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ittybittyfanblog · 8 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol. Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (for the spin-off: click here!)

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night.

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that.

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break.

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?”

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around.

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five.

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much.

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding.

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd.

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal.

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time.

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia?

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping!

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart.

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address?

Ah, just like clockwork.

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up.

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress.

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion.

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain.

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?”

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character.

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man himself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some.

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life.

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well.

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin.

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness.

What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.”

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue.

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means.

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!”

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game, you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different.

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.”

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night.

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face.

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker—then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.”

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%.......

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez—huh?”

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary.

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever.

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock.

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?”

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face.

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter.

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

Helplessly, you open your inventory next.

Your jaw drops.

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This—this can’t be real.”

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada.

Holy shit.

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes.

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?”

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative.

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks.

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose.

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut.

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie.

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk.

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC.

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.”

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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d-z20 · 7 months ago

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Neighbourly Care part 2 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You try to forget the night with your neighbours by going on dates, but it doesn't go as planned. It goes better ;)

-OR-

Your hot MILF neighbours see you on a date and get jealous so they fuck you again

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, switch mommy Agatha, top daddy Rio, both are possessive, strap-ons, oral, double penetration, marking, degredation & praise kink, spanking, choking, orgasm denial, good bit of aftercare at the end

Words: 5.5k

A/N: If you thought it couldn't get any hornier you are very very mistaken. It is so much filthier than part 1

AO3 | Part 1 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Masterlist

Not For Sharing

Warmth envelops you as consciousness seeps back into your mind. A subtle, sweet scent lingers in the air—a mix of flowers and something distinctly comforting. You stir, the remnants of your dream still vivid: your impossibly hot neighbours had swept you off your feet, indulging in a passionate embrace and fucking you so good you’re pretty sure you died. The nights you dream of them are always that little bit better. Smiling, you let out a satisfied sigh, tugging the soft, firm thing in your arms closer. Must be a pillow, you think lazily, nuzzling into its warmth.

"Good morning, sweetheart," a familiar voice chuckles.

Your eyes snap open.

Agatha.

Not a pillow.

Not a dream...

You’re curled against her side, your head resting snugly on her stomach. She’s propped up slightly, her body warm and soft beneath you. An arm is draped around you, her hand brushing soothing strokes up and down your back as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. In her other hand, she holds a book, but as you blink up at her, she smiles and gently closes it, setting it aside.

"Mornin'," you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. You barely resist the urge to bury your face back into her, your cheeks burning as the realisation of last night fully dawns on you.

Agatha leans down and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture sends warmth flooding through you. She tilts your chin up gently, her eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Your clothes from yesterday have been washed and dried," she says, her voice soft and matter-of-fact. "And Rio’s in the kitchen making breakfast for us."

Before you can respond, Rio strides into the room, three mugs of coffee balanced expertly in her hands. She hands one to Agatha with a quick peck on her lips, then holds another out to you.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she says with a teasing grin, her tone impossibly warm.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the coffee. She slides onto the bed beside you, lifting an arm and raising an expectant brow.

"Shift over," Rio says, wiggling her fingers invitingly.

"Hey! I was enjoying the warmth," Agatha protests, mock-affronted.

"Yeah, well, you’ve been enjoying it for the past couple hours," Rio shoots back.

"Hours?!" you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks again as you sit up, coffee clutched between your hands.

"Well, yes," Agatha says lightly. "You were clearly very tired." She doesn’t elaborate, her smile mysterious, and Rio just hums in agreement, leaning back against the headboard as she pulls you snugly against her side.

—

The three of you share a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen—pancakes, eggs, and endless cups of coffee. Agatha and Rio exchange easy, affectionate banter, occasionally roping you into the conversation. They’re warm and welcoming, making you feel at home despite the lingering butterflies in your stomach.

"We were thinking of taking you out today," Agatha says as you finish the last of your coffee. "Just something casual. Then we’ll drop you off at the train station later."

Rio nods. "Sound good?"

You blink, momentarily startled by their kindness. "Yeah," you say softly. "Thanks."

They wave it off, smiling, and you excuse yourself to get changed into your freshly laundered clothes.

—

The day unfolds with relaxed simplicity. First, they take you to a cosy bookshop tucked into a quiet side street. Rio pulls a ridiculous rom-com novel off the shelf and insists on reading the blurb aloud, much to Agatha’s exasperation. Next, you stroll through a park, the crisp air filling your lungs as you wander past street performers and families enjoying their weekend. They buy you a coffee from a nearby cart, Agatha teasing you when you nearly spill it on yourself.

Afterward, they take you to a charming little boutique, where Agatha insists you try on a scarf that matches your eyes. “Perfect,” she declares, adjusting it around your neck with a soft smile.

By lunchtime, they lead you to a small, bustling restaurant with mismatched chairs and walls covered in framed photographs. The food is delicious—warm and filling—and the conversation flows easily. It feels surreal, sitting across from the two of them as if you’ve known them forever.

As the meal winds down, Agatha pulls your phone out of your hand. "We’re putting our numbers in," she announces, typing quickly, before sliding the phone to Rio, who does the same.

"We already have yours," Rio says, her voice warm. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—just give us a call or shoot us a text."

You nod, touched, and tuck the phone back into your pocket.

—

The drive to the train station feels bittersweet. They both walk you to the platform, hugging you when the train approaches.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice earnest as you meet their gazes.

Agatha’s smile is soft, her eyes lingering on you. "Take care, sweetheart."

"Don’t be a stranger," Rio adds, nudging your arm.

You wave goodbye as you board the train, watching them until they disappear from view. The train begins to move, and you sink into your seat, warmth blooming in your chest. You’re not sure what last night meant—or if you’ll ever fully understand it—but you know one thing for certain: you’ll never forget it.

—

It’s been five weeks since that weekend, and they still occupy your every thought. The scent of them in the air, the warmth of their arms, the gentle cadence of their laughter—it all plays on a loop in your mind. You’ve gone on a few dates with other people since then, trying to distract yourself, but nothing compares. Nothing satisfies.

A few nights ago, things hit a new low. In the midst of a heated hookup, as your date left a mark on your neck, you’d moaned Rio’s name. Somehow, you managed to laugh it off and keep going, but minutes later, when Agatha’s name slipped out, the whole thing came to an abrupt halt. You were left flustered, wet, and unsatisfied—wanting Rio and Agatha with a desperate ache you couldn’t shake.

You’ve thought about texting them. A thousand messages drafted and then deleted. What would you even say? They haven’t messaged you, either, you think. Were they waiting for you? Or was that weekend nothing more than a fun, fleeting indulgence for them—a way to “mix things up,” as Agatha had casually put it?

Tonight, you’re determined to move on.

As you finish getting ready, you remind yourself to put them out of your mind. Your new date seems funny enough, and meeting them at a trendy bar feels like a step in the right direction. You’re going to have fun tonight. You’re going to be present.

—

The bar is loud and bustling, neon lights reflecting off polished surfaces. You try to focus on your date, but within minutes, it’s clear they’re not who you hoped they’d be. Their jokes are flat, their smile forced, and they’ve been unreasonably rude to the waitstaff. You make a mental note to leave as soon as politeness allows.

Then you see Agatha and Rio walk in, commanding the room without even trying. They’re magnetic, glowing under the low lighting, and your heart stumbles in your chest. What are they doing here? You’ve never seen them around before; okay, yes, they only live a few hours drive away, but their sudden appearance feels like a sign, though you’re unsure of what.

Agatha’s gaze sweeps across the room and lands on you. Her brows lift slightly, and a smirk tugs at her lips. Rio follows her line of sight, her expression shifting to something warmer—though there’s a flicker of irritation when her eyes land on your date. They exchange a look, and then both of them start making their way over.

Your date notices your distraction and huffs. “You gonna stop staring and pay attention to me, or...” Their tone is sharp, and they snap their fingers in your face.

Before you can reply, Agatha and Rio arrive at your table, flanking you on either side.

"Well, hello there," Agatha purrs, her voice warm but laced with something sharper. She leans in slightly, brushing her fingers lightly over your shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here."

Rio crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on your date. “Interesting company you’re keeping tonight,” she says, her tone neutral but her eyes anything but.

Your date bristles, clearly annoyed. “Who the hell are you two?”

Agatha straightens, her smile cool. “Friends. Good friends.” Her hand lingers on the back of your chair, fingers drumming casually but possessively.

Rio, meanwhile, focuses on you, her brow furrowed in faint concern. “You okay here?”

Your date scoffs. “We were just fine until you two showed up.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Is that so?” Her gaze shifts to you, her expression softening just slightly. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Caught between them, you feel a mix of relief and embarrassment. You start to protest, trying to play it cool. “Guys, it’s fine. I—”

Agatha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “Sweetheart, we could see you weren’t enjoying yourself from across the room.”

Rio nods, her hand brushing against your arm. “You’re more than welcome to join us instead.”

Your date mutters something under their breath that sounds suspiciously like “fucking bitches," but Agatha and Rio ignore them entirely, their focus solely on you. The weight of their attention is overwhelming, and before you can fully process it, Agatha has her arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of your seat. Rio follows closely, her presence solid and reassuring.

—

They take you to an upscale restaurant, one far fancier than anywhere you’d normally go. You hesitate at the entrance, your protests spilling out in a rush. “This is too much—I can’t afford—”

“Our treat,” Agatha interrupts smoothly, holding the door open with a smile as Rio guides you forward, her hand firmly pushing on the small of your back.

The staff greets them by name—clearly they are regulars—and they lead the three of you to a cosy corner table. The atmosphere is intimate, the low lighting casting a golden glow. Over starters and mains, the tension between you shifts. What started as awkwardness melts into something electric.

Agatha and Rio tease you gently, their words laced with warmth and playful innuendo. Rio brushes her hand over yours when she reaches for the salt, and Agatha’s gaze lingers on your lips when you speak. The air between you crackles, the chemistry undeniable.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re scratching absently at your neck, pulling the collar of your top aside. You don’t notice their gazes locking on the faint hickey, but you do feel the subtle shift in the room’s energy. Rio’s hand tightens on her wife’s thigh, and Agatha’s smile takes on a sharper edge.

Their questions come fast and pointed. “So, you’ve clearly been busy making friends since we last saw you?” Agatha asks, her tone deceptively casual.

Rio leans in, her eyes piercing. “What made you pick tonight’s winner?”

You stammer through answers, feeling their scrutiny like a physical touch. The intensity of their attention is both unnerving and thrilling.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you take a moment to breathe. But as you wash your hands, the door opens, and Agatha steps inside. She leans against the counter beside you, her gaze heavy.

“Rio’s paying the bill,” she says, her voice low. Then her eyes drop to your neckline. “What’s this?” She tugs lightly at your collar, revealing the faint mark.

Heat floods your cheeks. “I—it’s nothing.”

She doesn’t respond, just steps closer, her hand brushing your arm. “We told you,” she murmurs, her voice dropping, “if you needed anything, you should call us.”

“I thought you meant a ride or—”

Her lips cut off your protest, the kiss firm and possessive. When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your arm, her eyes dark with intent. "Come,” she insists.

The air is thick with tension as Agatha’s hand wraps firmly around your bicep, her grip unyielding but not harsh. She leads you out of the bathroom without a word, and the sight of Rio waiting outside sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. Rio’s dark, smouldering gaze meets yours, and without hesitation, she steps forward, flanking you as Agatha moves to the other side.

The three of you walk in silence, their presence commanding, leaving no room for anything but anticipation. They don’t speak, and neither do you; trailing just behind them, your mind races. The click of their shoes on the pavement echoes in your ears, their hands brushing your arms or back every so often, steadying you, anchoring you.

—

When you reach a hotel, the atmosphere shifts. They lead you through the grand entrance, past a curious concierge, and into the waiting elevator. The doors close, and the small space amplifies everything—Agatha’s scent, Rio’s presence, the sheer weight of their eyes on you.

Agatha moves first, her hands gripping your waist as she pulls you to her. “We told you to call us,” she murmurs against your ear, her voice low and commanding, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you shiver.

Rio joins in, her hand finding its way to the back of your neck. “Yet, there you were, clinging to some asshole,” she growls, her tone laced with irritation and something much darker. Her fingers tighten, forcing you to meet her gaze.

The elevator dings, the sound barely registering as they usher you out, their hands firm and guiding. They walk you down the plushly carpeted hallway, their pace unrelenting, and when they reach the room, Agatha pulls out the key card with practiced ease. The door swings open, and you’re all but pushed inside.

The air in the room feels charged, the door clicking shut behind you like the finality of a lock. You barely have a moment to take in your surroundings before they close in on you.

“You were supposed to ask us,” Agatha says, her voice sharp as she steps closer, her eyes blazing. “For anything. For everything.”

Rio crosses her arms, her jaw set tight. “Instead, we find that you’ve been busy making friends,” she demands, her tone snearing at the final word.

You stumble over your words, your pulse racing. “I—I wasn’t trying to— It’s just, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Agatha snaps, cutting you off. “That you could distract yourself by throwing yourself at the first person who looked at you?”

“Yes! Wait, no!” You stammer. “All of the dates were just distractions, but none of them could get you guys out of my head.” You knew instantly you had messed up.

Rio’s eyes narrow. “All of the dates?” She repeats, her voice artificially soft.

“Uhhh… yeah, there’s been more than who you saw tonight,” you admit weakly, instantly regretting it when Agatha’s eyes flash with something dangerous.

“Clearly,” Rio hisses, stepping closer. Her hand shoots out, gripping your face firmly and tilting your head up so you can’t escape her gaze. “You are nothing but a common whore. I mean, just look at your neck.”

Agatha’s voice joins in, smooth and biting. “You’re ours. Don’t you get it? Ours. Not theirs, not anyone else’s.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod as best you can with Rio’s hand still holding your face. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, what?” Rio prompts, her tone sharp.

“Y-yes, Mommy,” you manage, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The effect is immediate. Rio’s lips crash against yours, the kiss claiming and consuming. Her fingers dig into your jaw, holding you in place as her tongue sweeps over yours, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

Then Agatha’s voice fills the space, low and possessive.

“We’re not sharing you with anyone else,” she declares, her presence suddenly behind you. Her hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against her as her mouth finds the mark on your neck. She bites down, hard enough to make you gasp into Rio’s mouth, and then she soothes the sting with her tongue before sucking hard, ensuring her mark overlays the one already there.

Her hands begin to roam, firm and deliberate. They slide under your top, her nails raking lightly over your skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. One hand moves upward, cupping your breast, while the other drifts downward, deftly undoing the buttons of your pants.

“You’re ours,” Agatha murmurs against your skin, her voice like a promise and a warning all at once. Her hand slips into your underwear, her touch confident and unapologetic, as her mouth continues its path along your neck.

Rio finally breaks the kiss. “Is that understood?” She asks, her tone brooking no argument as she watches you with hooded eyes, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, voice catching as Agatha’s fingers ghost over your clit. The words hang in the air, heavy with intent.

It was a stab in the dark to use the term for Rio; you have no clue if she likes it or not. However, judging by the look on her face and the way she bit down on her own lip, it was a good choice.

Agatha chuckles against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “Good,” she murmurs, her hand moving with purpose. “Now let’s remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Rio starts kissing you again; it’s needy, like she’s trying to consume you. Meanwhile, both of Agatha’s hands find their way back to your waist, her fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a firm motion. You feel her sink to her knees and bite your ass cheek as she helps you step out of your pants, and you let out a small yelp.

You feel Rio smile against your lips before pulling back and spinning you to face Agatha. She playfully nips at the shell of your ear before trailing her mouth lower, sucking and biting at your jaw and the sensetive spot behind your ear. Just as she licks a stripe up your neck, Agatha’s open mouth presses against your core.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, shuddering slightly.

“You’re so pathetic,” Agatha breathes, “you’ve ruined your underwear, like the slut you really are.” She drags her tongue over you slowly, tasting your arousal through the fabric. Not wanting to miss out, Rio’s hand lightly bats away Agatha’s head so she can cup you through your underwear, and you feel her exhale shakily against your ear from how wet you are.

Your head drops backwards in pleasure, but Rio’s other hand is there in an instant, forcing your gaze down to Agatha. “Don’t forget, you need to look at Mommy, baby.”

From this angle, you can see straight down the front of Agatha’s sleek black halterneck dress. It’s plunging neckline had offered you a tantalising view at dinner, but this was something else entirely.

“Thank you, my love; you can get ready now,” Agatha states, coming up to stand next to you. She grasps your hair and roughly drags you to the bed, shoving your face down so you’re bent over the mattress. She clasps your wrists behind your back, securing them with makeshift cuffs made from a belt.

Just as you’re wondering exactly where she got the belt from, you feel her lean down, pressing into your back. “If you’re going to act like a harlot, then we’ll treat you as such,” she whispers in your ear.

She places a hand between your thighs and starts rubbing gently, and despite her calm demeanour, you can hear her breathing get more ragged. She pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and starts ghosting her fingers over your clit. “We’re going to make sure you never ever forget who you belong to,” she whispers before thrusting two fingers inside you.

You gasp slightly at the feeling, but your arousal soon coats her fingers, and the movements become smooth as you adjust to her. Even though it had been on your mind since you woke up in her bed, you had forgotten just how good sex with Agatha felt. You can feel her grinding into you as she’s fucking you, clearly desperate for some friction herself.

Suddenly she stops and climbs off you; you’re about to protest when your underwear gets ripped off.

“Well, they were already ruined, and they’re just going to get in the way,” you hear Rio’s voice chuckle behind you.

You’re expecting them to start touching you, but instead you hear sucking, and maybe... was that the sound of a gag? You crane your head back trying to see what’s happening, and the sight causes an involuntary moan to escape your lips: Agatha was kneeling in front of a naked Rio, her head bobbing back and forth. You can see a part of the dildo not in Agatha’s mouth, but you don’t see a harness.

“Is that a..."

“Yes, baby, I’m going to feel every thrust just as much as you; Agatha’s just getting this end ready for you," Rio answers. You actually feel yourself start to drip, and watch as Rio takes a sharp inhale as it trickles down your thigh. “I think they’re more than ready for me now, my love,” she adds, tugging softly at Agatha’s hair.

Agatha releases the strap but pushes down on it slightly, making Rio’s hips jolt as the other end shifts inside her.

Regaining her composure, Rio strides over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you up so you’re arched into her. You feel the strap glide over your heat, and you can’t help but grind into it, moaning at the smallest bit of pressure against your clit. Rio lines up with your entrance and pushes the tip in before quickly withdrawing.

“Who do you belong to?” she groans, thrusting into you. But before you can adjust, she pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. All you can do is whine.

You hear a loud smack as Rio’s open palm hits your bare ass. “I asked you a question.”

It stings, but the pain blurs into pleasure as you feel another brief thrust in and out.

“You,” you moan, wanting to get fucked properly.

There’s fresh pain as Rio smacks you again.

“Daddy. I belong to you, Daddy.” It comes out as a sob, far more desperate than you’ve ever heard yourself.

“Mhmm, that’s it, sweetheart. Now I’m going to tell you exactly how Mommy likes to be eaten out, and you’re going to be a good pet and do exactly what I say, okay?” She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Yes, Daddy.”

With your agreement, Rio releases you from your restraints and starts fucking you, her movements rough and deep. Agatha lies down in front of you, her legs spread, and you can see just how wet she is.

“I’d say you need to start by warming her up, but by the looks of it, she already is,” Rio says greadily. Then it was her turn to moan as your body jerks back into her from a particularly deep thrust.

“Well, since you decided to disobey us, watching Daddy teach you a lesson has really got me going," Agatha teases, “but I still need to feel your mouth on me, pet.”

You obey and bring your mouth close to Agatha’s pussy; you’re about to begin when you feel Rio smack you again between her thrusts. “I haven’t told you to do anything yet,” she snarls. “Start with broad licks up and down; you’ll need to pin her hips as Mommy’s rather sensitive and tends to squirm around.”

“Rio,” Agatha warns, giving you the impression she still has control over the woman behind you.

You do as you’re told and begin licking firm but broad. Rio was right; Agatha was very sensitive, and she bucks her hips every time you get near her clit. She buries her hands in your hair and pushes you into her. “Yes. Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

Rio’s nails bite into your hip where she’s holding you, and she starts to thrust even harder. Her moans are loud and gutteral. “Okay, now start to circle her clit with the tip of your tongue.” Her voice is breathy. “Fuck, okay, fuck, I’m getting close,” she pants. “And every so often you should put your lips around it and suck a little.”

Once again you do as you’re told, and once again Agatha starts to writhe beneath you, grinding against your face. Rio wraps an arm around your waist, her fingers stroking your clit, and you moan at the added stimulation, so close to climaxing.

The vibrations push Agatha even closer to her own orgasm as she gasps, "Mmm, I love what you’re doing, but I swear to fuck, if you don’t put your fingers inside me right now, pet, I will RUIN you.”

You’re torn. On the one hand, you want to make Agatha cum, but on the other, Rio hasn’t told you to do that yet, and you don’t want to find out what happens if you disobey her.

A hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just a bit, and Rio pulls you up; she stills her hips, but her fingers keep going. “Mommy gave you an order, sweetheart.” With no further warning, she pulls out and shoves you down next to Agatha. “Now you don’t get to cum until she has.”

You whine at the empty feeling, but it soon turns into a whimper as you watch Rio push the strap into Agatha, not even bothering to wipe it clean.

Your eyes flutter closed as you start to fuck yourself when all of a sudden Rio’s hand is back around your throat. “Uh uh, bad pets don’t get to touch themselves.” She turns her head, looking at her wife. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re going to have to touch yourself since this slut can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“I mean, technically, I was keeping them to myself. You know since I was touching myself and not either of you.” You’re smiling, proud of the loophole you found, until you spot how both women are glaring at you, realising the magnitude of your mistake.

“Oh no. Oh no no no,” Agatha scolds. “You will keep your mouth shut, your hands on the headboard, and your face to the wall until we say otherwise.”

You get up, crawling to the top of the bed, head drooping at the realisation that you won’t even get to watch them cum.

The room is quickly filled with moans and gasps as Rio and Agatha help each other through their orgasms, but it doesn’t stop, and you’re pretty sure that they go for rounds two and three. Pressing your thighs together, you grit your teeth, determined not to disobey them again.

