddenly she was waking with sweat at her hairline, with her fingers aching for something they couldn’t find, with a hollow heat in her chest that no water could put out.

She knew she’d begun dreaming of you.

Consciously and not.

You don’t know that you’ve become a poem in her chest.

A slow ache of wanting.

And with a single word, she’d kneel for you like an altar.

You are a flame she doesn’t know how to extinguish—except by burning with you.

You shift slightly in your sleep. Whisper her name without waking.

She presses her hand flat against the mattress between you.

Not touching.

Just close enough to feel your warmth.

If you turned toward her now… if you opened your eyes…

She doesn’t know what she’d do. Doesn’t know if she could hold it in.

Once again love, that loosener of limbs,

bittersweet and inescapable, crawling thing,

seizes me.

But you don’t. You just sleep—painted in deep red light—looking like heat itself.

And Rhea lays there, body taut with restraint, aching in every bone and thought and heartbeat.

She’s not afraid of wanting you.

She’s afraid of how much.

And tomorrow, she’ll smile across catering like nothing happened but a friendly favor.

She’ll play it cool when you rest your head on her shoulder and hold it later like it’s been burned.

She’ll call you angel when you laugh, when she knows you cause more sin in her than anything ever has.

But tonight—just for tonight—Rhea Ripley, awake beside the girl who unknowingly owns her, whispers fragments into the dark like a prayer:

“You set me on fire.”

—

The room is still.

Quiet in the way morning always is after a long night, the light outside barely shifting from blue to gold. You’re curled on your side now, arm tucked beneath the pillow, one cheek pressed to the same cotton fabric she spent hours staring at in the dark. There’s a sunbeam creeping across the edge of the bed—slow and honey-warm—and it catches the edge of your hair.

Rhea hasn’t moved. Her eyes feel heavy but her brain won’t come down. She’s been awake for an hour at least, back pressed to the mattress, one arm bent behind her head, the other resting just close enough to yours to feel the faintest heat between your wrists. The burn still hasn’t left her chest. But this morning, it’s quieter.

Softer. Tolerable.

You murmur something in your sleep, barely audible, and shift slightly, your calf brushing hers under the sheets searching for warmth and settles. It knocks the breath out of her in the gentlest way.

Without warning, as a whirlwind swoops on an oak, Love shakes my heart.

She turns toward you then, slowly, carefully. Just enough to see your face in the soft light.

She doesn’t know what’s worse: the aching silence of pretending not to love you, or the thought of what would happen if she said it aloud.

Last night nearly ruined her. Being that close—having your body inches from hers, your laughter still echoing through her, your lipstick smudged on her pillow—it was holy and violent in equal measure. She hadn’t let herself dream before. Now she doesn’t know how to stop.

Her eyes trace the slope of your cheek, the lashes against your skin, the curl of your hand near your chin. You look so peaceful. Like you were always meant to be here. In her space. In her bed. In her life.

Something inside her cracks.

Maybe it’s time.

114 notes · View notes