It feels like it’s been an eternity, but finally you hear Agatha call you back, and when you turn around to look at them, they are a complete mess with red bite marks scattered across both of their chests. Rio turns, grabbing something from her bag, and you see the large scratch marks Agatha has left all down her back.

“Thank you, my love.” Agatha says, taking whatever it was Rio had grabbed. "Now, pet, you are going to ride Daddy’s cock, and I will join you in a minute.”

You nod, excited to hopefully get some reprieve from the ache of having your orgasm denied. “Yes, Mommy,” you add quickly, trying to avoid another punishment.

Rio lies down on her back, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Clean it first.”

Humming with excitement, you lower your head and take the strap in your mouth; it’s still warm from being inside Agatha, and you groan at the taste of her on it.

You only get a few seconds before Rio pulls you away, guiding your hips so you’re straddling her, hovering over the strap. “You look so perfect like this,” her voice is soft and encouraging. You lower yourself down and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “So perfect,” she repeats.

“You feel so good,” you moan, starting to roll your hips.

Her hands grip your waist, helping you up and down, but it’s not enough, and she starts thrusting up into you. You stutter and fall forward into Rio, all your strength sapped from your muscles as she hits the perfect spot.

Agatha comes up behind you, her hand stroking your back. “Do you think you can take more, sweetheart?”

"Mhmm” is all you can manage before burying your head in Rio’s neck.

You were expecting some stimulation on your clit or maybe Agatha replacing Rio with something bigger. What you weren't expecting, however, was Agatha to push her own strap in as well. It stretches you at first, making you feel wonderfully full.

“Oh fuck,” you mewl, biting down on Rio’s neck to suppress your moans

Agatha starts to move, causing you to cry out in pleasure. The sound encourages her, and she starts to bare down harder. “You’re taking us so well, baby.”

Rio hums in agreement. The force of Agatha’s thrusts sending fresh waves of pleasure through her. She drags her nails up your back, digging in with every jolt of your hips. “Don’t you ever forget who you belong to again,” she whispers, starting to mark your neck and shoulders with her mouth, and you feel your stomach start to knot.

Desperate for just that little bit more, you start begging. “Please, please, I need more.”

You grab Agatha’s hand and shove it between your legs. Chuckling softly, she gives you what you need, and your orgasm comes crashing over you.

It takes a few minutes, but both of them pull out when your legs finally stop shaking. Rio lets you lie on her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “You did so good for us,” she purrs, pressing kisses to your temple and running her fingers through your hair.

You hear Agatha turn on the shower as she cleans up the toys, returning to the bed when she’s done. “Sweetheart, do you need anything?”

You shake your head weakly at Agatha’s question, your body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. Rio strokes your hair gently, her fingers trailing soothing patterns down your back. “You sure, baby?” Agatha presses, leaning down to run a hand along your calf, her touch grounding and warm. “Water? A snack? Anything at all?”

You finally manage to whisper, “Water, maybe.”

Agatha nods, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She kisses your knee softly before disappearing into the adjoining room. Rio continues her ministrations, cradling you as if you might drift away. “Just breathe, love,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your hairline. “We’ve got you.”

Agatha returns moments later with a glass of water and a cool, damp cloth. She perches beside you on the bed, offering the water with one hand while using the cloth to dab tenderly at your flushed face and neck. “There you go,” she coos, her voice soft and melodic. “Nice and slow.”

You sip the water, feeling the cool liquid revive you slightly. Agatha takes the glass once you’ve had your fill and sets it on the bedside table before tucking the blanket around you more snugly. “You did so well, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing lightly over your arm. “We’re so proud of you.”

After a while, Agatha glances at Rio and tilts her head toward the bathroom. “Let’s clean up, darling,” she says softly, giving your leg a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll feel even better after a warm shower.”

Rio carefully helps you sit up, her arms still supporting you as your legs wobble slightly. She and Agatha guide you to the bathroom, where the steam from the shower has already fogged up the mirror. The warmth of the room wraps around you as Agatha steps into the shower first, adjusting the water temperature before holding out a hand to you. “Come here, love.”

You step in with their help, the hot water cascading over you instantly soothing your sore muscles. Agatha stands behind you, massaging your shoulders and neck, while Rio lathers up a soft washcloth, gently cleansing your skin. Their touches are tender, unhurried, and filled with care. Agatha presses a kiss to your damp shoulder as she rinses you off, while Rio keeps her gaze locked on yours, a soft smile playing on her lips.

When they’re satisfied that you’re fully relaxed and clean, they wrap you in a fluffy towel and guide you back to the bed. The sheets have been straightened, and the pillows fluffed, creating a cosy nest that feels like heaven when you crawl back in. Rio slides in beside you, pulling you against her chest once more, while Agatha climbs in on your other side, her arm draping protectively over both of you.

“Better now?” Agatha asks, her voice a quiet hum as she brushes a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, a content sigh escaping your lips. “Much better. Thank you.”

Rio chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Anything for our pet.”

-----

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cadelinhadaromanoff · 2 months ago

Text

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

Summary: Natasha finds herself sinking into the quiet storm of her own insecurities—trapped in the uncertainty of her almost-relationship. Though deeply in love, she struggles with the fear that something so good can’t last. She worries she’s temporary, that she’s not enough, that she’ll be left behind. The lack of a clear title between them—no “girlfriend,” no labels—only feeds her anxiety. Despite knowing deep down that she’s loved, the ache of not hearing it aloud, of not being certain where she stands, begins to unravel her from within… until all of it changed.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Platonic Clint Barton.

Word count: 11615

Warnings: Emotional Insecurity & Anxiety, Mentions of Trauma (Red Room), Mild Language, Implied Nudity/Intimacy, Age Gap Relationship (33 and 23)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Author's Notes: Hey guys! Just wanted to say a huge thank you for all the love and support you’ve been giving this story—it honestly means so much to me. I’m sorry it took a little longer to post this one, but I promise it was worth the wait (yes, it got long, I know, but I couldn’t help myself). As always, feel free to drop a comment or send me a message—I absolutely love talking with you all about the story!Hope you enjoy the chapter… especially now that they’re finally, finally official!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Natasha had always believed that solitude was safety. That the quiet after a mission, the dim silence of her apartment, the untouched corner of a bed meant she was doing it right. Keeping the world at bay. But lately—no, ever since you—solitude didn’t taste like peace anymore. It tasted like absence. It tasted like something she wasn’t supposed to swallow down anymore. Because now she knew what it felt like to be held. And God, she craved it. Every cell in her body missed you when you weren’t there. It was like her skin had developed a memory, a longing—your fingers stroking through her hair, the solid weight of your arms around her, the way your voice softened when you said her name. She wasn’t built for needing people, but somehow, she needed you.

It was worse on nights like this, when the plan had been simple. Just bed. Just cuddles. You, her, and Ana—wrapped up like a secret in soft sheets and warm limbs, safe from the world. That was all she wanted. No espionage, no world-threatening disasters, no coded briefings. Just domestic silence broken by the gentle hiccup of Ana’s giggle or your breath whispering across her neck. And when it didn’t happen, when the world pried you away again with one more emergency or one more delay, something inside her clenched with a quiet, aching frustration.

She never expected this. She never expected to become this… touch-starved. Not her. Not the Black Widow, trained to endure, to resist, to suppress. But every time you left, she felt like her skin was betraying her, screaming for your touch. Her body missed you like a second heartbeat gone quiet. She found herself counting the hours, the minutes, the weight of time unbearable until she could feel your warmth pressed against her again. You didn’t just touch her skin—you calmed the war beneath it. The war that had never really stopped since she was a child.

She sleeps better now. That’s something she can’t even say aloud without her voice cracking. Before you, sleep was something she survived. A minefield of memories, of missions, of screams that were never hers but still lived in her head. The Red Room was always there—just under her eyelids. But with you… it’s different. When she lies beside you, her body folds into yours with such aching relief it almost breaks her. And on the nights when the dreams still come—because they do, not as often, but still—you never even hesitate. You just reach for her. Sometimes you wake up to the sound of her breath hitching, and you’re already there, pulling her into your arms before she can even open her eyes. Her face tucked against your chest, breathing in the scent of your perfume like it’s a tether. It makes her feel safe. Not just safe from danger—but safe from herself.

You never ask her to explain. You never demand the shape of her fear or the color of her scars. You just hold her. Stroke her hair. Whisper to her. And it’s not even always words—sometimes it’s the quiet rhythm of a song you love, hummed against her temple, the vibrations sinking into her bones. Sometimes it’s a story, one of your myths or legends you adore, soft and slow like a lullaby. You talk about Persephone’s garden, or Selene’s moonlight, or the stars that guide lost souls home. And slowly, slowly, the war in her chest dies down. She breathes. She lets go.

And sometimes—her favorite times—you say nothing at all. You just stay. Stay with her. Stay present. Stay real. Your fingers weaving through her hair, your heart steady against her back. That’s how she heals. Not in grand gestures or loud declarations—but in these quiet nights where you remind her, without ever needing to say it, that the Red Room can’t reach her anymore. That Ana is safe. That she is loved. Fully. Completely. Unconditionally.

She never thought she’d have this. Never thought she’d be someone’s comfort, someone’s world. Never thought anyone would be hers. But you are. And she’s yours. And tonight, even if you’re not here, she holds onto that. Holds onto you. Because she knows that when the door finally opens, when your shoes are kicked off at the entrance, when you finally come to her again, you’ll climb into bed and fold yourself around her like you always do. And she’ll sleep. Truly sleep. Because you exist. Because you love her. And because somehow, impossibly, she’s allowed to love you back.

The text had barely finished delivering when Natasha’s heart leapt. “Coming home soon, love. Ana picked out a little bunny she refused to let go of. We miss you.” It was nothing extraordinary, just a simple message. But for Natasha, it lit her from within. She stared at the words until the letters blurred slightly, her chest warming with something fierce and tender and almost too much to hold. She could already picture it—the jingle of keys at the door, the sound of Ana’s babbling, your voice calling softly through the apartment, and then, finally, your arms around her. Your warmth at her back, your scent in her lungs, your presence like a balm to the always-too-tight coil in her chest. And Ana, her sweet little girl, pressed between you both like a heartbeat.

That had been the plan. The only plan Natasha cared about today.

She had tidied the room three times, not because it needed it, but because she needed to stay busy. She had fluffed the pillows, pulled out the softest blankets, even changed into your favorite hoodie—the one that still faintly smelled like you. The one she never admitted she slept in whenever you were gone too long. Her whole body was ready to melt into yours. Her mind was already there, halfway between your laugh and Ana’s cheek squished against her chest. That was her safe place now. That was everything.

But then her phone rang.

And everything—everything—shifted.

She stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed her. Clint. The only person she might’ve answered for tonight. The only one who knew her long enough to still pull her back into the life she thought she was beginning to leave behind. She pressed answer, already sighing.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re about to say,” she muttered before he could even speak.

“I wouldn’t if I had a choice,” Clint’s voice replied, casual but carrying that slight edge she recognized instantly—he was serious. “I need backup at the compound. New recruits are crashing hard. They’re not listening, not responding. They need someone who scares them straight.”

“They’re not my problem,” she said flatly, her jaw already tightening. “Not tonight.”

There was a pause.

“You said you were easing back in. This is easing. I wouldn’t call if I didn’t really need you.”

And there it was—that tug, that guilt-laced thread woven into years of loyalty and battles and blood. He knew it. He used it. And she hated that it still worked. But even as the pressure behind her eyes built, her voice snapped back, sharper this time. “Clint, I haven’t seen them all day. She’s been gone since morning. I just—” her voice cracked, barely, “—I just want to hold my family. I was going to hold them and breathe, and not think about combat posture or tactical breakdowns or angry kids trying to prove they’re bulletproof.”

“I get it,” he said gently. “But this is one of those nights I can’t handle it alone.”

She wanted to scream. Throw the phone. Anything. But instead, she clenched her teeth until her jaw ached. Her free hand twisted into the hem of your hoodie, holding on like she was bracing for impact. Her silence dragged long enough that Clint said her name.

“I’ll go,” she said, bitterly. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“I know.”

And with that, she ended the call and stood there, motionless, the echo of her own frustration boiling beneath her skin. Her body physically hurt from how much it had wanted to be touched. Held. She could almost feel the phantom of your arms around her already, like her body had preemptively exhaled—and now that touch wouldn’t come. Not yet.

She peeled the hoodie off like it burned her, tossing it onto the bed with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob and not quite a growl. She hadn’t felt this moody in years. This let down. It wasn’t just the cuddle. It was the hope she’d let herself build. The sacredness of such a quiet plan. The simplicity of love, denied.

She didn’t bother looking in the mirror as she tied her boots and clipped her hair back. The woman staring back would be one she barely recognized tonight. All sharp edges again. All steel and cold breath and detachment. She hated it. Hated how easily the armor still fit.

Before she left, she glanced at the phone again, almost against her will. No new texts yet. You were probably driving, Ana babbling in the backseat. The image made her eyes sting.

She typed quickly, furiously, deleting twice before finally sending:

|Me: Clint called. Going to the compound. I’m sorry. I wanted tonight so badly.

She didn’t wait for the reply. She couldn’t. If you told her it was okay, she’d hate herself more. If you told her you missed her too, she’d fall apart.

She stepped out into the night with her fists clenched in her coat pockets and a weight in her chest that made her feel like she’d left her soul back in that bed, still waiting for your aren't .

The elevator hummed with sterile efficiency, bright lights buzzing above her head as Natasha stood with her arms crossed, back pressed into the cool metal wall. Her jaw was tight, ticking faintly as she stared blankly at the floor numbers ticking upward. The ride felt slower than usual, and she hated how her foot kept bouncing with impatience. She was still thinking about the bed, about you. About Ana’s little hand probably gripping that bunny you mentioned. About the warmth she was supposed to be folded into by now. Instead, she was in a steel box, dressed for war, on her way to babysit rookies who probably couldn’t tell the difference between real fear and adrenaline.

Damn Clint.

The doors opened with a pneumatic sigh, releasing her into the training sector’s lower level—a new wing Stark had greenlit, full of sleek equipment, minimalist black panels, and eerily quiet lighting. The second she stepped out, the air changed. It was cooler here, laced with the faint scent of sterilized tech and recently dried sweat. Ahead of her, through the glass wall, she could see them—six newbies strapped into individual chairs, motionless, eyes twitching beneath closed lids. Each one connected to the simulation grid via a thin neural band wrapped at the base of the skull. A glowing interface pulsed beside each chair, tracking vital signs and neurological responses.

Great. They’re using the Divergent crap tonight.

.Natasha muttered it under her breath as she stepped into the observation deck, her tone soaked in irritation, though the flicker of reluctant admiration lingered beneath. Her eyes swept over the simulation chairs lined in two perfect rows, each rookie hooked up to the neural bands you had personally helped design. A sleek web of bio-responsive tech wound from scalp to spine, and beneath the blinking lights and soft whirring of the monitors, she could practically hear your voice in her head explaining it all—every circuit, every serum compound, every neural feedback loop.

She hated how good the tech was. Hated how brilliant you were. Because tonight, that brilliance had stolen you from her arms.

This wasn’t some off-the-shelf copy of what the Divergent factions once used. No, this was yours—your creation. A modified, perfected version of the concept. Inspired by the movie, sure, but completely reimagined under your touch. Instead of fearscapes, you built a neural simulation that generated complex, high-risk, hyperrealistic fake missions. Rescue ops. Espionage trials. Ambush recoveries. Each one designed to push recruits to their limits—not by terrifying them, but by testing them. Every scenario was tailored based on psychological profiling, combat scores, and instinctive behaviors. And unlike the fear tests, the recruits were fully aware they were inside a sim.

That was the genius of it—it wasn’t about whether they could survive. It was whether they would choose to keep going even when it felt hopeless. They knew it was fake. Their minds still reacted like it was real.

Natasha folded her arms and exhaled sharply as one of the screens flickered to show a recruit crawling through smoke and glass, her simulated arm “injured,” her path blocked by simulated debris. Natasha recognized the scenario. A building collapse, with two civilian hostages on opposite ends of the structure. One had to be sacrificed. Classic moral tension. A test of choice, not strength.

She clenched her jaw.

It was brilliant. Brutal. Effective.

And right now?

It was a colossal pain in the ass.

She should be home. Curled into your chest with Ana asleep between you, your heartbeat beneath her ear and your perfume weaving through her senses like safety incarnate. She should be buried in warmth and peace and the sacred comfort she only ever found in your touch. But instead, she was standing here, cold and tense, watching over recruits struggle inside a world you built, your fingerprints in every line of code.

A quiet pang stirred in her chest. Not jealousy. Just longing. The ache of missing you while being surrounded by pieces of you.

She glanced at the chair nearest her. The young man strapped in was shaking, sweat beading along his temple. His simulation feed showed him breaching a hostile compound, wounded and alone, with a timer ticking down until the bomb exploded. Natasha watched his eyes twitch beneath their lids, watched his hands grip the armrests like they were the last lifeline he had.

It was working. Too well.

Clint appeared beside her, arms crossed like he’d been watching her rather than the recruits.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he said quietly.

Natasha didn’t answer right away. Her eyes lingered on the screen, on the chaos within the simulation.

“She built this,” she said finally. “Twisted it from some dystopian crap into a full-on psychological battlefield. It’s smarter than most field ops I’ve seen.”

Clint nodded. “She’s scary when she wants to be.”

“She’s brilliant when she wants to be.”

And then softer, bitter under her breath: “And I was supposed to be holding her right now.”

Clint winced.

“And then you called.” she added, sharp.

He raised his hands defensively. “And I said I was sorry.”

She turned away from the screens, tired of watching ghosts. “Let’s just finish this. I want to go home.”

Back to you. To warmth. To your arms and the scent of that bunny Ana refused to let go of. Back to what was real. Because no matter how convincing these simulations were—no matter how much of your brilliance hummed inside every byte—nothing in this cold, tech-lit room could compare to the life you’d built with her. Nothing could replace the soft gravity of your touch.

And when this was over, she’d crawl into bed no matter the hour, pull you against her, and breathe you in like a woman resurfacing from the deep.

The minutes dragged by like hours.

Natasha leaned against the edge of the control console, arms folded, posture tense but practiced. Beside her, Clint clicked between feeds on the main monitor, pulling up different simulation views. The room was quiet aside from the soft hum of processors and the occasional groan or muttered curse from one of the strapped-in recruits. The feeds flickered and changed—different scenarios, different reactions—and most of them, Natasha had to admit, were either absurd or just plain painful to watch.

“Did he seriously just run at the sniper with a knife?” she muttered, eyes narrowing at one of the panels.

“Yup,” Clint said with a grin, leaning in. “Didn’t even try cover. Full-blown hero charge.”

“He has a grenade on his belt.”

“I think he forgot.”

Natasha dragged a hand down her face. “That’s not forgetting. That’s suicidal optimism.”

Another screen showed a recruit trying to sneak through a corridor with absolutely no spatial awareness. He knocked over a chair, then tripped on it, then somehow managed to drop his weapon in the most exaggerated, dramatic tumble Clint had ever seen. Natasha didn’t say anything—just blinked slowly, her expression blank.

Clint laughed, loud and unfiltered. “That kid’s not even fighting the mission. He’s fighting gravity.”

On the far right panel, another recruit surprised them both. She rewired a security terminal in under thirty seconds using a snapped wire and part of her earpiece mic. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“That one’s sharp,” she admitted.

Clint whistled. “That’s your girl’s tech, too. Interface adapted mid-sim. Pretty sure the sim actually improved her hacking instincts.”

“Good. Maybe someone here will make it past next month without getting themself killed.”

The next screen showed a recruit tossing his weapon to a simulated hostage and yelling, “Cover me!”

Natasha stared.

Clint choked on his laughter. “Oh my God.”

“He armed the hostage.”

“Strategic empowerment?”

Natasha shot him a dry look. “Strategic idiocy.”

They both laughed—hers short and bitter, his open and entertained. For a moment, the weight on her chest eased.

But only for a moment.

Clint glanced sideways at her when her smile faded. Her shoulders sank back into that familiar coil of silence, her expression hardening again as the recruits continued their digital trials. He studied her for a beat, then turned slightly toward her with that familiar smirk—the one he always wore when he was about to start poking the bear.

“You’re unusually grumpy tonight.”

She didn’t look at him. “Am I.”

He leaned on the console next to her, nudging her with an elbow. “C’mon. Even you usually enjoy mocking the next generation of idiots. What gives?”

Natasha sighed through her nose, eyes glued to the screen. “I had plans.”

“Oh no.” Clint gasped with mock horror. “Plans. Were they dangerous? Illegal? Food-related?”

“They were quiet,” she snapped. “They were warm. And soft. And involved zero morons giving weapons to fake hostages.”

Clint grinned. “So, cuddles?”

Her glare was pure ice. “Yes. Cuddles. That’s the mission you dragged me away from. The real one.”

Clint pressed a hand to his heart. “Heartbreaking.”

She didn’t respond, just clenched her jaw tighter.

Clint waited a second, then added with a mischievous glint, “You’re mad because you didn’t get to spoon your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Natasha shot him a sideways glare sharp enough to cut through armor. “Say that again and I’ll throw you into the sim.”

Clint chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “You’d need a whole custom scenario. ‘The Training of Barton: How to Shut Up and Let Natasha Cuddle in Peace.’”

She turned away, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. The irritation was real, yes, but even now, she could feel the edges of it softening around Clint’s usual nonsense. Still, it didn’t fix the ache—didn’t dull the image of what she could be doing. The gentle weight of Ana in her arms. Your body wrapped around her back. Your voice, soft and teasing against her neck. Her bed. Her home. You.

And here she was instead. Watching twenty-year-olds try not to shoot themselves in the foot.

Clint nudged her again. “Seriously though. You okay?”

For a while, she didn’t say anything. The screen in front of them flickered, throwing a cold blue glow across her face. A recruit stumbled through a simulated blizzard, searching for a beacon he’d never find, and Natasha’s expression was unreadable, carved from quiet tension. Her fingers tapped idly against her arm, then stilled.

“I’m trying to enjoy it,” she finally said, voice low. “Her. Us. Every second we get.”

Clint’s brow furrowed. He didn’t interrupt.

Natasha’s eyes softened a fraction, but her shoulders stayed drawn tight. “It’s been… good. Too good. So good it makes my skin crawl some nights. Not because I don’t want it—because I do. God, I do. But something in me keeps whispering that it’s not going to last.”

Her throat worked, like the words were digging themselves out against her will. “I keep getting this… this feeling. Like I’m losing her. Like she’s slipping through my fingers and I don’t even know why. Like this—whatever this is—has an expiration date and I just haven’t been told when yet.”

Clint’s voice came quieter. “She give you any reason to think that?”

Natasha shook her head. “No. That’s the worst part. She doesn’t lie to me. She holds me like she means it. Like she’s never letting go. But I can’t shake it. I wake up sometimes and I look at her and I think, this can’t be real. Life doesn’t give me this. Not for long. Not without taking it back.”

Clint exhaled slowly. “You’ve been through hell, Nat. Of course your brain doesn’t know what to do with softness.”

She looked away. Her jaw clenched hard. “It’s not just that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“She hasn’t asked,” Natasha said finally, quieter this time. “We’re not… anything. Not officially. Not girlfriends. Not friends-with-benefits. We’re just… something.”

She let the word hang, fragile and heavy.

“I think about it more than I want to admit,” she continued. “I keep wondering why she hasn’t asked. If it’s because she’s not sure. Or if it’s because she’s already decided and just doesn’t want to say it. What if she didn’t ask because she’s planning to leave? What if she’s just waiting for the right moment to end it clean?”

Clint frowned. “Do you really think she’d do that to you?”

“No.” Natasha’s answer was instant. She blinked hard, jaw still tight. “No. She wouldn’t. That’s the part that messes with my head. I know she wouldn’t. But it’s like my body doesn’t believe it. Like every scar in me is screaming that love is a trick, and safety’s just a lie waiting to collapse.”

Her voice cracked, barely.

“I hold her and I’m happy. She kisses my forehead and I want to cry because it feels so damn real. And then the voice comes in. The one that says, you don’t get forever. You don’t even get ‘official.’ You just get this borrowed time until she figures out she deserves someone better. Someone whole.”

Clint was quiet for a long moment. The sim monitors flickered in silence behind them, each recruit caught in their own temporary hell.

He shifted beside her, then leaned forward on the console with a sigh. “You wanna know what I think?”

Natasha didn’t look at him, but she didn’t tell him to shut up either. So he took that as permission.

“I think you’re scared out of your mind,” Clint said, not unkindly. “And I don’t blame you. You’ve never had anything like this before. Not really. Not where you could breathe in it. Where you could stay. Where no one was going to be dragged away or shot in the dark or pulled out of your arms while you watched helpless.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a second. That soft tremble in her lashes said enough.

“But Nat,” he continued, gently now, “you’re not in the Red Room anymore. You’re not in a cage. You’re not some shadow they trained to be disposable. You’re home. You built something. With her. With your kid. You think that’s an accident? You think someone like you—someone who’s lived through fire and came out human—doesn’t deserve this?”

She clenched her jaw again. “It’s not about what I deserve.”

“No. It’s about what you’re terrified to hope for.”

Natasha looked at him then. Really looked at him. And for a moment, there was nothing but years between them—wars survived, trust earned, quiet confessions passed like thread between wounds.

“I’m not good at soft,” she said finally. “I never was.”

“No one’s asking you to be good at it,” he replied. “Just don’t run from it.”

She went quiet again, but the air between them had shifted—thick with the weight of things unspoken and the quiet, aching truth she’d been too afraid to say out loud.

“I just…” Her voice faltered, then steadied again, low and raw. “I want her to want me forever. Not just now. Not just while it’s new, or easy, or exciting. I want her to choose me. Name me. Claim me. Because this… something… it feels like everything, but I keep waiting for her to say it out loud.”

“And until she does, you’re stuck in limbo.”

She nodded, once. Slow. Painfully slow.

Clint tilted his head. “Then ask her.”

She blinked. “What?”

He shrugged. “Ask her. Be brave, Romanoff. You’ve taken down gods and dictators. You think you can’t survive asking the girl you love where you stand?”

“It’s not about surviving,” she said quietly. “It’s about what it’ll feel like if I’m right.”

Clint studied her for a beat, his expression softening. “And what if you’re wrong? What if she’s just scared, too? Or waiting for you to ask because she doesn’t want to pressure you? What if she’s lying awake at night, wondering why you haven’t said anything?”

Natasha looked down at her hands. The scar across her knuckles. The place where you kissed when you thought she was asleep.

“She holds me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish,” Natasha whispered. “But I hold her like I’m already losing her.”

Clint didn’t have an answer for that. Not one he could speak, anyway.

So he reached out and gently bumped her shoulder. A wordless reassurance. A tether.

“You’re not losing her, Nat. You’re just scared.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “A spy afraid of love. That’s original.”

“Hey,” he smirked. “Even assassins get hearts. Yours just took a while to remember how to beat.”

She didn’t reply, but her eyes flicked to one of the monitors without really seeing it. And Clint watched her, watched the way her mouth pressed into a thin line, the way her fingers dug slightly into her arms like she was holding herself together by will alone. He knew that posture. Knew it from rooftops and bunkers and long silences between missions. It was the way Natasha braced when something inside her was louder than anything outside.

“Nat,” he said, voice quieter now, less teasing, more solid, “she’s not going anywhere.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But you do. You do, and that’s what’s killing you. You know she loves you. You know she’s not lying, not playing, not keeping you around out of convenience. And that scares the hell out of you because the only thing more terrifying than losing her… is believing she might stay.”

She exhaled, sharp and shaky, and suddenly the room felt too small. Like the walls were pressing in with all the things she never let herself feel. All the quiet dreams she’d folded into the corners of her mind. All the hope she never gave herself permission to want.

“I’ve lost so much,” she murmured, eyes still fixed somewhere far beyond the monitors. “More than I ever let myself count. And now I have her. And Ana. And I keep thinking… what if this is just the calm before the storm? What if the universe is just fattening me up before it rips it all away again?”

Clint didn’t scoff. Didn’t try to joke it off. He just let her say it, let the words crack open between them like raw nerve.

“I think,” he said softly, “that maybe this time… the storm already passed. And this isn’t the before. Maybe it’s the after. Maybe you’re already standing in what’s left, and instead of ash, it gave you something to live for.”

That made her look at him. Her throat bobbed, her eyes glassy but refusing to spill. She wasn’t a crier. Not even when she wanted to be.

“I’m scared,” she said again, like it was a confession.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Then don’t,” he said gently. “Just… tell her. Tell her you want more. Tell her this in-between isn’t enough. That you want to be hers. For real. She’ll listen. She’s not like the others.”

Natasha didn’t speak, but something inside her shifted. You could almost see it—like a wall cracking, just a little. Letting the light in.Natasha didn’t speak, but something inside her shifted. You could almost see it—like a wall cracking, just a little. Letting the light in.

She exhaled slowly, almost as if the weight on her ribs had grown too heavy to carry in silence. Her voice came softer this time, stripped down, the edge dulled by something more fragile. “I never really noticed how hard it is… being a single mom. Not until I wasn’t doing it alone.”

Clint turned toward her, careful not to speak, just letting her unravel.

“I mean, I knew it’d be hard. Of course I did. Late nights, the crying, the routines, the guilt. But I thought I had it under control. I thought I was doing okay.” She paused, eyes fixed somewhere vague, like she was watching a reel of half-remembered mornings and chaotic afternoons. “And then she came in.”

Her voice thickened—not with regret, but awe.

“She didn’t just help me. She showed up. She saw me. She saw Ana. And it was like…” Her lips curved, barely, aching. “Like she’d always been meant to be there. Like Ana was waiting for her too.”

Natasha swallowed hard. “Damn it, Clint. It’s like she was made for us. Like some piece I didn’t know I was missing finally clicked into place. She’s a breeze of fresh air in a house that forgot how to breathe.”

She looked down at her lap, fingers clenching and unclenching like she was trying to hold on to something intangible. “Ana adores her. She laughs differently when she’s around. Softer. Freer. Like she feels we are safe, it's like she can see that I am better. like she already knows who her home is.”

Clint watched her, eyes warm, but said nothing. Letting her get to it.

Natasha leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice dipping low again. “And that’s what terrifies me. Because she’s ten years younger than me. Ten years of freedom. Ten years of unburned skin. She could have anything. Anyone. And I’m just… me.”

Her jaw clenched. The words tasted bitter coming out. “What if one day she realizes she wants someone her own age? Someone without baggage? Without trauma layered under every smile?”

Clint’s lips pressed together, but he still said nothing. He knew too much now. Knew more than he was allowed to say. And even if the box was burning a hole in his pocket, even if he could already hear your nervous voice rehearsing the proposal over and over again… this moment wasn’t his to interrupt.

Natasha sat there, voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t want Ana to lose her. I don’t want to lose her either. But I can’t stop thinking… why would she stay with me? Why not someone easier? Someone who didn’t come with a whole damn history of blood and ghosts?”

Her hands moved to cover her face for a second, as if she could scrub the vulnerability out of her pores.

Clint finally leaned back with a small sigh. “You’re asking all the wrong questions.”

Natasha peeked at him through her fingers.

“You’re thinking about why she shouldn’t love you. But have you looked at how she does? She’s not with you because of what you’re not, Nat. She’s with you because of everything you are. The fact you care this much? That’s not weakness. That’s proof.”

Natasha blinked, slowly.

“You and Ana aren’t just a chapter in her life,” Clint added, softer now. “You are her life. She made you part of her story. And she’s not walking away.”

He paused, the hint of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Just trust me on that, okay?”

And Natasha… didn’t argue. She didn’t fight it. Not this time.

Instead, she looked down at her hands again, and let herself feel the full weight of what she’d built. What she stood to lose. And maybe—what she’d never have to.

They kept watching the simulations as the room buzzed with artificial chaos—guns fired, teammates failed, a building in one of the fake missions collapsed because someone forgot to check structural integrity. Idiots. Clint muttered something under his breath, scribbled a note about better obstacle training, and sighed heavily as a recruit ran into his own reflection thinking it was a teammate.

Natasha didn’t even blink.

Her eyes were on the screens, but she wasn’t watching. Not really. She was somewhere far away—somewhere quiet, warm, and filled with the faint scent of your perfume. Somewhere Ana was babbling in the background, dragging books across the living room carpet, while your fingers brushed Natasha’s hair back from her temple and your lips pressed to her shoulder without needing a reason. She could almost feel the weight of you behind her, arm snug around her waist, breathing synced with hers.

Her brow was furrowed, though her body was still. She was thinking too much again. Drowning in it. All those sharp edges of self-doubt scraping against everything she wanted. Everything she had no idea how to ask for.

Clint watched her out of the corner of his eye, occasionally glancing between her and the recruits as another poor kid accidentally set off a chain reaction that ended with simulated civilian casualties. They’d laugh about it later, probably. But he couldn’t even get a smile out of her now.

Then his phone buzzed.

He checked it, and when he read the message, his face changed. Something settled behind his eyes—a flicker of amused satisfaction—and he slowly tucked the phone away like it wasn’t burning in his hand.

He leaned in, cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, I’ve seen enough bad decisions to last me the rest of the week. And you—” he pointed at Natasha without looking at her. “You’re done here.”

She didn’t look away from the monitors. “What?”

“I’m kicking you out.”

She raised a brow, just a little. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Yep. You’re useless like this,” he said, standing up and stretching his arms behind his head. “You’re not paying attention, you’ve been staring through the screen for the last fifteen minutes, and if I have to watch you sit there and stew in existential dread one second longer, I’m gonna throw myself into the next sim.”

She gave him a look—flat, unamused.

Clint grinned. “Go home, Nat.”

“Clint—”

He put a hand up. “Nope. No arguments. I’m the boss tonight. Go.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even like being in charge.”

“Well, tonight I do. Because it means I get to tell you to get out of here, go home, and stop being a haunted, brooding mess.”

She stared at him. He stared right back.

Then, slowly, her body shifted. Like a tired weight was finally giving up resistance.

“…Fine,” she muttered, dragging herself up from the chair.

Clint tossed her a mock salute. “Tell her hi for me.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and turned to leave, but he caught the way her fingers twitched slightly at the mention of you. The way her spine straightened Natasha stepped into the elevator, her body moving on autopilot, but her senses already alert—trained, sharp, impossible to fool. Something was in the air. Not the kind of tension that came before a fight, not the weight of danger—this was quieter. Warmer. Thicker, almost. Like anticipation had taken shape in the oxygen itself.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

She passed her keycard across the scanner. Beep. The familiar green light lit up, and the doors slid closed behind her. As the elevator began its descent, her fingers flexed against her thigh. Something was going on. Not a threat. No—she would’ve smelled that. But something… intentional. Delicate. And no one had said a word.

When the doors opened, her brows furrowed instinctively.

Her living room.

Soft amber light bathed the space in a gentle hush, like the entire apartment was holding its breath. No mission debris. No toys scattered from a wild Ana afternoon. Just… peace. Her eyes scanned quickly—then landed on the dining table.

Two plates. Steam rising. The scent of tomato and garlic filled the air like a memory.

Italian takeout.

Her lips parted just slightly. Her bag slid from her shoulder, hitting the floor without thought. She took a slow step in, like she was afraid the quiet might shatter if she moved too fast.

And then she felt it—before you touched her.

Your warmth behind her. That familiar hum that her body recognized before her mind could catch up. It wasn’t noise. It was presence. You.

Your arms slipped around her waist like they belonged there—like they’d always belonged there—and pulled her against you with a gentleness that made her breath catch. Her back met your chest, her hands instinctively finding yours. Her eyes closed.

You rocked her softly, slowly, swaying the way she might soothe Ana when she couldn’t sleep. “Good night,” you whispered, your lips brushing her hairline. “I missed you.”

The sound of your voice in that low, loving hush hit something deep. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, grounding herself in the reality of it—of you. Your arms. Your smell. Your heartbeat against her spine.

She wanted to ask what all this was for. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

She just stood there in the quiet, still as a statue, letting herself be held.

Letting herself believe—for this moment—that maybe this wasn’t too good to last.

Your arms tightened around her just a little, pulling her closer, your presence now not just behind her—but wrapped into her. Natasha didn’t move, didn’t speak. She simply let herself be held, her body still tense with that faint echo of disbelief, like she didn’t quite trust that something this warm could be hers.

You leaned in, soft and slow, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt. It was small, nothing grand, but it made her shiver—made her heart stutter in her chest. You stayed there for a moment, your lips resting against her like they belonged there, then moved higher, burying your nose gently against the crook of her neck.

You nuzzled her, slow and affectionate, like you were breathing her in—like the scent of her skin, her warmth, the quiet strength she carried, was enough to steady your soul. Natasha let out the softest exhale, something closer to a sigh, her hand instinctively rising to rest over yours where it lay across her stomach.

Her walls didn’t fall all at once.

But they shifted.

Bit by bit, you were undoing her—not with force, but with love. Quiet, patient, steady love

.As you nuzzled into the soft curve of her neck, Natasha let out a slow breath, one hand rising to lightly curl around your wrist. Her voice came quiet—barely more than a whisper, like she didn’t want to break the spell.

“Where’s Ana…?”

You smiled against her skin, lips brushing her gently before you answered, your voice warm and full of affection.

“She was out like a light,” you murmured. “Didn’t even make it through the car ride. I tucked her into the crib—she’s sleeping like a little log, all bundled up in her blanket.”

Natasha exhaled a soft chuckle, the sound barely there but rich with relief.

You pulled back just enough to catch her eyes, brushing your knuckles along her cheek. “So tonight?” you added with a teasing smile, “You have my full, undivided attention. Every second of it.”

That earned you a look. Soft. Unreadable. But the corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, the tiredness in her eyes replaced with something gentler.

You slid your hand into hers and guided her toward the couch. The moment she sat, you were already pouring her a glass of wine—her favorite kind, the one you always remembered.

She took it with a small nod of approval, swirling the liquid lazily in the glass before taking a sip. Her head leaned back with a quiet sound of satisfaction, the day melting off her shoulders.

Then she tugged at your wrist again, wordless and sure. You didn’t need an invitation—you curled into her side easily, letting her arm drape around you as you snuggled against her, your cheek pressing to her shoulder.

“This,” she murmured, almost like she was admitting a secret to herself. “This is what I was waiting for.”

You nestled deeper into her side, the wine glass balanced in her hand while her other arm stayed wrapped around you. The low light flickered across her face, casting soft shadows over her cheekbones, but her expression had softened into something that felt… private. Vulnerable. At ease.

Your hand slipped under her shirt—slowly, reverently—finding the warm skin just above her hip. You didn’t rush, didn’t push. You just stroked her in slow, affectionate circles with your fingertips, letting her body adjust to the intimacy not of passion, but of peace. Of being wanted like this. Of being held.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. She simply breathed out, deeper this time, the kind of breath that meant home.

You shifted slightly, brushing your lips along her jawline, feather-light kisses tracing their way upward until you found the hollow just beneath her ear. You kissed her there too, the rhythm unhurried, almost reverent.

Natasha tilted her head ever so slightly, giving you access without a word. That small surrender said more than she ever could out loud.

She took another sip of wine, her fingers tightening slightly in your hair as she leaned her temple against yours.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered finally, voice husky and low, not from seduction but from truth. “You make this feel so easy.”

You smiled into her skin, your hand continuing its slow, grounding motion against her waist. “It is easy,” you murmured, lips brushing her jaw again. “With you, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Natasha didn’t answer, but her thumb began tracing small circles on your shoulder, mirroring the way you touched her—as if learning your rhythm in return. And in that quiet, in that warmth, the silence said everything.

You pulled back just a fraction, your fingers still lingering on her skin, and raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. “So, we’re not eating yet?” you asked, your voice laced with playful curiosity. “I mean, the Italian’s just sitting there, getting cold… but I guess I can let it slide if you’re not in the mood.”

She shifted just slightly, turning her head to catch your eyes, her gaze soft yet filled with a playful challenge. “Right now, I’m more in the mood for cuddles than anything else,” she said, her voice low and tired in the way that only came when she’d been running on fumes all day, but somehow it sounded like the most honest confession. “We can eat later.”

You couldn’t help but smile, that familiar warmth curling in your chest as you leaned in a little closer. “Oh, is that so?” you teased, your lips brushing the edge of her ear as you whispered. “And here I thought I was going to have to convince you to eat. But… if it’s cuddles you want…” You let the sentence trail off, your fingers making their slow journey back up her side, brushing the fabric of her shirt.

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, but her face was still soft, relaxed. “Yeah, that’s right,” she murmured. “Cuddles. No distractions. Just us.”

You pretended to consider it for a second before leaning in just a little more, your lips now a breath away from her ear. “Hmm… So, you’re telling me you want me to just sit here, and you don’t want me to make sure you’re properly taken care of?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a playful fire lighting in her gaze. “What are you implying?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

A smirk spread across your lips as you held her gaze, knowing full well where you were going with this. “Oh, I don’t know,” you began slowly, your hand now slipping just a bit lower, tracing the curve of her waist. “You’ve seen how I feed Ana. I could be your personal chef too, you know. Maybe you’d like that? I could feed you, just like I do with her. Spoon you some pasta, maybe?”

She let out a small, incredulous laugh, shaking her head at you as she tried to suppress a smile. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath, but her eyes softened, clearly entertained by the thought.

“Oh, I could make it happen,” you said, completely unphased by her teasing. “I’d even cut your food into little pieces and feed it to you bite by bite. Keep your hands free for… cuddling,” you added with a wink, your finger tapping her chin gently.

She rolled her eyes again, but this time she wasn’t able to keep the grin from breaking through. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You grinned back, leaning in to brush your lips over hers, just a light kiss, but one that lingered for a moment longer than usual. “I’m just saying, if you want me to treat you like I treat Ana, I’m happy to spoil you, too.”

Natasha let out a long, drawn-out sigh of mock exasperation, but her arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as she rested her head against your chest. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, her voice softened by the exhaustion that had been following her all day. “But, fine. Maybe you can feed me later. For now… just stay here with me.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against her hair. “Anything you want, babe,” you said softly, letting your hands find their place on her body again, just holding her as the moment wrapped around the two of you like a blanket.

The two of you stayed nestled together, your fingers tracing slow, invisible patterns over her skin—soft lines, gentle spirals that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Each touch was an unspoken expression of care, of reassurance, as if you were reminding her that, even in the stillness, you were there. The warmth between you both created a safe little world that wrapped itself around your hearts like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt as though nothing else existed.

Natasha finished her glass of wine, placing it on the coffee table with a soft clink that broke the silence, but only slightly. She sighed softly, her head still resting against your chest, feeling the rise and fall of your breath beneath her. Her body relaxed into yours, the tension of the day dissipating slowly, but there was something new in the air now—a shift that neither of you could quite pinpoint.

You paused your gentle movements, fingers hovering above her skin for a heartbeat longer than usual. The atmosphere in the room felt thicker now, a quiet anticipation hanging between you, pulling your thoughts into focus. It was time.

“Natasha…” Your voice was soft, hesitant, and she could feel the change, the weight of it pressing against her chest.

She tilted her head just slightly, her hand curling against yours as she looked up at you, eyes warm but attentive. “What is it?” Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze.

You took a deep breath, the words feeling heavier than you thought they would. “I… I need to say something important. Something that will change everything for us.”

Her heartbeat shifted slightly beneath her ribs, her hand instinctively squeezing yours as she waited, her attention sharp, her usual warrior’s demeanor softened in the quiet of the moment.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice low, laced with a vulnerability you rarely let show. “I’m afraid of doing this… afraid of what it might do to us.” You paused, looking down into her eyes as if searching for some sign, any sign, that she was ready for this, that she wouldn’t pull away. “I’m scared because I don’t know what I’ll do if you… if you run away. I don’t know how to handle it if you decide I’m pushing you too hard, or if I make you feel trapped in some way.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed, a small flicker of surprise crossing her face, but she said nothing, simply letting you continue.

“I never want to pressure you, Natasha. I never want you to feel like you’re being forced into something you’re not ready for. But this… what we have—it’s more than just something to me. It’s everything.” Your voice broke for a moment, that rawness creeping through, the emotion you’d tried to keep at bay spilling over in the quietest of ways. “I just… I��m afraid. I want this to be real. I want us to be real. But I need to know that we’re on the same page. I need to know that you want this, that you’re not just here because it’s easy or because I’ve been too blind to see your hesitation.”

You paused, biting your lip slightly as your hand found her cheek, cupping it gently. “Please, just… don’t walk away from me, not when I’m starting to believe this could be everything I’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just watched you with those unyielding eyes, but the weight of her gaze seemed to wrap itself around your heart in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.

Then, with a deep exhale, she spoke, her voice gentle but filled with that quiet understanding. “You think I’m going to run?” she asked, her tone soft but sharp with sincerity.

You nodded slowly, unable to mask the nervousness that lingered in your chest. “I don’t know what else to think. I… I don’t know how to balance this, the fear of losing you, with the need to tell you how I feel.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips, and she leaned forward just enough to press her forehead against yours, soft and slow, as if grounding you both in the moment. “You’re not going to lose me,” she said simply, her voice a steady anchor. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

You closed your eyes, letting her words wash over you. Her hands reached up to touch your face, fingers tracing the outline of your jaw, and it was like the whole world stopped in that one soft connection.

“But I can’t promise things won’t change,” Natasha continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a quiet, honest gaze. “I can’t tell you I won’t be scared too. But I’m here. And that’s what matters.”

You swallowed, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little. “I just needed to hear that.”

She smiled again, a little brighter now, and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “You have me. Just don’t worry so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her words were quiet, but they held an unspoken promise. And for the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of your own fears begin to lift, even if just a little

The quiet that followed was heavy, but not in a burdensome way—it was the kind of silence that wrapped around the room like velvet, soft and full of meaning. You could hear the hum of the city outside, but it felt a thousand miles away. Natasha was still curled against you, her fingers absentmindedly brushing your arm, but your thoughts were no longer calm. They were storming in the most beautiful, terrifying way.

You sat up slowly, careful not to startle her, and then stood. Natasha blinked, looking up in confusion as her body instinctively followed your movement. But then you moved—slow, intentional—and lowered yourself to one knee in front of her. Her breath caught. Her lips parted. And she froze, just like that, staring down at you as if the world had slipped off its axis.

You held the ring box in your hand, but it stayed closed for now. Your eyes didn’t leave hers.

“Natasha,” you began, your voice trembling with everything you’d been holding in for too long, “I love you.”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but the words never came. Her eyes were locked onto yours, wide, stunned, as you continued.

“I love all of you. The parts the world has seen. The ones they’ve judged. The ones they’ll never understand.” You took a breath, slow and shaking. “I love the fire in you, the way you stand unshaken when everything’s falling apart. I love the way you fight, not just in battle, but for people—for Ana, for me, for everyone who’s ever had the chance to be loved by you.”

Her chest rose slowly, her lips tightening as emotion began to blur her vision, but you weren’t done. Not yet.

“You’re brilliant. The smartest woman I’ve ever known. Strategic, sharp, deadly. You walk into a room and shift the balance of it without even trying. But when Ana cries, you drop everything, and you hold her like she’s your whole world. And she is, isn’t she?”

A tear slipped down Natasha’s cheek. She didn’t move to wipe it.

“I see the way she looks at you, Tasha. Like you hung the stars. But you know something else?” You swallowed, emotion clawing up your throat. “She looks at me that way too. Because you let me be part of her world. Because you let me in. And God, I don’t even know how to thank you for that.”

Her hand came up to her mouth now, covering her lips as the weight of your words hit her. Her shoulders trembled slightly, but she didn’t look away.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,” you whispered. “Not just because of what you do. But who you are. When you stroke Ana’s hair while she’s falling asleep. When you cry in your sleep and bury your face in my chest and let yourself be small with me. When you don’t speak, but hum those lullabies under your breath just so your brain stays quiet. I see you, Natasha. All of you. And I still fall.”

Your hands opened the ring box slowly, revealing the simple, elegant band inside. Her eyes flicked down to it—and she audibly gasped.

“I don’t want you to be just my girlfriend,” you said, your voice now thick and raw. “That word—it doesn’t come close to what you mean to me. I want you to be my fiancée. I want to skip that middle step because it feels too small for us. I want to wake up every day knowing I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you how deeply I love you.”

The silence that followed was devastating and breathtaking all at once. Natasha’s face had completely crumbled, her lips trembling, her breath shallow, her eyes spilling quiet tears. She looked at you like you were breaking her open—in the most healing, impossible way.

You held the ring toward her with a trembling hand. “Will you marry me, Natasha Romanoff?”

She didn’t speak. She just stared at you for a long moment, then slowly brought her hand to her chest, as if trying to physically hold herself together. And then she nodded. Slowly at first. Then fiercely, with a choked laugh through her tears.

“Yes,” she whispered, the word so soft you could’ve missed it.

But you didn’t.

You rose slowly, carefully, your fingers still trembling as you slipped the ring onto her finger. She looked down at it in disbelief, her hands shaking, then reached for you with sudden urgency, her arms wrapping around your neck as she pulled you down into her, kissing you through laughter, through tears, through every wall that had ever tried to stand between you.

The kiss lingered—not rushed, not fiery, but slow and trembling, the kind that reached down into bone and stayed there. Natasha clung to you like her life depended on it, one hand buried in your hair, the other pressed against your lower back as if anchoring herself in the moment. You could feel her pulse racing beneath her skin, her breath stuttering between kisses, her body shaking not from fear, but from sheer, unfiltered emotion. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, unraveling, but safe.

When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, her forehead rested against yours. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes still damp, and she gave a tiny, broken laugh that made your heart clench.

“I was not ready for that,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “You ambushed me.”

You smiled, brushing your nose against hers. “You’re a master spy, Romanoff. If I can ambush you, then I’ve earned the right to keep you.”

She let out a shaky breath, that little upward pull of her lips returning—but softer, quieter, the kind of smile she gave only when she felt completely, painfully vulnerable. “God,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I never thought someone would want this… not for a lifetime.”

“I want you,” you said, firm and low, your hand coming to rest over her heart. “Not the legend. Not the assassin. Not the perfect mom. Just you. The woman who watches documentaries about space at three in the morning. The woman who cries when she thinks no one can hear. The one who hums lullabies she doesn’t remember learning. That’s who I want to grow old with.”

Her eyes opened again, blinking through tears. “I’m so scared,” she admitted, barely above a breath. “You’re so young. You could have anyone. You could still change your mind.”

You cupped her face with both hands now, firm and warm. “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t imagine waking up next to anyone else. I choose you. Every single day. Even when you’re grumpy. Even when you push me away. Even when the world tries to pull you back into old ghosts. I will choose you.”

Her bottom lip trembled, and she closed her eyes again, the weight of your words washing over her like a wave she didn’t even try to fight. She leaned into your hands, into your love, as if some part of her still couldn’t believe it was real.

You kissed her again—soft, reverent—then guided her gently to sit with you on the couch. She nestled into your side, her legs tangled with yours, her hand clutching yours tightly as if afraid you might vanish if she let go.

“I don’t know how to be a fiancée,” she murmured, her voice quieter now, more contemplative than unsure.

“That’s okay,” you said, kissing the top of her head. “I don’t know either. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

She turned her head slightly, resting her cheek against your shoulder. “I’m going to mess up.”

“So will I.”

“You’ll get tired of me.”

“I won’t.”

She looked up at you, her expression so open it nearly broke you. “Promise?”

You kissed her gently, pressing your lips to the corner of her mouth like a vow. “I promise. Every day. Every night. Every breath. You and Ana… you’re my home, Natasha. There’s no version of my future without you in it.”

Her chest rose and fell in a deep, shaking breath, and finally… finally… she relaxed. Completely. The last pieces of armor she had left seemed to fall quietly to the floor, leaving behind only Natasha—raw, trembling, loved.

She leaned her head back against your shoulder, lifting her hand to admire the ring through glistening eyes. A soft, wistful smile tugged at her lips.

“Damn it,” she whispered. “I never thought I’d get this.”

You held her tighter. “You deserve more than this. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Outside, the city went on—unaware, uncaring—but inside this tiny apartment, two broken souls had found each other in the rubble, and built something beautiful from it.

The silence between you stretched again, not heavy this time, but shimmering—thick with meaning, with emotion neither of you had words for yet. Natasha’s head rested on your shoulder, her hand still delicately gripping yours, her thumb tracing lazy lines over your knuckles. The ring on her finger caught the light—a soft gleam of diamond and sapphire—and her breath hitched when she looked at it again, as if it reminded her that this was real. That she hadn’t just dreamed it.

She pulled away just enough to look at you fully.

And then, with her voice trembling, she whispered, “I love you.”

You blinked, stunned for a second—not because you didn’t know, not because you hadn’t felt it in every gesture, every stolen glance, every sigh against your chest at night—but because hearing it out loud from her, this woman carved from shadow and survival, was something else entirely.

“I love you,” she said again, firmer now, like she needed you to believe it. Her eyes shimmered, green glass pooling over with tears. “Not in some fragile, half-hearted way. I love you with every part of me I never thought could still feel. With every part that forgot how to be soft.”

Your lips parted, the lump rising in your throat cutting off your breath, your thoughts, everything.

She reached for your face, her palm brushing against your cheek, her thumb catching the tear that had just started to fall. “You broke through walls I forgot I even had up,” she continued, her voice trembling. “You made me feel safe without asking me to be small. You loved Ana without asking anything in return. You let me be me—not Black Widow, not some haunted mess of a woman… just Natasha. And I never thought anyone would love her.”

Tears ran freely down your cheeks now, your vision blurring, your body shaking. She kept wiping them away with trembling fingers, but it didn’t matter—you were crying, both of you were, in this fragile, raw, unguarded moment that neither of you could’ve prepared for, but both of you desperately needed.

“I was afraid,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “Terrified. That this wouldn’t last. That you’d wake up one day and realize I’m too heavy, too broken. That someone younger, softer, less… haunted would come along and you’d go.”

“I would never,” you managed to say, voice cracking.

“I know,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against yours, noses brushing. “I know. But it still scares me. Because you matter that much.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, breathing each other in, tears mingling quietly between kisses that weren’t about passion, but presence. Kisses that said I’m here. I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere.

You reached for the small velvet box that had been resting on the couch and opened it again, your own ring sitting there—simple, elegant, with delicate green peridots set into the band like stardust. Natasha gently took it from the box with shaking hands and slid it onto your finger, her own breath faltering as she did.

You smiled through tears, and then it was your turn. You picked up hers—the one you’d chosen so carefully—the central diamond catching the warm glow of the apartment lights, flanked by the two deep sapphires. A past. A future. And a present that gleamed like a promise.

Your fingers trembled as you slid it onto hers, and she watched every motion with eyes full of awe, reverence, disbelief.

“It’s really happening,” she murmured, as if saying it would anchor it into reality.

You looked at her through watery eyes, heart bursting at the seams. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It is.”

And then she leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and kissed you—deep and slow and forever. The world had fallen away. The only thing that existed now was the soft hush of your apartment, the glow of warm lamplight casting gentle shadows on the walls, and the steady rhythm of Natasha’s breath against your chest. Her weight on you was grounding, like gravity had chosen to settle in the shape of her body. Her legs tangled lazily with yours, her cheek resting just above your heart, and her fingers—those calloused, deadly, impossibly gentle fingers—were laced with yours.

She lifted your joined hands slowly, letting them hover just above her face as she looked at them. The rings caught the low light and shimmered, side by side, like matching vows made metal. Her eyes softened as she stared at them—your delicate band of peridots nestled in gold, and her ring, bold and graceful with its diamond and twin sapphires.

“I still can’t believe it,” she whispered, voice thick with wonder. “They look… real. Like this actually happened.”

You smiled and kissed the top of her head, your fingers squeezing hers. “It did.”

She studied your ring a moment longer, brows drawing together in curiosity. “Why peridots?” she asked, tilting her head just enough to look up at you. “I mean… it’s beautiful. But I wanna know what you were thinking.”

You hesitated, just a second, brushing your thumb across her knuckles before answering. “Because they remind me of your eyes. Not just the color… the way they glow when you’re calm. When you’re watching Ana sleep. When you’re at peace. There’s this light in you, Nat… something soft and green and alive, even after everything. I wanted it close to me.”

She went quiet, lips parting just slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed for a beat, and when they opened again they were glistening.

“And Ana’s eyes too,” you added gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “When I see the ring, I see both of you.”

Natasha didn’t speak for a moment, and you felt her body press closer, her hand gripping yours like it hurt to let go. Her throat bobbed with emotion as she stared at your ring again. “You’re a sap,” she murmured, her voice cracking just a little.

You smiled. “Yeah. But only for you.”

She laughed softly, and then turned her gaze toward her own ring, letting her thumb trace the edge of the diamond, then the sapphires flanking it. “Okay, in mine. Why sapphires?”

You shifted just enough to look down at her, your voice quieter now. “Because sapphires are about truth. Loyalty. Protection. They’re ancient—some of the oldest stones on Earth. They’re strong. Fierce. Just like you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips. “So I’m carrying a gemstone legacy on my hand now?”

You leaned in, your nose brushing her hair as you chuckled. “Exactly.”

She looked back at the ring, still stunned, still somehow disbelieving. Then, with a crooked smile and a shake of her head, she muttered, “Why am I so sure I’m carrying a fortune on my finger?”

“Because you are,” you said without hesitation, your voice suddenly quieter, more reverent. “But not just in gems.”

Her smile faltered, lips trembling, and she buried her face against your chest again.

And in that moment—wrapped up together, rings gleaming, bodies intertwined and hearts unguarded—there was no past. No mission. No Red Room. No fear.

Eventually, the pull to move became too gentle to ignore. Not rushed, not urgent—just the quiet desire to be even closer. You both rose from the couch hand in hand, still wrapped in the softest silence, and made your way to the bedroom, the food already forgotten on the table. There were no words exchanged, no need. Just the unspoken rhythm between two hearts that had finally said what they’d been holding in for so long.

The shower was slow and warm, steam curling around your bodies like a cocoon. Fingers traced over skin not with hunger, but with reverence—soapy touches turning to quiet caresses, washing away the weight of everything that had come before. Water dripped from her hair as she leaned her forehead to yours, smiling in that quiet, content way she only ever did with you. You ran your hands down her back, held her close, and she just let herself be held.

When you emerged, you were both damp and glowing, wrapped in soft towels and softer smiles. Natasha pulled you into bed without hesitation, her arms instinctively curling around your waist, your legs tangled up beneath the sheets as if they’d always belonged that way.

She rested her head on your shoulder, one hand on your stomach, and you traced slow, loving circles on her spine. The only sound was the soft whirr of the fan above, and your breaths syncing into a shared lullaby. Her fingers found yours again under the blanket, twisting together, rings catching the moonlight that spilled faintly through the window.

There were no more confessions needed. No more questions. Just the weight of her against you, the smell of her damp hair, the solid truth of the rings on your fingers and the unspoken vow between your hearts.

And in that quiet, sacred stillness—wrapped in warmth, love, and the life you were building together—you both finally rested.

Not as a spy and her secret.

Not as a single mother and a girl who wandered in.

But as fiancées.

As home

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teaboot · 7 months ago

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TOP 10 PERSONAL FAVE MOVIES TO WATCH WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE ASS

I don't like movies that stress me out because life is already stressful but I DO love catharsis comedy found family friendship fantasy and violence so here are my top 10 movies and series to have a good time watching

Numbered for convenience but not in any particular order

John Wick 1 and 2: An ordinary man grieving the loss of his wife gets dragged back into his past as a shadowy, invisible world of international killers for hire is slowly revealed to be living among us. A love note to set design, lighting, and choreography. My favourite part is fixating on the symbolism. DO NOT WATCH 3. 4 is okay. DO NOT WATCH 3. There is a dog death in 1 that will make you cry so skip that part if you have to. DO NOT WATCH 3.

The lord of the Rings, all 3, extended edition best watched if you're on the couch with the flu and expect to fall asleep OR if it's your day off and it's raining outside OR if you have like 5 people lounging around in pajamas

Six Underground: Essentially an hour and a half long car commercial music video with found family and a fresher take on acommon plot. Ryan Reynolds essentially writes and directs a Michael Bay movie where 6 independant criminals gather together to overthrow a violent foreign dictatorship. You show up for a dumb heist and walk out ready to build a guillotine. TW for violence, car crashes, chemical warfare, and genocide. A very cathartic ending. Does unfortunately do the whole "vague, impoverished middle-eastern country" thing but the citizens are actually show as human beings which is a nice change of pace and oh wow that's depressing isn't it

The Princess Diaries 1 and 2: A sort-of-a-loser teenage girl, played by a 2001 Annie Hathaway, learns that her late father was a king of a foreign nation and must become a confident and responsible leader for his people. There is a scene in the rain where you will experience emotions. Best watched with snacks. 2 features an enemies-to-lovers type deal with Chris Pine.

Ella Enchanted: A shrek-style semi-musical fantasy romance in which a young woman is cursed at birth to do everything anyone tells her to do. Features several Queen songs and dance numbers sung by Annie Hathaway and that guy who plays the sad dog guy in Hannibal.

Stardust: A huge loser travels from 1800s England (?) to a magical world in order to fetch a fallen star for the insufferable love of his life before she marries a massive douchebag. The huge loser? Charlie Cox. The star? A living person. Also a whole bunch of princes are ALSO looking for them as a race for the throne while discreetly killing each other off. And also a bunch of witches want to eat her so they can be young and sexy. 11/10. I used to watch this 10 minutes at a time on a YouTube channel that posted it in chunks filmed on a digital camera in their living room

The Last Holiday: Queen Latifah, playing someone played by Queen Latifah, has been working an underappreciated minimum wage job for years, living a safe and conservative life trying to lose weight and save money. Then she finds out she has months to live, and decides to finally quit her job and blow it all on one massive luxury holiday vacation complete with five-star dining, making friends and finding love and confidence along the way. It's definitely corny but it makes me so happy thank you Queen Latifah

Zathura: It's the plot to the original Jumanji but in space instead of the rainforest. But listen to me: There's a twist reveal at the end that you need to pretend isn't there. It is vitally important when you get to that part- and you will know what part when it happens- that you pretend it didn't. Otherwise, a fresh and enjoyable adventure for any age!

Redacted cause I haven't seen it in a long time and it may be worse than I remember, gotta rewatch

Bullet Train. You go in expecting a ham-fisted find-the-mcguffin style action comedy and are blindsided by excellent narrative symmetry and genuinely likeable characters. Fresh takes on old themes and creative action sequences. My little brother said "It's good", and he's a man who once sincerely argued that Lord of the Rings could have been better. It's fun and punchy violence with just enough smart stuff to not let your brain get bored

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parasolemn · 3 months ago

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X7 Acts 4-5 Summaries Transcription

Acts 4 and 5 (mostly 4) are the most likely to have errors since they're never completely clear, so please take this with a grain of salt! Suggested edits are appreciated.

I've already transcribed acts 1-3 here. Double check that the version you're reading is the most up-to-date one. :-)

(Updated as at 13/04/2025 at 2PM AEST)

Act 4 - The Doubt

Summary

Size: Large Playtime: ~5 hours Energy: Medium Emotional tone: Creeping doubt & feeling like an Outsider 70% Talking; 30% Action 50% Comedy; 50% Darkness

"Arriving in the Fourth Act, Cuno is officially furthest from his home that he's ever been, while Cunoesse is coming nearer to hers than she has been in the years after she escaped, and this [distinction?] is starting to get difficult to ignore. The presence of Hämärä Maa looms over them both, as the fabled archipelago lies just across the bay, across the [...]. Having disembarked from the Train virtually in the middle of nowhere, Cuno and Cunoesse come upon the Rhöne-Tréville (Royal) Penal Colony or the Tréville, but most people call it: a [...] centred around a former Royalist prison-labor camp. Being that geographically [...] to Hämärä Maa, the small community represents the closest point of contact between the archipelago and the world, participating in the trade of goods, legends and the profitable psychedelic marrow of an endemic cave fish. Meeting the locals, the kids will learn about the impending relocation of the surprisingly harmonious community-sustaining prison complex, and the complicated [...] between the coordinate [...] of freedom, imprisonment, community and [reunion? tension?]. They will also begin on their [...] is a growing sense of dread that Cunoesse got herself into something that is much darker and more morbid than he could have expected. In order to progress to Hämärä Maa to find out for themselves, the kids must [...]. [...] they must [...] Cunoesse's half remembered [...] family connections among the marrow traders, some of whom are now in the prison, or they might win their way forward with [...] and sneers, stealing a toy raft from a gang of violent girl children."

Player experience

[...] begin to suspect we are approaching a sinister [...] with the things we've been avoiding all along.

[...] more and more about Hämärä Maa [...] borders of a bad neighbourhood, like walking alone at [...] realising your GPS is leading you in the direction of [...] you've realised way too late to do anything about it.

[...] are more frightening if they are unseen. Hearing [...] tales about Hämärä Maa before we've had [...] establish what's there will build up the sense of dread [...] for the game's climax location.

[...] for the later endgame where Cuno breaks free of the bond.

The power balance between Cuno, Cunoesse and the player's conscience will again be tested as Cunoesse urges Cuno to brutally fight one of the Tréville girls in order to steal her raft.

The small self-sustaining community will present the player with the opportunity to engage with the full set of game systems, including game economy, Thoughts, substances, exploration and multiple-approach problem-solving.

Act 5 - The Arrival

Summary

Size: Medium Playtime: ~2 hrs Energy: High Emotional tone: [...] & Reality-Twisting 60% Talking; 40% Action 30% Comedy; 70% Darkness

"After all the fear and the mayhem, Cuno and Cunoesse are finally there: landing on the shores of Hämärä Maa, their promised shadow-land. Greeted with the sounds of shamanic singing and solemn drums, the kids will catch the locals in the midst of a funeral ceremony, gaining a glimpse into both the cultural practices of the Näkki and the strange and colorful faces of the island's population. The island has changed since Cunoesse has last called it home. Only her impossibly old grandfather remains, and her [sins?]. She knows she must do one last thing before she can plead to be readmitted into her tribe. Under the pretense of a Hämärän naming ceremony, Cunoesse pressures Cuno into ingesting the bone marrow of the psychedelic cave fish. As Cunoesse takes on the role of his fucked-up trip shaman, Cuno grapples with the growing clarity that her goal is deeply sinister: to bind him to herself, or kill them both trying. Cunoesse embraces him and throws them both off a pier, pulling him deep under water, triggering the stylish climax sequence of the game: the Underwater Psychedelic Trip. Reality will [...] as you seemingly sink for an eternity, fighting for your life and your identity as Cunoesse's true intentions come to light - to use the drug to manipulate Cuno into total and irrevocable ego death, and make him believe that he is Jaakko, the boy Cunoesse killed in the caves three years prior. That was her plan all along: to bring Cuno all the way from Martinaise to buy herself passage back into her community by replacing what she has broken. All she needs him to do now in order for her plan to work is to play along, *really* play along, so deeply that he will never recall being someone else ever again. Their showdown under water will determine whether Cuno will let go of his identity in one [...], or if he is willing to kill his other half in order to remain who he is. The Act spins off into up to five possible endings, depending on which one of the kids lives, dies or is brainwashed."

Player experience

We want a sense of culmination in every way -- the culmination the journey, of finally getting to see what Hämärä Maa is truly like and what Cunoesse truly is.

This should be a streamlined sequence, funneling the player [seamlessly] towards the end. We want the player to be unable to [...] the game once they've landed on Hämärä Maa, similarly to how Harry's story spirals tighter and tighter towards its resolution from the moment he steps onto the Deserter's Island.

We want the player to feel as if they are performing cultural [contact?] with an ominous insular community, something like Midsommar but with degenerate alcoholics instead of tradwives.

This is where everything we've tried to do over the course of the game comes to count. All the dual-character systems that make the player roleplay as both Cuno & Cunoesse, all the story beats that make the player internalise their respective stakes, all the emotional connection to this feral superorganism, if we can make the player feel like we're making them choose between two halves of themselves, we've achieved what we set out to do. If they feel torn apart, agonized over their choices, we've won.

#disco elysium #not par art #locust city #project x7

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wooskirbyplushie · 5 months ago

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Our Little Secret ~ K.HJ

✰ idol!hongjoong x fan!reader where the guys catch hongjoong not so secretly slip a paper into your hand at a fanmeet

✰ word count: 3.6k

✰ warnings: some cussing (nothing crazy), pet names (love), female!reader, glasses!hongjoong cuz that’s enough to drive me insane tbh, she/they pronouns used for reader

✰ a/n: hey so i randomly got this idea one day and decided to execute it lol. tbh im not sure if i’ll keep updating this or not just because it was only supposed to be a little drabble but im 87% sure i’ll continue it just so my friends don’t hold me at gunpoint to finish it😭😭

✰ italics are used for inner thoughts, bold italic is just to emphasize words, also don’t pay attention to the timestamps for the texts later on k that’s it

dividers are created by @cafekitsune tysm !

you were late, you were so late, and you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself.

today has been marked in your calendar for almost 2 months, the day that ateez finally had a fanmeet in your city. you had saved up for the event for so long that when they announced it you didn’t hesitate to snatch your card out of your wallet to buy tickets for you and your best friend, kaylani.

but today you completely fucked your schedule up. oversleeping was not in your plans and neither was having to iron your outfit and rush to catch the train, just for it to delay for 15 minutes. in addition to the 5 minute bus ride from the station turning into a 30 minute walk because the bus you and your friend needed to catch didn’t run that day. who knew?

by the time you finally got to the venue, security were already trying to lock up the doors. i mean, it made sense considering they started meeting fans almost two hours ago.

“hey!!” kaylani shouted to try and get the guards attention. one of them looked up, utter confusion on his face as he watched two young girls jogging at them from across the parking lot.

“please we- we have tickets. the train made us late, but we cannot miss this event” you breathed out as fast as possible, trying to catch your breath at the same time. lani shuffled around for her phone to pull up the virtual tickets before the guards shrugged and scanned both tickets to let you in. “you girls either have really incredible or really horrible timing” one of the guys commented and told you to have fun.

you both squealed the second you got inside.

following the arrows and signs, you reached the auditorium that ateez was having their fanmeet in. now usually, fanmeets had a show in the first half and the actual meet in the second. but thankfully this time around it was swapped, meaning you guys didn’t miss any of the actual show. would it possibly be delayed because you were late? ehhh you’d cross that bridge when you got to it.

“we’re really here holy shit that’s ateez 20 feet away from us-“ you started rambling before lani cut through your thoughts with another squeal. she saw her bias, that had to be the only reason

“ITS JONGHOOO AHHHH”

“wow kaylani, it’s almost like he’s in the grou- AHHH LOOK ITS HONGJOONG”

kaylani rolled her eyes and mocked you. “wow y/n it’s almost like he’s in the group.” touché.

it wasn’t long before you realized they had changed quite a bit for this fanmeet. for example, the boys weren’t sitting in age order, or what you and lani called “fanchant order��. jongho was first and hongjoong was last, which didn’t really matter, but you knew your heart would race more and more as you got closer to your bias.

joong was your ult bias and had been for 4 years. you loved all of the members (duh) but the thought of possibly holding that man’s hand sent you over the moon. sure he held other girls hands, but this was gonna be your moment.

“bro. bro we’re next” kaylani whisper shouted while gripping your shoulder.

“unhand me you fein- oh god that’s jongho like he’s real.”

“RIGHT THATS THE CHOI JONGHO. 4TH GEN VOCALIST AHHHH” if you couldn’t tell she was a jongho ult before, it was super evident now. and because of that, you let lani go first.

******

if she could’ve, kaylani would’ve talked jongho’s ear off for 40 minutes. luckily he seemed intrigued by what was being said, laughing and giggling along with your friend. and now you wish you went first instead.

eventually she moved to wooyoung and was out-yapped, while you talked to jongho, really just telling him all of your favorite runs and verses he had. then you moved down again, and again, got to san and almost forgot your morals. he had you giggling for your life and the blush on your face was impossible to hide. he was THE ateez flirt.

but you and kaylani kept moving. to be real, since you were the last people in the room, there was no real rush but you decided to be mindful of the boys time.

yunho and yeosang were adorably nerdy and a hint of shy in real life, seonghwa really knew how to catch you off guard. one second you were talking about his lego collection and the next he was spewing out compliments and grabbing your hand. you tried to turn your face to hide your blush again, but you turned right into hongjoong’s direction and almost screamed. he was staring at you, and hard. what you hadn’t realized was kaylani whispering how much you “loved him” and how he was your “ultimate bias and first choice for a husband.”

yea you were either gonna go back to jongho and tell him how she brought his photocard to prom, or you were going to murder her.

you finished with seonghwa and slowly moved to hongjoong while lani stood off to the side and snuck a few pictures. “so. i’m your ult huh?” hongjoong questioned, arms folded across his chest.

you gulped, “y-yea you’ve always stuck out to me,” your voice came out in a whisper. hongjoong chuckled and leaned forward a bit.

“i’m your ult but you have no problem flirting with san and seonghwa in front of me, yea?”

“i don’t see the difference between that and you holding a bunch of fans hands, flirting with them.”

your mouth worked faster than your brain could, and you regretted it the second you finished the sentence, slapping your hand over your mouth.

hongjoong tilted his head and raised an eyebrow over the rim of his glasses. god he looked good in glasses. “quite the mouth on you…”

“y/n” you finished his sentence.

“y/n..” he trailed off like he was letting your name marinate on his tongue. “really pretty name for a really pretty person”

now you were really blushing. you didn’t care if it was fan service, he was servicing the hell out of you and you were eating it up. “thank you joong..” and he smirked in return.

******

you talked for a while (ok like 5 minutes) praising joong just like you did all the other members. he asked you what your favorite songs were, and san jumped in when he heard you mention desire. “honestly such a hater, desire is a masterpiece!!” you exclaimed as the top desire defender in tinyville. joong and san laughed before san walked off backstage and hongjoong picked up his sharpie, doodling while you talked.

you just kept going, your level of yapping surpassing kaylani while she was talking to jongho. hongjoong was eating it up though, especially when you started listing your favorite rap verse from him, even saying you could tell an ateez song by his signature giggle.

“it’s a bit embarrassing but i’ve listened to the songs so much that i just know? your music saved me, genuinely.” you trailed off before joong grabbed your hand.

“i honestly think it’s adorable.” he replied with a genuine smile. his smile was warm and bright, like lights on a christmas tree in december. you were soon brought back to reality when a guard told joong he had to wrap up with you so they could move on to the show. he nodded while messily writing something on a small piece of paper with his non dominant hand, still holding your hand with his other.

“well i guess this is goodbye, y/n. it was really nice talking to you and your friend” joong said, subtly crumbling a paper up in his hand before going to slip it into your own.

you weren’t dumb, you played like you didn’t even realize, following along with his skit. “it was really nice to meet you joongie,” you replied with a soft smile before you both got up and walked in your respective directions.

******

“you aren’t slick joong, i saw that.” san whispered while the group got dressed for the next part of the show. he was putting on a school boy uniform, adjusting the blue tie that went with it. hongjoong sat next to him, tying the shoes that he swapped into.

“doesn’t matter if you saw it, managers didn’t see it.” he responded with a shrug. joong knew him getting caught would mean having to change his number and most likely block you if you ever reached out to him, but in his head it was worth the risk.

“if i saw it, how do you know they didn’t see it captain?”

“because i waited till they turned around. and to be honest, i don’t care if they saw. i liked her.”

“liked who?” wooyoung asked as he walked over to steal san’s cologne. “because if you mean the last two people that came in, i don’t blame you! the last one was extremely pretty..”

joong just shot wooyoung a side eye before grabbing his phone, letting out a small sigh at the sight of no notification from you. he thought you guys had a little connection, right? then again-

“she probably just thought you were servicing her. ya know, your job.” san said stiffly, fixing a few stray strands of hair. joong clicked his phone off and threw it to his side with a slight head shake. maybe san was right, you probably didn’t look much into it considering it was his job to service his fans. maybe the managers did see him and they took the paper after you were out of joong’s sight. he was getting stressed over a girl he just met and even though his friends were talking to him in logic, hongjoong refused to learn that language.

he let out another small sigh before ruffling his hair and clapping his hands together to gather the group to get on stage. he had to clear his mind so he could perform. “alright guys let’s do this. hana dul set,”

“fightingggg!!” the boys yelled in unison and cheered, hyping each other up for what was to come. one by one, the boys started leaving the dressing room to take their places in the wings of the stage curtains.

seonghwa made sure everyone made it out, before looking back to see hongjoong lagging behind. “you coming bub?” joong looked at hwa, then his phone on the couch, and back to hwa before sending him a quick nod and walking out the door.

he’d be able to make it through the show.. right?

******

“soooo we’re just gonna ignore what happened back there? you know i saw that right love?” kaylani pressed you while fixing her lip gloss, making you jump out of your thoughts.

“what happened?? we just had a normal conversation!”

“normal my ass. you talked for like five minutes and then KIM HONGJOONG SLID YOU HIS-“

you slapped your hand over her mouth. you were in the empty bathroom but there was no reason to take any chances of a manager, or even worse, a fan overhearing and reporting back to one. “kay, i love you. dearly. but please lower your voice love…”

she sighed behind your hand and obliged before complaining about you smudging her lip combo. you rolled your eyes and pulled the crumbled sheet of paper from out of your jacket pocket to show your friend. the numbers were a bit wayward, but joong was writing with his left hand so it was understandable. he somehow still managed to make it legible enough for you to understand though.

“it’s his kakao talk im assuming. i still have the app from when you and i had to use it when i was in seoul.”

“do you know for sure it’s his number ?”

“of course i don’t know for sure kay, im trying not to lose my mind right n-“

“text it.”

that may have seemed like the obvious answer but you were still extremely nervous about getting caught. and the idea of getting caught by a manager was still circling around in your brain. “there’s a chance that he’s waiting for your text ya know. just text it and see.” kaylani finished with a shrug, her lips popping as she finished up her lip combo. you took a deep breath before shakily grabbing your phone and opening your kakao talk.

what were you even going to say ? hi ? that sounded basic but there really wasn’t much else to do. there was no reason to say your full name because, well, what if it wasn’t truly him ? lani must’ve gotten bored of watching you stare at your phone without typing anything because after a few seconds your phone was in her hands as she drafted up and sent a message for you.

“KAYLANI !???”

“it’s fine, i just said hey and that it was the girl from the fanmeet. unless he’s going around giving his number out to every pretty girl like a whore, he’ll know it’s you.”

she handed your phone back to you before throwing her hands on your shoulders and flashing you a slight smile. “it’ll be fine ok? now let’s go watch our boys do the utmost embarrassing shit!”

you nodded in response and stepped out of the bathroom to make your way to your seats.

now what your best friend didn’t know when you bought your tickets was that you saved enough for front row. and the surprise was pretty evident by the screech she let out once you dragged her to the seats in front of the stage.

“no way no way we’re this close HOLY- y/n forget hongjoong will you please marry me???”

you just laughed and playfully pushed lani towards her seat, “get off of me and sit down goofball.”

******

“2 minutes to showtime!!”

the lights were dimming as the members stood in the wings of the stage, mic packs being adjusted and pinned onto the boys. wooyoung was humming some vocal warmups to himself before he walked over to hongjoong. “jeez captain, lighten up. you look like yeosang told you that hwa was his favorite hyung and not you…”

hongjoong jumped, unnoticeable to wooyoung, and scoffed in response to his statement. “please, as if that would ever happen.”

“ah you’re right. you look like your mom told you that bumjoong is the favorite child.”

“is there a point to your escapades or do you just enjoy annoying me?”

a look of fake hurt flashed across wooyo’s face in response, “ouch. you must really be missing your pretty girlfriend to talk to your best friend like that joongie.”

hongjoong spun towards wooyoung and gave him, yet another, death glare. “keep your voice down are you insane ? listen, we have a job to do, get focused on that.” and with that he stormed back to his place on stage. just take a few breaths and it’ll be fine… no reason for you to snap on your members.

“places guys; 10 seconds!”

he didn’t think it was possible, but that 10 seconds was both the longest and shortest time of hongjoong’s career. he knew you were in the crowd, he knew he had to do his best just for you. but what he wasn’t expecting when he scanned the crowd was to make direct eye contact with you and your friend in the front row.

oh he was soooo fucked.

so fucked that hwa had to elongate his intro and improvise an extra end part to get joong to snap out of his daze.

“ah i’m sorry, i got caught up looking at all of our beautiful atiny! hi guys, my name is kim hongjoong, captain of ateez!!”

the crowd seemed to take it well, i mean his job was fan service. but in truth, he was lying, he was only looking at you. and to his surprise, you were looking back; in fact he could feel your eyes on him frequently, and anytime he didn’t it was just because you and your friend were laughing together.

hongjoong kept finding himself on your side of the stage, often sending you flirty glances and winks during his verses; and god you were eating it up. not to mention how obsessed he was with getting you to smile. unfortunately for him though, he had to give that same energy to everyone for his actions to not be so obvious. even more unfortunately for him, san and wooyoung were on his ass the entire time, which caused seonghwa to send suspicious glances joong’s way. fuck.

hwa approached joong halfway through the show, once they were offstage during yunho and mingi’s unit performance. “fess up, why are you clinging to one side of the stage and why do you keep zoning out?? it’s not a good look and it’s making us look unorganized on stage.“

hongjoong just toyed with the hem of his sleeve in silence. to be honest he was trying to focus but he was drunk on the thought of being able to make you smile. there wasn’t anything he could say to get hwa off of his back, so he opted for a shrug.

“are you not feeling ok? you should’ve said something beforehand joong-“

“i’m fine.” please just drop it…

“fine.” hwa started, preparing his mic to get back on stage. the irritation was evident in his actions, but his voice was still soft. “but you��re the leader, just know this shit is on your shoulders if management says something.”

hongjoong just nodded in response, following seonghwa’s actions in fixing his mic. “that’s 50,000 won for calling me leader and not captain by the way.” he retorted with a smirk before running back on stage to meet the audience’s cheers.

******

“okay atiny, you guys enjoying the show?” yeosang asked, receiving a loud roar of approval from the crowd.

“i take that as a yes! but unfortunately…” jongho started his sentence, and atiny realized that the show was coming to an end. “hey hey we don’t want to leave either, but we have one more performance for you guys! are you ready??”

the rest of the guys were set up on a prop couch for the last song, each of them holding a red or white rose, as they waited for jongho to join them. once he did, the speakers started playing the instrumental of seventeen’s “ready to love” and seonghwa started off the cover, the crowd going insane.

eventually the boys got to the ending and handed out (or really threw) their roses to people in the crowd. and to no one’s surprise, hongjoong sat on the edge of the stage and handed his white rose to you, his fingers gliding over yours during the hand off, causing a goofy smile to take over your face with a light pink blush. kaylani teased you after making sure to get the entire interaction on video, you simply rolling your eyes and covering the camera in response. joong winked before getting up to join the members for their final bow and go back to their green room.

“thank you atiny!! we’ll be back soon” san yelled as the curtains closed and yunho and mingi peaked out to wave one last time.

******

hongjoong was the first one back in the room, his mind filled with your smile and whether or not you texted him. he loosened his tie and jogged over to the couch where he left his phone, anxious but also eager. but when he heard the members following close behind, joong grabbed his phone and rushed to the bathroom; mostly to avoid being teased by wooyoung, reprimanded by seonghwa, and shamed by san.

“you ok captain?” mingi asked from the other side of the door. “you left kinda in a hurry..”

“y-yea i’m fine, drank a lot of water earlier.”

mingi just shrugged it off with a low “okay” and went back to the other members, hongjoong letting out a small breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. he clicked his phone on and surprisingly saw a kakao notification from an unsaved contact. hongjoong’s face lit up brighter than his phone screen as he opened the app to reply.

but wait. was it you or a stalker?

did someone else possibly see the paper he gave you?

was he overthinking? yes. but most of it seemed logical.

joong sighed before he reread your message.

?: hey

?: it’s the girl from the fanmeet

still he had to confirm it was you.. and he had a pretty decent idea of how to do it.

joongie: really? then say something i said to you earlier

joong figured you would take a while to write back but you actually replied right away.

?: “really pretty name for a really pretty person”

joongie: i’m glad you texted me y/n :)

he just smiled at his phone, thinking of what to text you next. should he ask to facetime you maybe? should he flirt or was it too early for that? joong’s mind had a million tabs open at once but he really wanted to live in the current moment-

until wooyoung decided to be obnoxious and bang on the bathroom door like the police.

“hey some of us actually have to pee ya know!”

open tab number one million and one, strangle jung wooyoung…

#kim hongjoong #ateez fanfic #ateez #ateez x reader #hongjoong #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong #wooyoung #san #seonghwa #yunho #mingi #yeosang #jongho #ateez texts

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pinkfemgurl · 6 months ago

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[For Archiving Purposes Only] This Jan 2024 post ended at 14,813 notes!

Ok so I feel like it's important to note that the original post was completed in Jan 2024 with 14,813 notes on the final day. During that time a lot of similar posts have used my image, ideas, or style without any reference or mention to my original post which is a bummer. I should have watermarked the post and learned from it as now I watermark every post I make. Also this post was mysteriously taken down without any reason so I'm just going to repost it to archive this history lol. I'll copy this message at the end too.

300 notes: Use a medium plug now 600 notes: Spend $20 on sissy clothes (must be pink) 900 notes: Wear panties 24/7 from now on 1200 notes: Spend $40 on sissy clothes (must be pink) 1500 notes: Sit on a 6-inch dildo once week for 30 min 1800 notes: Listen to 1 audio file of sissy hypno before bed 2100 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothes at home from now on

2400 notes: Practice deepthroating the current sized dildo twice a week 2700 notes: I can cum only once a month 3000 notes: Sit on a 7-inch dildo 2 times a week for 30 min 3300 notes: Wear androgynous or feminine clothing in public from now on 3600 notes: Wear only slutty or pink sissy clothing at home 3900 notes: I have to wear a corset under my clothes everyday 4200 notes: Use a large plug now 4500 notes: Use a smaller cage 4800 notes: I can only watch/listen to girly media, anything masculine or geared towards males is banned 5100 notes: Sit on an 8-inch dildo 3 times a week for 30 min 5400 notes: Listen to sissy hypno every time I do anal 5700 notes: I can only cum when I'm riding a dildo and it's changed to 1 cum every 3 months 6000 notes: Make a Twitter account archiving proof and progress 6300 notes: Every week either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks 6600 notes: I have to permanently use she/her pronouns 6900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 4 times a week for 30 min 7200 notes: Lock myself in ballet heels for 3 hours every day 7500 notes: From now on edge every day for 2 hours 7800 notes: Use a smaller cage 8100 notes: Every 3 days I have to use a chastity cage with a sounding rod 8400 notes: Buy the most embarrassing humiliating sissy pink dress I can find (with all the ruffles and it locks when zipped up) 8700 notes: I can only wear a dress or skirt in public from now on 9000 notes: Get Started on Estrogen

9300 notes: Every 3 days either post proof/update pics of locked chastity, gif of current dildo riding, gif of current plug insertion, and pics of current sissy outfit that I'm being made to wear from these tasks 9600 notes: I now have to use a sounding chastity cage from now on 9900 notes: Sit on a 9-inch dildo 5 times a week for 1 hour 10200 notes: Once a week, I have to replace my plug with a dildo while I'm out in public for the day 10500 notes: I can only cum once a year 10800 notes: Buy a fucking machine 11100 notes: Buy and use sounding rods 3 times a week for 30 min 11400 notes: Buy breast/nipple pumps and use it twice a week to increase the size 11700 notes: Put on an inverse chastity cage from now on and no more edging or unlocking 12000 notes: Start an OF 12300 notes: Clicker train myself to get horny to the thought of cocks 12600 notes: I can only cum from anal 12900 notes: Make an Amazon Wishlist and add 100 toys and clothes for anyone to buy. Anyone who buys them will get a free show with what they bought 13200 notes: Use an XL plug now 13500 notes: Only use 10-inch toys from now on sit on it 6 times a week for 30 min, once a week use a 12+ inch toy 13800 notes: glue the lock shut, flush the key down the toilet, the only way I'm getting out now is if I hit 15000 notes 14100 notes: Listen to any hypno file people send me (including Bambi Sleep files) 14400 notes: Let anyone make demands in my messages, I have to obey the first message that I see per day 14700 notes: Get blackmailed by someone of my choice 15000 notes: Start the process of sex reassignment surgery

Also because of my schedule I haven't really done much of the tasks I set out to do with this post lol... sorry about that...

#pinkfemgurl

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choochooboss · 8 months ago

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Submas Sketchdump Vol. 4 July 2022 Part 2!!

I knew that particular month beat my all time record for productivity multifold but I had forgotten SO MANY PIECES from the original collection!! I think I finally got them all?? More stuff under the cut!!

BREAKMAS!! WIP of the first piece I posted of them, here's the link to the final version! I tried coloring this first but the black & white had ultimately more impact so I went with that!

TRAINS!! I like this base color version too! Link to the final version!

The top sketch is a direct reference to Cluedo! A spinoff game, "Missingo", starring certain familiar characters trying to figure out what happened to Ingo/trying to prove their innocence in the case! Also WIP sketches for these two Breakmas comic pages!

As you may know I adore butlermas! For the classy and stylish look which appeals to me in general, and coincidentally I had played PLA & got hit by submas train only one week before butler Ingo's banner rolled out! The pure bliss of finally meeting both twins in a game I felt was incomparable!! This moment in the Curious Tea Party event was really entertaining to me! We got to see submas get serious and stand up against this selfish collector thief! Two towering train twinks with commanding voices looming over the unfortunate guy was enough to make him change his mind ahah! They truly are the protectors

1-hour submas challenge prompt "Descend"! This is the actual one hour result before I continued rendering this!

Mmmmm not my first attempt at drawing them hug and definitely not my best OR last. I want to make that moment something very special when I finally go all out on it!!

Comic cover vibing~

The scrapped last page for this silly comic! Sorry the dialogue is all over the place on the first piece, might be hard to read! I wasn't happy with how I presented Elesa, I wasn't familiar enough with her character back then so I thought of her carrying a toy taser to threat her friend even as a joke was too much and I couldn't come up with anything else for it. This held me back from posting the other three pages for another 5 months! In the last panel

I prefer to not mess up the twins too much but my brain is still very curious and conjures some peculiar stuff like this sometimes.. I think I may have broken his arms there looking at the anatomy, ooops! I hope you don't mind the photo quality or the two weird guys in the corner, they escaped containment!

Idea of warden Ingo, being projected to modern era by his Alakazam, walking through crowd on a train platform & Emmet standing inside a passing train. Their eyes meet for just a few seconds...

Pokemas Ingo practise!

Another WIP of a piece I posted! I started this piece like this but then later I decided to flip the whole thing.

YET another WIP of something I already posted! No idea why I went and mixed up his suits but I like this sketch! They rarely end up looking this clean haha

Sketch version of the self-defense practise piece! I love getting creative with action stuff! I barely ever think of how difficult they are to draw, I just get so excited and fixated on visualising the scenes in my mind I just keep at it, pull out refs and pose in front of mirrors until it looks good to me! I want to draw more action scenes but besides being challenging to draw my brain comes up with more silly and cute ideas than cool ones unfortunately ahah

One more WIP, here's the link to the final results!! I really like how genuine their expressions look here even if the faces are a little off. I recall spending a long time figuring out this perspective. I thought it would be fun to you to see how all these pieces started and... looking at the sketch above and the stuff before that, you can compare some range of my style!

RANDOM SUBMAS MISSILES GO

OHHH looks like some nasty passengers got the best of them!! If I recall correctly there was no fight because they managed to paralyse the two before they could act. Fully awake yet completely helpless... how convenient unfortunate. Thank you so much for checking these out!! Not every sketch is that exciting but I'm always happy to hear your thoughts on these!

Previous posts: Sketch dump Vol. 1: April-June 2022 Sketch dump Vol. 2: July 2022 Sketch dump Vol. 3: August 2022

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i99zhuo · 1 year ago

Note

A routine inspired by thewizardliz ? She has skin care hair care routine reads motivating books

How to live like thewizardliz 🧚🏼‍♀️🪄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ quit your lazy girl era!

This is a guide on daily routines inspired by Thewizardliz! This routine is perfect to stop being lazy and pathetic and finally start taking care of yourself!

content list (routines):

morning

study

workout

shower + self care

night

(_ _ ) . . z Z⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨ :★: ୧ ∗ ˖࣪ ໒꒱ ˚₊·

✸ ꒰ morning routine ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

�� First things first, after you wake up make sure to drink water to boost your metabolism throughout the day! Also, create a mind movie so you can watch it everyday after you wake up.

Now, take your journal and start writing about your dream, ideal higher self, ask yourself questions like ‘What reality do i want to create?´ 'Who do i look up to?’ ‘What is the behavior I need to change about myself?’ ‘What's a new habit that I would like to create?’ ‘What is a thing I can focus on right now?’. After we have in mind who we want to become, it's important that every little decision you make today is centered to achieve your goals, and become your dream self. You can listen to a podcast while doing this so you get motivation!

💶 Then, head to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror and start repeating positive affirmations, such as ‘I am so beautiful’ or ‘My hair looks so pretty today’, even if you don't believe it, having a positive mindset is going to help us to stay in track with our goals!

Take care of your teeth, Liz says that our smile is one of the most important things in a person, and one of the key things that is going to make you more attractive! so, make sure to brush your teeth, floss, clean your tongue, etc.

🛣 Liz has a rather simple skincare routine, since her skin is so sensitive, it only consists of using a foam cleanser, moisturizer and eye cream to help with her eye bags.

Next step is to research and find our own personal clothing and makeup style, find out your body type, personal color, face shape, etc. It doesn't matter if you have to mix multiple styles that already exist to make your own! The most important thing is to feel comfortable while wearing those clothes or having that type of makeup on your face.

🏔 Liz doesn't like to force herself to have breakfast, she just dont eat if she's not hungry, however if you are hungry rather than focusing on calories focus on how nutritious your meal is. Whatsoever if you are not hungry and you are not going to eat, make sure to always take your vitamins and supplements!

✸ ꒰ study routine ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

Yes, it's time to drink a little more water!

⛰ Liz doesn't have a settled study routine but, it's important to spend our time wisely, if you can finish an assignment way before the time it's due, DO IT! Also, she emphasized that knowledge leads to confidence. If you put effort in your studies, every little thing in your life will slowly fall into place.

✸ ꒰ workout routine ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

First, set healthy goals, like toning up your body or building muscle, try not to make ‘just being skinny’ your goal.

🧩 second, don't measure yourself with a scale or measuring tape and focus on how you look in the mirror, are you satisfied? if you are then you are done with the intense workout routine!

Liz goes to the gym and has her own personal training program, but here’s some kind of exercises she recommends; weight training, pilates and dancing with her main focus being toning up her abs and butt.

🏄‍♀️ Remember to drink water and that consistency is more important than perfection, go at your own pace, it doesn't matter if you can't do a 2 hour workout and look snatched in 3 days and you can only do a 5 minute workout, every little effort adds up!

✸ ꒰ shower and self care routine ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

Before showering, do dry brushing to exfoliate your skin and increase circulation (1-2 times per week). Then use shampoo and conditioner, research to find the best one for you, what may help others won't help you. Liz also uses a hair mask 1 to 2 times per week to get that shiny silk hair.

🎾 After showering take some time to shape and pluck your eyebrows depending on your face shape and what impression you want to give!

Liz uses face masks 1 to 2 times per week to cleansing her face deeply, then she does her skincare. After applying all the products do a lymphatic massage on your face and neck, you can also cool down your face with massagers or cold spoons for an extra depuff.

🍾 For self care, you can journal again, search for shadow work prompts, think of what things you should unlearn and relearn and don't forget to practice gratitude. Or you can take time to clean your room or house, you deserve to have a clean safe place!

Oh! and don't forget to drink water again.

✸ ꒰ night routine ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

🧃 Time for dinner! (only if you are not full yet), again, make sure to focus on nutrients rather than calories. Don't forget to drink a glass of water with your dinner. You can watch a documentary while eating to keep gaining even more knowledge.

Now, do your oral hygiene routine again. Also, put on eyelash conditioner and serum to wake up with perfect lashes! Then wear a silk cap or do a protective hairstyle to protect your hair from getting damaged while you're sleeping.

🍵 Then get in bed and drink a cup of tea with collagen to start relaxing your body. and it's finally time to manifest! watch your mind movie again and use your most useful method (affirming visualizing, subliminals, etc.), don't forget to ask god, the universe or whatever you believe in for signals and help!

Afterwards, you can read an inspirational book like ‘atomic habits’ or ‘the art of thinking clearly’ to keep nourishing your brain. keep a reachable goal like reading 5 pages everyday and then decide if you want to continue reading or not.

🥬 Before sleeping listen to a guided meditation, liz have one to be more confident and one to attract money, choose one that aligns with your goals!

Finally fall asleep in a healthy sleeping position, Liz sleeps in her back looking at the roof, but you can choose your favorite position, don't forget to get a pillow that fits the position (example: tall and lofty pillow -> for sleeping on your side)

🍈 Good night!

Woah second request done!! hope you liked this one was pretty fun to do and I might add some of these things in my own personal routine so I don't fall back into laziness, anyways how about you guys??

toodlezzzz!1!!!!!

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simpee9000 · 10 months ago

Text

Not Just Friends - 10 -

M.List : Prologue : Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Part 8 : Part 9 : Words 3.1k

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? Also not edited!! CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

It was a turn back to normal after the long conversation between the two of you. Tears sliding down your faces, majority yours but you saw a couple fall from his. It was a necessary conversation. He opened up about his quirk and apologized for ditching you. You apologize for the same.

Easily enough, the two of you moved on from it quickly. Talking about the past two months when all the overwhelming emotions passed. You blabbed about how many new offers you were getting and he talked about how he was hiring more and more people to his agency.

Despite not being able to ignore the last two months, it was easy to move past.

Growing past it within the night, having everything off your chest. It still didn't make things go back to normal.

You continued to share a bed, but changed your schedules around again to see more of each other. Flipping back into your old routine as much as possible. Not without a few changes though. Lunches would only be once a week rather than daily, and you'd be working for another hour or two after he got home. Since you wanted to sleep in still.

But it still improved your relationship again. Building it back up slowly. You were able to eat a late dinner together each night and share an off day. Sharing your off day made it easier for you anyway. After the break-in it was hard to be home without him, so the last two months were rough. Your therapist said you were doing great though, so that helped.

The first days of going back to normal was rough, having to adjust to seeing each other daily again. Conversations between the two of you felt awkward, mainly on your side. You grew so much in those two months, no longer relying on him. It shifted the dynamic.

"Y'good?" Katsuki's gruff voice broke your train of thought. Your eyes flickered up to him.

"Huh?"

"Been fuckin' playin' with your food," he points his fork at your plate, "Don't like it or some shit?"

"No, I like it," you looked back down. It was definitely not your favorite meal he made, but it was good.

His silverware claddered roughly against his plate, his arms crossing, "The fuck has been wrong with you?"

"Do you have to swear with every sentence?" you avoided, taking a bite of your food instead.

You could feel him roll his eyes along with his heavy sigh, "You've been off since."

"A relationship doesn't heal just like that," you pointed out.

"Will you look at me?" he asked annoyed. A glance up at his expression made you cut your attitude. He was trying, that much was obvious. And after all your talk of communication, you were doing nothing.

"Sorry," you set your fork down, engaging in the conversation, "I'm just lost? I guess. Hard to place it. I've changed a lot in the past two months-"

"How?"

You glared at him for interrupting you. "I've stopped prioritizing you. I'm more focused on myself now. It's hard to go back to normal when the 'normal,' was me running circles around you."

He shuffled in his seat, "That's fine. I'm glad you've moved on in that sense, done you good."

"You're not worried how it'll change us?" you asked softly, it's been all you were thinking of for the past few weeks.

"I'm always fuckin' worried," he admitted, eyes drifting to look at the wall instead of you, "But we'll work it out."

You were glad he still viewed the two of you as a 'we,' heart melting slightly as you reached your hand across the table. "I'm not going to tip-toe around you anymore, Kats."

"Good," he gruffed out, uncrossing his arms and grabbing onto your hand. Changing his focus onto that, "I don't want you to."

"Good," you agreed, smiling at how he let his thumb trace over your knuckles.

"You, um," he fumbled for a minute, eyebrows furrowing, "You're still okay with us not doing shit right?"

"I'd never push that," you confirmed, shocked he even thought you would complain about that.

"Don't get me wrong, I would, just-" he pulled his hands back wiping them on his pants before running them down his face, "my dumb fuckin' quirk."

"You love your quirk," you pointed out.

"Yeah and I'd fuckin' love to touch my girlfriend but no, I gotta be a horny virgin 'cause of it," he groaned, crossing his arms again.

Stifling a laugh was difficult, but you managed, "Maybe we can just work up to it? Get you used to the baseline first before, that."

His quirk went off suddenly, "Can't even fuckin' think of it," he groaned, standing up to go wash his hands off.

"It's cute." You followed behind him to place dishes in the skin, having cleared your plates a while ago.

"Fuck you."

"Hey," you laughed, "At least you can tell Denki and Sero that you beat them at No Nut November. And have for the past 19 years."

He shot you a glare from the sink, "The one challenge I wouldn't want to beat, great."

"It's what makes you number one to me, baby," you teased, kissing his shoulder as you moved past him, wanting to pester him while the mood was light and he was already flustered. It was nice how easy it was to move past something with him. But you wanted to test how much he'd react to you not tiptoeing around him anymore.

With success, his quirk popped off again.

"Fuck off."

You let out a crackle of laughter, "You're too easy."

"Die."

He finally stopped washing his hands, turning to dry them off. You watched from the counter, plotting. "Your back looks nice," you commented, his muscles have been more defined lately and you only got to appreciate it now. His tank top showcases his shoulders nicely.

He froze for a moment, side-eyeing you. "Do you want to get blown up or something?"

"No, do you want to get blown?" you asked back, letting Denki's crude humor influence you.

Like a charm, his quirk sparked off. "Quit it."

"Nah, it's too much fun," you smiled at him, kicking off the counter you were leaning on and moving to leave the kitchen. Hand squeezing his bicep when you walked by.

He didn't let you get even a step away before he grabbed your hand and pulled you into him. His hands grabbing at your hips and moving to push you into the counter. "Where do y'think you're goin'?" he smirked down at you.

Your face bloomed a deep shade, blushing harshly at how close he was. He hasn't been that close since you argued two months ago.

"Nothin' to say?"

You blinked up at him, trying to steady the rapid beating of your heart with the way he was tracing circles onto your hips.

"Might like you but that doesn't mean I'll let you say shit and get away with it," he crowded you closer to the counter.

"What happened to your quirk?" you whispered, losing your voice at the proximity.

"You offered to work up to it, right?" he brushed his hands clean on his shirt briefly before going back to your hips.

"Yeah," you looked down at his hands, trying to make sure the watch was off.

"It's off," he confirmed, twisting his wrist so you could see. When you looked back up at him, he held his gaze deeply, "What happened to that smart mouth?"

"Want me to show you?" you placed your hands on his chest, running over the span of his shoulders. Your body was on fire, the two of you flirted, sure, but this was different. His quirk was fully there. He was fully there.

His eyes lidded slightly, zeroing in his focus on your lips, "Fuck yeah I do."

Your lips closed the gap between the two of you. It wasn't as soft and nervous as all the past kisses, it was something you just threw yourself in. Stomach crazy with butterflies as your mind started buzzing. His hands tightened their grip on your hips as he stepped even closer to you.

Bodies curled into each other to get closer. Your hands digging into the hair at the base of his neck as you deepened the kiss. Full of passion and sexual tension. There was hardly any innocence to the kiss, and if there was, it faded within seconds.

A sigh of relief falling from your lips when his hands slipped under your shirt, brushing over your skin roughly. Fingers being callused and dry from work.

As soon as his hands met your skin he pulled away frantically. Pulling his body from yours completely before his quirk started popping off.

"Fuck me," he groaned in frustration, grabbing a dish towel and wiping his hands off.

"I wish I could," you teased.

He shot you a glare, blush flaring all over his face and coating his neck with a red. "Stop," he grumbled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me like that," he shied away, washing his hands in water for a moment.

You paused for a moment, considering how you looked. With how flushed his face was you could tell you were no better. Lips plumped and freshly kissed red as your shirt was ruffled up from his hands as you leaned back into the counter. "Why would I? You clearly like what you see?"

The confidence within you came from nowhere. There has been sexual tension between the two of you before, many times before. Even before he had the watch. But normally you had to be drunk as hell to make such obvious jokes towards him, especially ones about sex. Maybe it was the fact that it was on the table, when before it wasn't. You knew he wanted it as much as you did.

"Fuck off," he grumbled.

"Come on, Kats," you pushed your luck.

"I love you, but please stop whatever the fuck you're doing before we need a new apartment," he spoke without thought, freezing the second he realized what he said.

You barked out a laugh, he spoke so plainly. You didn't want him to get wrapped up in his head, so you ignored the rushing butterflies over his admissions. "Fine, fine," you gave in, smiling happily at him, "Hug?"

He looked at you, untrusting of you before he opened his arms, gesturing you near.

Taking the moment, you threw yourself in his arms. Wrapping your arms around his waist he pulled you in fully. Letting you rest your head on his chest as he rested his on yours.

Everything felt secure in your relationship, you'd move one step at a time together. With a lot of teasing between, but that was common between you and him, despite the lack of it lately.

"I love you too, by the way," you mumbled into his chest, having a happy feeling travel through your body at the small number of times he's actually said it.

"I know."

You moved slightly to look up at him, his eyes fell on yours before you spoke, "Are you hard?"

He glared sharply, embarrassment covering his features as you felt him grow hot. You were going to ignore the feeling of him pressing into your lower stomach, but decided you wanted the chance to rub it in his face that you have the upper hand here. He tried to pull away, only for you to keep your grip.

"Stop," he warned, his hands raised away from you.

"It's only a little spark, Kats," you tried to comfort.

With a roll of his eyes he smiled evilly down at you, "You asked for it," before you could protest, he wiped his sweaty hands on your face before rubbing the rest of it off on your sweater, down your chest.

"Katsuki! That's gross," you pulled away from him, using your sleeve to wipe away the damp residue of his sweat off your cheek before you pulled the bottom of your shirt out, seeing if he got sweat marks on it. "You just used that as an excuse to touch my tits," you glared at him, seeing the faint marks of his handprint on your shirt, right over your tits. It surprised you that he sweat enough to leave a mark.

He laughed sharply, walking out of the kitchen, "Got no proof, Brains."

"I literally have the proof of your hands on my tits," you called out to him.

He looked over you, "How do I know those are mine?"

"Really? Cause I'd let a random guy grope me and he'd be sweaty enough to leave a mark like you do," you snarked.

"No way to know," he shrugged.

"You're such an ass," you groaned.

His phone buzzing loudly cut off his laughter.

"This late?" you asked as you eyed his work phone.

"It's PR," he said as he furrowed his brows, answering the phone, "Dynamight."

You heard mumbling for a moment before he huffed and put his phone on speaker. "Can she hear me now?" the lady's voice rang through, the same manager you've spoken with before.

"Hello," you answered for him, "What can I do?"

"You've done quite enough," she spoke abruptly. It took a lot to get her mad, so to have pissed her off five words was a record. "People are spreading pictures of you crying in the middle of the street."

Katsuki's eyes shot to you, concerned.

"They also claim to of heard you talking to Deku, saying you said his name several times."

His concerned look turned to a glare quickly.

"I can explain that," you said quickly before Katsuki added his two cents, "I was having a rough time and decided to call a friend, simple."

She laughed, "It's not the simple. It was the night of your party. And with the lack of social outings between Dynamight and you, people are saying the two of you broken up."

"Why does this matter?" you asked annoyed. It was still a sore subject.

"It matters because bad things are being said about the two of you. It's not just Dynamight's image anymore, but yours too. They're saying he's abusive while also saying that you're sleeping your way to the top."

You've heard that said too many times to count. Both things. So filled with anger, you grabbed the phone from Katsuki's hand and hung up.

"The fuck?"

"I don't know! I'm annoyed," you huffed, tossing his phone onto the couch before pacing, "I'm sick of people talking."

"I get it's annoying but you're gonna hear it-"

"Not helping," you glared at him.

"PR helps get them to knock it off," he pushed.

"She hardly says anything but the obvious," you rolled your eyes, "We can just post a picture of us or something."

"How does that prove I don't hit you?"

You paused your pacing, "Under a truth quirk I said the worst thing about you was your socks. I think if you abused me I would have said that."

He gave up his fight with a shrug, moving to sit on the couch instead.

"Don't get me wrong, it pisses me off that they say that. There is just no way to prove otherwise. Nothing is ever enough for them," you corrected, not wanting him to get the idea that you were only concerned for yourself.

"If you think that, why are you so pissed right now?" he crossed his arms.

You shook your eyes off the flex of his arms, throwing your hands up in frustration, "Because everyone says that, I hate hearing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone thinks you hit me or some bullshit," you huff.

"Everyone?"

"Like people that don't know you," you changed, "you're a softy and they ignore it.

"Who you callin soft?" he sat up straight.

You smiled at him, "Kats, you can't even look mad at me."

He glared at you, eyebrows being the only thing supporting it. His eyes were soft. "Die."

"Let's just forget about it," you sighed, not wanting to talk about the press or your relationship. Nothing stressful.

"Why were you even cryin' to Deku?"

"You," you admitted shamefully, looking away. Talking about this would be stressful.

When he said nothing, you turned back to him. He was staring out the window. The view was filled with city lights.

"I only called him 'cause I couldn't call you," you comforted, stepping closer to him.

"Could always call me," he spoke softly.

"Kats," at this point you were standing right in front of him

"Yeah?"

You swallowed quickly, "We don't need to do everything together."

He took a deep breath, "I know, just want you to know you can call me, no matter what."

"I already know that," you smiled fondly at him. It was one of the best things about him. No matter how mad he was at a friend or family, he would never ignore them if they needed anything, even a random call. He might ignore a stupid text, but he never missed a call from someone close to him.

"Good."

"Maybe," he looked up at you, "We don't do anything publically? If they think I'm dating you then good, if they think I'm not, I don't care."

"If you want," he shrugged.

"You don't mind?" you step closer to him, him making space for you by manspreading further.

"Not really, just don't go making 'em think you're dating that damn nerd."

"Okay."

"Want somethin'?" he looked at you with a brow up. His eyes flickering from your chest to your face.

"Seems like you do," you smiled, inviting yourself more into his personal space by straddling him, both knees by his side.

"What are you doing?" his hands were pushed outwards, far from you.

"It's fine," you hushed him, sitting your weight on his lap.

"We didn't even do this stuff with the watch," he hissed at you, face flushed.

"Yes we did," you looked at him confused, "I made you cum y-"

"Shut it," he huffed, hands popping with the sound of his quirk, "Get off."

"Look, if you really want to, I will, but I don't think you want me to," you didn't want to force him into anything.

"What even put you in this mood?" he glared at you.

"You looked at my tits," you shrugged.

"Cause you still have my handprint on em," he smirked proudly.

You looked down at them quickly, "Bakugo."

"What? It's how it should be."

"Will it stain?"

"Shouldn't."

"I hate you," you glared at him.

"Sure, cause one glance at your tits makes you wanna jump me, cause you hate me," he was too cocky.

"Shut up you can hardly kiss me without losing your mind," you fought back.

"Kissed ya earlier didn't I?"

"Barely, come on, kiss me like a man-"

Forgetting his prior reluctance, he pulled you into him. Connecting your lips in a messy kiss as his hand held you to him by the back of your neck. Slowly losing its grip before sliding down to your waist. Losing himself into the kiss just as you were.

You were shocked he was even kissing you, cherishing the win regardless. Moving more onto him. Wrapping your arms around him, scratching at his scalp as you pulled on his hair.

The groan that left his lips encouraged you to push down more in his lap, wanting something more. You could never get enough of him. Anything he'd give, you'd take.

A rough push of yourself onto him caused his quirk to go off, not just a small spark either.

It singed your top, burning your skin.

You jumped off his lap once he let go, holding your sides.

His hand was placed right over your old scar.

Posted late cause I forgot to finish the chapter, and the tag list is being a bitch rn. (phone is glitching and laptop is weird) if it's fucked up mb.

---

-Next Part-

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plutoswritingplanet · 1 year ago

Text

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #homelander #the boys fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing

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v6quewrlds · 1 month ago

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&.⠀⠀OFF THE TABLE II⠀⋆⠀JUSTIN HERBERT.

pairing⠀⁎⠀justin herbert x single mother!oc. word count⠀⁎⠀10.7k.

series summary⠀⁎⠀in maya's eyes, love has been completely off the table since the birth of her son, miles, six years ago. fate disagrees with maya's point of view, bringing her justin in more ways than one.

author's note⠀⁎⠀updates might be a little slow after this one. listen y'all, if you're from socal don't pay too close attention to the geography. i'm taking reddit's word for a lot of things in addition to the fact that i have zero clue where justin lives and don't care to know. series warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, oc warning [maya atkins], single motherhood, friends with benefits, discussions of guilt, mention of deadbeat dads.

read more⠀⁎⠀justin herbert masterlist⠀⁎⠀previous, next.

"From my point of view, I think there's no harm in fully going for the Latin-Asian fusion thing. That opens your options a bit more flavor-wise." Her client of the month was a struggling upscale sushi bar on Manhattan Beach, and Maya was adamant about bringing in a fresh perspective. She had spent the last week experimenting with recipes that would appeal to the area's diverse palate without alienating the restaurant's existing clientele.

"So with the ceviche dish, we could incorporate some sushi-grade fish and add a twist with some citrus-marinated jalapenos," Maya suggested, her mind fully engrossed in the culinary brainstorming session with her client. Her laptop was open between them, a picture of the dish she had in mind taken on her phone the night before after a late-night cooking session two days prior.

The restaurant owner nodded, his eyes lighting up at the idea. "I like it," he said, scribbling notes down on his own pad. "It's definitely something we could promote during happy hour."

"Exactly," she echoed. "I would even go as far as promoting it alongside one of the signature cocktails we talked about. Something with a bit of heat to match the jalapenos, like a spicy marg or a wasabi cucumber gimlet. Really round out the profile."

The restaurant owner nodded again, scribbling away. Maya felt a buzz of satisfaction at the thought of her idea coming to life. "On the idea of keep the menu fresh, what do you think about rolling out a weekly special?" she asked, her mind racing with possibilities. "You could use local, seasonal ingredients to keep it exciting for repeat customers. The local clientele here is on the wealthier side so most will be open to trying new things."

He nodded enthusiastically. "That's a fantastic idea. I've been looking for a way to keep the menu feeling exclusive without being too stuffy." He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I'll have to talk to our suppliers, but I think we could definitely make that work."

"Great," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I'll draft up a few options for you to consider and send them over tonight. When do you think I'll be able to touch base with your service staff to talk through their concerns and the new menu ideas?"

The owner checked his calendar before looking back up at her. "How does next Friday sound? We're closed between lunch and dinner from 2 to 5 for staff training. That's usually when we go over menu changes, important reservations, that sort of thing."

Maya nodded, scribbling the details in her planner. "I'll make sure to be here. I'll bring the samples for everyone to taste." She stood up, smoothing out her dress pants. "Thank you for your time today, Mr. Castillo. I'll have the menu draft in your inbox by tomorrow."

Mr. Castillo stood as well, extending his hand for a firm shake. "Thank you, Maya. I really can't thank you enough for this. I'm excited to see what the future holds for us here."

Maya walked out into the warm afternoon, heels clicking rhythmically against the pavement as she dug in her purse to locate her keys. The beach was a short walk away, and the salty breeze carried the faint sound of waves and distant laughter. Despite the allure of the ocean, her thoughts remained inland with Miles. She slid into her car and started the engine, the quiet purr echoing in the quiet oceanside streets.

Miles would be wrapping up a playdate at a former preschool classmate's house within the next thirty minutes, leaving her just enough time to set her route to the host home. She pulled up to the house, a tastefully decorated Craftsman-style home in a quiet neighborhood of Culver City. The yard was meticulously maintained, with a row of tulips lining the walkway.

The front door had been left unlocked, the message shared through the playgroup's group chat. She stepped into the living room, the smells of freshly baked cookies and playdough assaulting her nose, reminding her of those late afternoon preschool pickups. The sound of children's laughter grew louder as she approached the backyard. Miles' giggle was unmistakable, a sweet melody that brought a smile to Maya's face.

"Is that slide new?" she asked, sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the wooden deck. The laughter grew louder, and she spotted Miles at the top of the new play structure, his little legs dangling as he waited for his turn to zoom down the slide.

Danielle, the mother hosting the playdate, turned to wave Maya over. "Hey girl! Bryan installed it last week just for today, what do you think?" She asked, her eyes shining with pride.

Maya couldn't help but laugh. "It's amazing, I'm surprised you guys haven't had a line out the door for the neighborhood kids."

Danielle rolled her eyes. "Oh, trust me, we have. We had to set up a schedule so they don't all show up at once."

Maya chuckled, watching Miles slide down with a look of pure joy. "Well, it's definitely worth it," she said, her eyes focused squarely on her son.

"Anything new with you?" Danielle asked as Maya took a seat at the patio table, sipping from the iced tea she had been offered from a tray.

Maya took a moment before responding, contemplating how much to share about her recent romantic developments. She decided on a small nugget of truth. "Just had a good few weeks," she said with a nonchalant shrug. "Work's been busy, but I got out a little bit, flirted, nothing came of it but it was fun."

Danielle's eyes widened with interest. "Flirted? That's a first since, what, Miles' dad?" She leaned in closer, setting her own tea down. "Spill. Who's the lucky guy?"

Maya felt a warmth spread through her body and into her fingertips as they cupped the glass. "It's no one, really," she said, trying to downplay it. "Just a guy I met at a bar. We texted for a bit, but I think he got busy or something. It's whatever."

Danielle leaned back in her chair, studying Maya's expression. "You're holding out on me," she accused playfully. "You've got that look."

Maya couldn't help but laugh. "What look?"

"The look," Danielle insisted, her eyes twinkling. "Did you follow-up with him? Maybe he's just… busy."

Maya took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation at the thought of seeing Justin again. "No, I didn't," she admitted, her voice dropping a notch. "I just… I don't know if I'm ready for all that yet, you know?" She looked at Danielle, her friend's expression one of understanding. "I just feel so out of my depth with all this. He was charming, sweet, but I guess I just wasn't special enough to keep his attention."

Danielle reached out and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "You're more than special enough, Maya," she assured her. "And if he's not giving you the attention you deserve, then he's the one missing out."

Maya nodded, trying to convince herself of that fact. Her thoughts drifted to the previous week's encounter with Justin, his gentle touch, and the way his eyes lit up when they talked about food. She had hoped their casual flirtation could evolve into something more, but the silence following their meeting had been deafening and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.

"Should I reach out? Maybe he is just busy and forgot," Maya wondered aloud, her eyes straying to her phone on the patio table.

Danielle gave her a knowing look. "If you want to see him again, just text him. Worst-case scenario, he's busy or not interested. But you'll never know unless you try."

Maya nodded, staring down her phone, chewing her lip, then turning to locate her son in the midst of his play. "Are you gonna do it?" Danielle deadpanned, breaking the silence.

With a deep breath, Maya picked up her phone, tapping her index finger against the back of her case. Then with a sigh, she set it aside. "Maybe later. I've got a shit ton of stuff to get done tonight." She turned her focus back to Miles, who was now engaged in a game of tag with his friends.

"Maya…" Danielle called, her voice cutting through the laughter of the children. "You're not seriously going to leave it like that, are you?"

Maya's eyes snapped back to her friend's, the warmth in them pushing aside the doubt. She took a deep breath, her hand hovering over her phone. Hovering, but not quite making the move to unlock it. "What do I even say?" she asked, the question a whisper.

"Just be you," Danielle said with a soft smile. "You managed to pull him in at the bar, didn't you? A simple 'hey', ask him about his week, maybe throw in a little self-deprecating humor about your crazy work schedule. Keep it light, easy."

"I'll think about it," she mumbled, watching as Miles dodged the grasp of one of his friends with the agility of a seasoned athlete. The way he laughed, carefree and uninhibited, was a stark contrast to the cautious tightening in her chest at the thought of reaching out to Justin.

As the playdate wound down, Maya helped gather the toys scattered around the yard and thanked Danielle for a great afternoon. With Miles in the backseat, she drove home, the quiet hum of the car's engine allowing her thoughts to drift back to the texts, or rather, the lack thereof.

It wasn't until Friday night rolled around that she reconsidered Danielle's advice.

She had decided to treat herself to a quiet solo dinner at a sushi grill, gathering some last minute inspiration to tie the bow on the Manhattan Beach fusion menu. Armed with her notebook and purse, the distant fire from the center grills heated her face from her spot at the hostess stand. The smell of ginger hung thick in the air, and Maya felt her stomach rumble with anticipation.

The walk to the bar was a long one due to the placement of the grills in the direct center. She had picked a spot that was a little less crowded, but still allowed her to observe the flow of the kitchen and the interaction between the staff and customers. As she approached the counter, she noticed one of the two bartenders was busy serving a large group of male patrons. Maya took a moment to appreciate the sleek black and chrome setup of the bar, the way the light reflected off the bottles behind it.

The men standing at the bar stood heads and shoulders above the average patron, their broad shoulders and muscular builds giving them away as being athletes beyond the shadow of a doubt. She shrugged the observation off; the grill was located in a neighborhood popular with pro athletes, so it wasn't unusual to spot a few lingering around the more exclusive spots.

The second bartender, a petite brunette with a bubbly smile, saw her approach and waved her over. "What can I get you started on tonight, love?" she asked.

Maya took a seat and perused the menu. "Just a ginger beer for now. I'm still deciding on food."

The bartender nodded and set to work, the sound of ice clinking against the glass a familiar and comforting melody in the background. As she waited, Maya couldn't help but overhear snippets of the conversation happening a few stools down. One of the men was talking about a game from college. She turned her head to take in the decor of the restaurant, taking in the modern chandeliers and the abstract art on the walls.

It was when she turned back that she saw him staring directly at her. Justin. Every unfathomable inch of him. His hair was shorter than it was when she had met him weeks ago, but that same quiet confidence was there, his eyes the same piercing shade that reflected the light gorgeously. His cheeks flushed a slight pink, and he looked surprised, yet delighted. She felt her eyes widen as they locked gazes.

He stepped away from his group of friends, drowning out their conversation as he approached. "Maya," he said, his voice a low rumble of surprise. "What are the odds?" There was that familiar lean against the bar top, his beer already forming a ring on the sleek surface.

Maya's heart skipped a beat, her hand frozen mid-air as she tried to process his sudden appearance. She gave him a nervous smile, her eyes darting to his friends before returning to him. "Hi, stranger," she said, her voice a little shakier than she had intended.

Justin grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Small world, isn't it?" He leaned closer, eyes drifting over her notebook and beer as he took in the scene before him.

"Yeah," Maya replied, her heart thumping in her chest. "What are you up to?"

"Just having dinner with the guys," Justin said, gesturing to his teammates who had all turned to look at them now, an array of wide smiles and amused glances passing between them.

"Is that what's been keeping you busy? Dinner with the guys?" Maya asked, her voice filled with a teasing lilt. She couldn't help the little thrill that shot through her at the sight of him, the way his eyes held hers, the ease of their conversation.

"I deserve that," he flushed under her teasing. "Actually, I just was in Oregon for a few days handling some…" he paused, licking his lips hesitantly as if carefully choosing his words. "contractual obligations."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Contractual obligations?" she echoed. "You're not going to tell me you're a CIA agent or something, are you?"

Justin chuckled, his gaze dropping to the floor briefly before returning to hers. "No, nothing that exciting." He didn't provide any additional details, which only served to pique Maya's curiosity further. The bartender returned to take Maya's order, and she requested the chef's special. The petite brunette nodded before heading back to the POS system.

The men from Justin's group continued shooting them glances just behind his back, their whispers and laughs growing louder. "Am I interrupting time with your friends?" she joked, trying to ease the tension between the two of them.

Justin shook his head, his smile unwavering. "Nah, we're gonna be here for another 30 to 45, still waiting on a table." He cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing before he slowly added, "We'll have plenty of time to bond before the season kicks in."

Maya took a sip of her ginger beer, the fizz tickling her nose as she pondered his words. "The season?" she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. She had no idea what he meant by that, but if the way he eased that detail in told her it was significant.

Justin looked a bit flustered, as if he'd said more than he meant to. "Yeah," he said, his voice a little less sure than before. "I'm an athlete. NFL."

Maya's eyes went wide, the ginger beer almost slipping from her grasp. "Oh," she managed, trying to keep her cool. "Which team?"

"The Chargers," Justin said, his voice a mix of pride and something else she couldn't quite place. He was watching her reaction closely, gauging her interest or perhaps waiting for recognition that didn't come.

She paused before shaking her head with a chuckle. "Can I be honest?"

"Always," Justin said, leaning closer.

Maya took a deep breath and put her ginger beer down. "I have no idea who you are," she admitted, a laugh tumbling from her lips. "I'm not a sports person. But if you say you play for the Chargers, I'll take your word for it."

Justin's expression brightened with a hint of relief, taking another step closer to her. "No big deal. It's just my job," he said with a shrug.

"So, that's why you're so busy…" she hummed with an upwards curl of her lips. "CIA agent moonlighting as a football player."

That drew a genuine laugh from him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Something like that," he responded. She took note of the deep dimple that appeared in his right cheek. The sound of his laughter was infectious and she found herself joining in.

"Well, if it's any consolation, I'm pretty busy myself," Maya said, absentmindedly flipping her notebook shut. "One secret for another?" she asked, moving forward when Justin nodded. "I have a son. He keeps me just as busy as I'm sure you are."

Justin's smile faltered for a moment before regaining its former warmth. "That's a big deal," he said, his voice genuine and a little softer than before. "How old is he?"

"He's six," Maya said, her eyes shining with pride. "His name is Miles." She watched Justin's reaction carefully, expecting some sign of disinterest or discomfort, but his expression remained open, curious even.

"Six… first grade?" Justin asked, his gaze holding hers with a gentle curiosity that made her heart flutter. She didn't miss the way his eyes dipped to glance at her hands before releasing a shallow breath at the absence of a wedding ring or even a tan line on her left ring finger.

Maya nodded. "Yeah, he's a handful but worth every second," she said with a warm smile. She felt a sudden need to explain herself, to justify her presence in this bustling bar on a Friday night. "He's with my parents for the weekend, so I have a little free time."

Justin's gaze remained on her, his eyes filled with something she couldn't quite read. "Well, it's good that you get some time for yourself," he said, his hand briefly brushing against hers on the bar.

The urge to explain herself continue to ravage her senses, pushing her to provide another disclaimer. "I really don't want you to feel like I'd be offended if you didn't want to pursue things," Maya spoke quickly, her voice a little shaky. "I know having a kid can be a deal-breaker for some guys. No hard feelings at all. I'd probably feel the same way if our situations were reversed."

Justin's expression grew serious, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her forearm. "Maya, I'm interested. Really interested," he assured her, his voice deep and sincere. "As long as you're single, I'd like to get to know you better."

The tension between them grew thick with anticipation. Maya felt a rush of heat to her face and took a moment to compose herself. "Well, I am single," she murmured, looking away shyly before meeting his gaze again. "But I can't guarantee that I'll have much time to devote to… whatever this might be."

"I get it," Justin said, his voice understanding. "My schedule's pretty packed too. My trip to Oregon was a last-minute Nike thing, and I've got a lot riding on the upcoming season." He took a sip of his drink, looking at her intently over the rim. "I can't say it would be fair for me to start something serious either. Asking for your number at the bar was a bit out of character for me, honestly."

Maya sat up a bit straighter at that revelation. "What do you mean?"

Justin cleared his throat, his voice dropping to a murmur. "It's been a while since I've put myself out there like that." He paused, searching her eyes for understanding, continuing when she nodded. "But I liked talking to you, and I'd like to do it again. Maybe without the pressure of making it into something it's not ready to be? At the very least, I think you're worth sacrificing some sleep over."

Maya felt a stutter of her heart, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "So, you're proposing…?"

"We can keep it casual," Justin suggested, his thumb still tracing circles on her arm, sending warm shivers down her spine. "Keep seeing each other, no strings attached, no expectations."

Maya took a deep breath, her eyes searching his. It was a tempting offer, one that whispered sweet nothings into the part of her that had been starving for male companionship for so long. "So… friends with benefits?" she asked, her voice steady despite the racing of her thoughts.

Justin's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but he met her gaze without faltering. "If that's what you're comfortable with," he said, his voice earnest. "Emphasis on the friends part." A muscular arm bent behind his head to scratch nervously at the back of his head. "I just don't want to miss out on what this might be."

He tapped nervously against his glass bottle, the nervous tick defeating the auditory integrity of the confidence in his voice. Maya took another sip of her ginger beer, her mind racing with possibilities and potential consequences. Her eyes flicked over to the group of towering men who had been watching them, now engaged in their own conversations. She knew what he was asking wasn't typical, but something about the way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice, made her feel like it could work.

"Alright," she finally said, setting her drink down. "Friends with benefits it is. I'll go ahead and let you know that I'm free until Monday morning." There was a haze in Justin's eyes as he digested her words, his hand lingering on her forearm.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his calendar. "Promise I won't make the mistake of leaving this to chance again," he said, looking at her with a determined expression. "How about tomorrow night?"

Maya felt a thrill at his decisiveness, nodding eagerly. "That works for me," she said, watching him tap away at his phone.

Justin looked up, his gaze locking onto hers. "It's a date," he confirmed. "My place or yours?"

Maya's pulse quickened at the prospect of spending the night with him, but she remained cool. "Mine," she said with a nod. "I can send you the address."

Justin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Text it to me. I'll come over around seven tomorrow night." His words held an air of promise. She nodded, her voice a whisper as she agreed to his plan.

"Justin!" a male voice called out from his group, breaking the intimate moment. He looked over his shoulder, offered a thumbs up, and mouthed "I'll be right there."

Maya felt a twinge of disappointment at the interruption, but she knew this was a public place and he couldn't ignore his friends. "Go ahead," she said, smiling. "Don't keep your team waiting."

"Thank you," he murmured, his hand briefly squeezing her forearm. "I'll text you around five to make sure it's still a good time to come over?"

Maya nodded, trying to keep her excitement in check. "Sounds like a plan," she said, her voice a little too high, a little too cheerful. She welcomed the embrace he offered, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, the strength in his arms, and the beat of his heart against her chest. It had been so long since she'd felt this kind of closeness with someone, and she had to admit, it was intoxicating.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked, her voice thin with a whisper.

"Count on it," he said, his eyes filled with promise. He gave her a final squeeze before letting go, and Maya felt the sudden chill of the cool air in the bar.

Maya watched as Justin walked back to his table, his teammates slapping him on the back as he approached. She couldn't help but feel a bit like she was floating as she finished her ginger beer.

"I might've fucked up," Maya announced the moment the call to her best friend, Brooklyn, connected. She could hear the TV playing in the background and the clatter of kitchenware, but she had to get it off her chest before the excitement overwhelmed her.

"What did you do?" Brooklyn's voice was a mix of amusement and concern.

"Are you alone?" Maya whispered into the phone, her heart racing as she put the phone on speaker and set it down on her bathroom counter.

"Yeah," Brooklyn replied, her voice dropping an octave as she muted the TV.

"Look up Justin Herbert," Maya said, her voice barely a whisper as she paced the bathroom floor. "Tell me if you recognize the face."

"I know what he looks like, quarterback for the Chargers, right?" Brooklyn's voice came back after a few seconds of silence. "What about him?"

Maya leaned against the cool marble countertop, taking a deep breath. "Remember how I said I met a guy at the bar but it didn't go anywhere? That guy is Justin Herbert."

Brooklyn gasped. "You fumbled a quarterback?" she exclaimed. "Maya! Are you just finding this out?"

"Kind of," Maya said, her voice tight. "I ran into him again tonight at this sushi grill. He's actually really sweet, and he seems to be into me…"

"Maya, spit it out!" Brooklyn's voice was a mix of disbelief and excitement. "What happened with him?"

Maya took a deep breath and recounted the evening's events, from the awkward run-in to their unexpected connection, and finally, to the arrangement they'd made. "So, we're doing this friends with benefits thing," she concluded, apprehension coating her words.

Brooklyn was silent for a moment before she burst into laughter. "Girl, you've got to be kidding me," she managed through her giggles. "But seriously, if he's cool with you being a mom and all, and you guys are on the same page, I say go for it. You deserve some fun, and if the sex is good, keep him around; if it sucks, don't."

Maya couldn't help but laugh too, feeling some of her anxiety dissipate. "Thanks, B," she said, rolling her eyes at her friend's blunt advice. "But it's not like it's going to be a regular thing. He's a professional athlete, and I have a kid. We're both busy."

Brooklyn's voice grew serious. "You know what, Maya? Sometimes you just need to let go and enjoy living in the moment. You're a great mom, and you work hard. If this is something that makes you happy without messing with Miles' life, then why not? You deserve a little treat every once in a while."

She felt dazed, her mind playing back the feeling of his eyes on her, his hand squeezing her forearm, the blush that spread across the bridge of his nose and spilled pink across his cheekbones. It was like she'd swallowed a handful of confetti; the colors of their encounter glittering through her thoughts.

"Did you set something up? When are you seeing him?" Brooklyn's question brought Maya back to reality. She checked the time on her phone, realizing that it was already late, nearly midnight. "We're supposed to meet tomorrow night," she replied, chewing her bottom lip.

Brooklyn's voice grew more solemn. "When was the last time you…?" She didn't need to finish the question. Maya knew what she was getting at. It had been a while since she'd been intimate with anyone. Too long, if she was being honest with herself.

She wasn't ready to unearth the various reasons why she hadn't been with anyone since Miles' father. It was a conversation for another time, if it was ever a conversation she was willing to have. "It's been a minute," she admitted, shaky words hinged on a shakier breath.

"I genuinely want you to enjoy yourself tomorrow, My," Brooklyn said, her voice a gentle reminder that she was still listening on the other end of the line. "Just take it slow and make sure you communicate what you want."

Maya nodded, though her friend couldn't see it. "Thanks, B. Love you." They talked a few more minutes before wishing each other off. By the time her head hit the satin pillow, every inch of her was buzzing with anticipation.

The next day at work was a whirlwind of client meetings and brainstorming, leaving little room for her thoughts to stray. Yet, every time she glanced at her phone, she could feel her eyes drifting up to the time, ticking down to their rendezvous.

The clock hit 5PM and just as he promised, a message from Justin popped up on her screen. "Still good for tonight?" he asked. Maya felt butterflies in her stomach, and she quickly typed back, "Still good," she confirmed. "I'll be home from work in a bit." He responded with a few logistics, letting her know he would be stopping by his home before heading over.

If this were a cartoon, Maya would have jumped out of her skin at the chime of the doorbell. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart knocked against her ribcage, and she felt the heat in her cheeks spread down her neck. Her reflection stared back at her, jittery and anxious, in the mirror near the entryway of her home. She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and checked her outfit one last time: white linen drawstring pants and a square neck top of the same tone that she had agonized over for much longer than she was ready to admit to anyone.

Time slowed as her eyes swept over her figure in the mirror, taking in her fresh matching manicure and pedicure, hastily done in her bathroom before leaving for her meetings that morning. The doorbell rang again, and she took one more deep breath before heading towards the sound. She opened the door to find Justin standing on her porch, lilies in hand and a boyish smile playing on his lips. His hair was impeccably tame, a touch more gelled than it had been the night before, and he looked fresh from the shower, the smell of soap and cologne wafting towards her.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, holding out the flowers. "Thought they'd be nice."

Maya's eyes widened as she reached a hand forward to accept the bouquet, feeling the soft petals against her fingertips. "They're beautiful, thank you," she murmured, her cheeks growing even warmer as she stepped aside to let him in. "Come in."

Justin walked in, his presence filling the room with a sense of excitement and nerves. He looked around, nodding in approval at the cozy yet elegant decor of her home. "Shoes off?" he questioned, quick to notice the wooden shoe rack by the door.

"Yes, please," Maya said, lifting the bouquet to her nose, inhaling deeply as her eyes fluttered shut. When brown eyes met pale green, she couldn't help mirroring the shy smile that grew on Justin's face. They both knew what tonight was about, but the gesture felt sweet, almost too tender for what they had agreed to. She led him into the living room, the soft glow of the pendant lights casting shadows across his broad shoulders.

"Lilies," she hummed out, searching for a vase in her kitchen as Justin followed her, his eyes taking in her home with curiosity. She filled a clear vase with water and placed the flowers in the center of her kitchen island.

"I wasn't sure if you had a preference," Justin said, leaning against the counter as he watched Maya arrange the lilies. His voice was smooth, like a high-grade dark liquor, resonating in her chest and running through her veins like warm honey. She swallowed, her throat dry, and turned to face him.

"Magnolias are my favorite," she responded, opening a drawer to find her kitchen scissors, a navy blue pair that perfectly matched the accents scattered around the room. "But lilies are a close second. Thank you. They're gorgeous."

Justin took a step closer, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then back up to meet her eyes. "You're welcome." His voice was low, movements slow as he moved to stand just behind her. As she set down each flower after trimming the stems, he placed them in the vase, his large hands gently peeling open the petals that had folded in on themselves.

Maya felt his body heat radiating against her back, and she could hear the soft thud of his heart in her own chest. She snipped the last stem at an angle, handing it to Justin, her fingertips brushing against his. He took the final lily and placed it in the vase, stepping back to admire their combined effort.

"Nice work," he spoke softly. "Fits with the vibe of your place."

Maya set the scissors down in the sink. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling the weight of the moment settle over them like a warm blanket.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, stepping away to lean against the island. His arms crossed over his chest, accenting the muscles beneath his shirt. They strained against the plain black t-shirt, discipline from his training evident in every line of his body.

"In Culver?" she clarified, feeling her back straighten as she leaned against the sink. "Two years now. I've lived in LA County my whole life, can't imagine living anywhere else." She turned to face him, her eyes tracing over the lines of his jaw, his cheekbones, and the way his eyes seemed to darken under the dim light the longer they stood there.

"It's a good spot," Justin agreed, his voice still a soft rumble. "Quiet, but not too far from the action." His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air. Maya felt the tension build, a delicious cocktail of nerves and desire.

"I'm assuming you're out near the beaches somewhere?" Maya asked, her hands nervously rubbing her arms. The question was innocent, but she felt the urge to fill the silence that stretched out between them.

"Hidden Hills, actually," he spoke up, his eyes finally taking her full figure in. "It's quieter, more private, close to the mountains." Each word grew successively lower, dripping in a tone that suggested although he was more than happy to discuss his living situation, there was something else on his mind.

Maya felt the air thicken. "It sounds beautiful," she managed, the words clipped and breathy as his hands found her arms. He removed her hands from her skin, drawing her closer to his body. There was a gratifying magnetism to his touch, a force that made her knees weak.

A hand found her waist, the touch electric, sending a shockwave through Maya's core. She stepped closer to him, feeling the warmth of his breath against her cheek. "It is," he responded, the words falling from his lips nonchalantly.

Her head tilted back to take in the full view of him, the soft light from the pendant lights above highlighting his features. Justin's hand slid from her waist to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing against her pulse point as his eyes searched hers. "So beautiful," he whispered, his breath warm and sweet.

The moment was charged, the air around them crackling with the unspoken understanding of what was about to happen. Maya felt a flutter in her stomach, a mix of anticipation and nerves that she hadn't felt in a long time. She stepped closer to him, chest to chest. His hand tightened around her neck, angling her head just right as he leaned in. Just before their lips met, he asked a question, clementine sweet and a little shy, "Can I kiss you?"

Maya's breath caught in her throat. The brief handful of seconds between the question and her response seemed to stretch on for hours. Then, she nodded, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips met hers. The kiss was gentle, soft exploration that enveloped her lips in supple warmth. She leaned into him, her hands finding his biceps, feeling the power beneath her fingertips. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, as if he had no where else to be. It was just them, in her kitchen, the scent of the fresh lilies mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne filling her senses and making her head spin.

The hand cupping her face guided her into a more passionate kiss, his other arm wrapping around her waist to pull her closer. Maya melted into him, the heat of his body enveloping her, making her forget the exhaustion of the day. He kissed her as if her starving, as if he had been waiting for this moment since the moment they met. His kisses grew more urgent, his tongue slipping past her teeth to tango with hers. She whimpered softly, her hands roaming from his arms to his chest, feeling the contours of his muscles.

Breaking the kiss, there was a brief pause before she laughed. Slow and soft as her head bowed forward to hide the smile that was growing across her face.

"It's been a long time," she eventually confessed, meeting his gaze again.

"Would you believe me if I said the same?" Justin's voice was low, the question a gentle tease, as he brushed his thumb across her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. The admission hung in the air, stretching the moment out into something more intimate than it had been before.

"No," she chuckled, her arms draping over his neck, releasing an involuntary sigh as both of his hands held her waist tightly, pressing her closer to him. "But I appreciate the attempt to make me feel better."

"Save your compliments until after," he responded with that bashful smile of is. His head dipped to kiss along her neck, hands hovering over the curve of her ass, not quite touching but the promise was there. He was giving her control, making her feel desired without overstepping, and Maya appreciated it more than he knew. "Might disappoint you."

Maya's laugh was light and airy, the sound of it filling the kitchen. "I doubt that." She leaned back into his touch, her eyes closing as his mouth worked its magic. His mouth rediscovered hers, the kiss deepening and growing more heated. Her head tilted back to give him better access, the feeling of his kisses setting her skin on fire.

Justin's hands moved from her waist to her hips, his thumbs gently digging into her skin as he lifted her onto the counter. The coolness of the marble sent a shiver down her spine, her legs wrapping around his waist as the kiss grew more intense. His kisses grew more demanding, his tongue caressing hers, tasting and exploring every part of her mouth. Maya's hands slid down to his chest, her nails lightly scoring the fabric of his shirt.

Maya felt her heart racing, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Justin's kisses grew more urgent. He paused, his eyes searching hers for consent. She nodded, unable to speak, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He took this as his cue and leaned back in, his teeth grazing her neck, slipping the strap of her top down her shoulder as his kisses trailed down to her collarbone. She let out a small moan, her hands fisting in his hair as she tried to hold onto something solid in the storm of sensations.

His hands roamed up her sides, feeling the softness of her skin, the heat of her body. He squeezed her hips, cursing under his breath before he leaned back into her, pulling the top over her head and capturing her mouth again. "Bedroom," she said between kisses before pulling back to catch her breath.

Their eyes locked for a moment, the air thick with desire. He nodded, lifting her off the counter with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his strong arms supporting her as they stumbled through her house, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Where am I going?" he laughed upon the realization that he had no clue which way was which in her space. She reciprocated his amusement, pecking his lips one more time before tapping his hand, delighted as he took the nonverbal hint to set her down.

Maya led him through the dimly lit hallway, the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. They reached her bedroom, a soft oasis of white and grey tones, the king-sized bed dressed in silk sheets that matched the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze from the open window.

"You're stunning," Justin murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of Maya standing before him in her bra and linen pants. She took a seat at the edge of her bed, crossing her legs, watching him as he took off his shirt. His abdomen was a washboard of muscles, each one defined and rippling as he moved. She felt a surge of desire that was almost overwhelming.

His hands parted her legs, providing space to accommodate his larger frame as he knelt between them. Maya's eyes traveled down his body, her gaze lingering on the waistband of his pants. Justin caught her stare and chuckled, placing a warm kiss to her cheek. "Patience," he whispered, his hand finding the back of her neck to draw her back into a kiss. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, his eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt. Finding none, he kissed her again, pressing her back into the mattress.

"I wanna know what you like," Justin murmured against her ear, his breath warm and tickling her skin. His hands began to explore her body, his fingertips dancing along the edges of her bra and the waistband of her pants. Maya felt a shiver run down her spine, her body responding to his touch. "You'll tell me what's working and what's not, yeah?"

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, nodding as her eyes fluttering closed. She felt his hands move to her bra clasp, deftly unhooking it, allowing her breasts to spill out into his waiting hands. He took his time, teasing her sensitive nipples before his mouth followed, suckling and nipping, making her back arch off the bed.

Maya's breath grew ragged as she felt Justin's hand slide down the front of her pants, his thumb brushing against her clit over the fabric. She gripped the bedsheets tightly, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but it was a futile effort. His touch burned into her skin as he drew the pants down her legs, dropping them where he had disposed of her bra moments before.

"Justin," she whispered his name, a plea and a warning. He looked up at her, before leaning over her, trailing slow kisses from the top of her breasts down the center of her chest, over the small roll of her stomach, and down to her navel. He kissed her gently, a silent promise that he'd take care of her, that he'd make her feel good.

Maya's body responded to his touch, her legs instinctively spreading wider. He kissed along her inner thighs, the anticipation making her quiver. His hands creeped up her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed as his mouth hovered just above her panties. She felt him inhale deeply, a subtle groan escaping him as if her scent was intoxicating. The fabric was the only barrier between them now, and the heat of his breath made it clear that he was more than ready to take things further.

Maya felt exposed, vulnerable, but his gaze was nothing but adoration and hunger. Justin took his time, kissing along the soft skin leading to her core, making her squirm and whimper with need. His touch was light, feathering over her most sensitive spots, building the anticipation to a crescendo.

Her hand moved to cover her mouth as she sighed and squirmed underneath him. Justin took the cue and began to kiss her through her underwear, the touch of his lips brushing featherlight against her, making her toes curl. "Oh," she breathed out, the sound muffled by her hand. He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips before he hooked his fingers into the fabric and slid it off her.

The coolness of the air hit her skin and she shivered, but it was quickly forgotten as Justin's warm mouth replaced it. His tongue found her folds, flattening and exploring, making her body tighten with pleasure. He was gentle but insistent, slow but deliberate as he indulged in his first tastes of her. Maya's hand fell away from her mouth, and she gripped the bedsheets tightly, her knuckles tight as she moaned his name.

His thumbs parted her folds, giving him better access to her clit, and he began to circle it with the tip of his tongue. Maya's hips rolled upward, urging him closer, her thighs tightening around his shoulders. Justin took his cue, increasing the pressure and speed, his tongue flicking and stroking her sensitive nub as Maya's breaths grew erratic.

"Shit," Maya hissed through gritted teeth, the sensation of his tongue on her clit was almost too intense. Her legs trembled, and she felt like she could come at any moment. Justin seemed to sense her urgency, his movements becoming more purposeful, his tongue pressing harder and faster against her swollen nub.

"Talk to me, Maya," Justin rasped, his voice thick with need as he continued to pleasure her. His arms wound around her thighs, keeping her in place as he feasted on her. She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep her moans to a whisper, not wanting to be too loud. Her hands found his hair, her fingers tangling in the soft strands as she directed him to the exact spot that sent shockwaves through her body.

"So good, Justin, so good," Maya breathed, her eyes squeezed shut as pleasure began to coil tightly within her. The warmth of his breath, the wetness of his tongue, it was all too much and yet not enough.

Justin took her words as encouragement, his tongue swirling and flicking over her clit with newfound vigor. He could feel her body tense, her legs shaking. His hands gripped her hips, holding her still as she began to buck against his mouth. Though he could sense she was close, he could tell she need a bit more to send her over the edge.

"What do you need, baby?" Justin murmured against her, his voice gruff with desire.

"Your hands," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Use your hands, please."

Justin's eyes gleamed with understanding as he slid one hand up her body, his thumb tracing circles around her clit as he inserted two fingers into her, stretching her and curling them in a way that had her hips jerking up to meet him. Maya's eyes rolled back in her head, a long, low moan escaping her as he found that magical spot deep within her. The hand she had embedded in his hair gripped the strands tighter, her other hand gripped the sheets next to her head as she arched her back, pushing herself closer to him.

"Mmm, sweetest thing," Justin murmured as he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, stroking her in time with his tongue. He could feel her getting wetter, her muscles tightening around his fingers as she grew closer to climax. Maya's moans grew louder, and she threw her head back, her body shaking as she lost control.

"There you go, so beautiful," Justin murmured, his voice a gentle rumble against her thighs as he watched Maya's orgasm crash over her. Her body tensed, then released, a gush of wetness coating his hand as she rode out her peak. Maya's mouth fell open, and she stared down at him with a mix of shock and pleasure. He took his time, his tongue and fingers moving in tandem, ensuring that she felt every ounce of her climax before finally pulling back after she had gone slack with satisfaction.

He kissed a path back up her stomach, her breasts, and her neck before finally claiming her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth, her voice hoarse from her moans. "Fuck, thank you so much."

Justin chuckled, his eyes bright with amusement and arousal. "I should be the one thanking you," he said, his voice a low growl as he positioned himself at her entrance. "You taste incredible."

She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath as she watched him fumble in his pockets for a condom. He pulled out a black foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth, rolling it on with a confidence that made her stomach flip. "You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, and Maya nodded, still floating on the aftershocks of her climax.

"I'm glad you had one, I'm sure mine are expired," she laughed nervously as she watched him sheath himself, the mood lightening slightly. Justin leaned in to kiss her again, his hand resting on her cheek. The kiss was tender, contrasting with the passionate, desperate one from moments ago. He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock pressing against her wet folds.

"Stopped by CVS on my way over," he chuckled against her lips as the head of his cock swept through her folds, teasing her. "Think the guy at self checkout nearly recognized me," he whispered, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

Maya couldn't help but giggle, the tension in the room dissipating slightly as she felt the warmth of his skin pressing against her own. "Well, I'm grateful for your preparedness," she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt him nudge against her entrance.

Justin took a moment to appreciate the feel of her, the slickness of her arousal coating his tip. He pushed in gently, watching her face for any signs of discomfort. Maya's eyes went wide, and she took a deep breath, but she nodded her consent. He pushed in further, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside her. He stilled, giving her time to adjust to his size.

Mirrored sighs passed through parted lips as she adjusted to the fullness of him. Justin's gaze remained fixed on hers, a silent question in his eyes. Maya nodded again, and he began to move, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm that had her gasping. The initial stretch gave way to a warm, delicious friction that had her breathing out slow and deep. He was mindful of her comfort, his strokes deep and deliberate, each one hitting that spot she hadn't realized she'd been craving.

Her body began to respond, hips moving in sync with his, the quiet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. "God, yes," she purred as she held his face in her hands, her lips brushing against his before taking his bottom lip in a gentle nip. Justin's eyes darkened, and he picked up the pace, his hips moving faster, his cock driving into her with purpose.

Their breathing grew ragged, their kisses sloppy with passion as they lost themselves in each other. Maya's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on as the tension within her began to build once more. "Deeper, please," she whispered, her back arching as he hit her sweet spot.

Justin's muscles flexed as he complied, shifting his weight to press her further into the mattress. She released a strangled moan that sent a jolt of pleasure through him. He could feel the tightness of her pussy, her walls contracting around his cock as she grew closer to another orgasm. His own desire was mounting, his balls drawing up tight, but he was determined to make sure she came again before he allowed himself the release he desperately craved.

His nose nudged against hers, foreheads touching as their eyes locked, the air thick with desire. "You take me so well," he murmured, his voice strained with effort as he held back his own climax. She nodded, her hands roaming his back, her nails digging in as he pushed deeper into her gaining a steady rhythm that had her crying out.

"Feel so good around me, squeeze me just right… fuck, you're so tight," Justin groaned into Maya's ear. Maya's eyes squeezed shut tighter, her orgasm building again. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this, the feeling of being filled by someone who knew what they were doing. If she wasn't so caught up in the moment, she might've felt a twinge of embarrassment at how pathetic she sounded. But she didn't care; all she cared about was the delicious pressure building in her core, the way Justin's cock hit her in just the right spot, the way his muscles and warm skin felt under her fingertips as she clung to him for dear life.

"Don't stop, please don't stop." She whispered, voice trailing off with a moan. He watched her face, her eyes scrunched up in pleasure, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. He leaned in, taking her mouth in another bruising kiss, his hips snapping into her with a ferocity that had her gasping for air. Maya felt the second orgasm wash over her, her body tightening around him, her nails digging into his back.

Justin could feel her pussy pulsing around his cock, the sensation so intense that he had to bite back a groan. He waited for her to come down from her peak before he allowed himself to let go, his hips moving faster, harder, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on his bottom lip as he came, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment they sat in the stillness, panting and sticky with sweat, their hearts racing in sync. When he pulled out, Maya made a small sound of protest, the feeling of emptiness sudden and surprising. He kissed her neck gently, his breath warm against her skin. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned.

Maya nodded, savoring the feeling of his weight on her. "Perfect," she murmured, her voice hoarse from the moans and cries that had filled the room. She felt him shift, his body sliding off hers, and she reluctantly opened her eyes to find him standing beside the bed, disposing of the condom.

He turned back to her with a soft smile, "Bathroom?"

Maya nodded, "Through that door, to the left."

While Justin was in the bathroom, she couldn't help but replay the last few moments in her mind. The way his muscles had tensed with his release, the sound of his grunts of pleasure, the weight of him pressing her into the mattress—it was all so overwhelmingly perfect. She took a deep breath and decided to use the time to collect herself before he returned. She stood up from the bed, groaning at the ache between her legs, and walked to the bedside drawer to grab an old t-shirt, deciding to hold on pulling on a clean pair of underwear until her own trip to the bathroom.

When he came back out, Maya was lying on the bed, her legs drawn up to her chest, the shirt riding up to expose her smooth, brown skin. She felt a bit shy now that the haze of passion had lifted slightly. Justin leaned over the bed, planting a kiss on her forehead. "So, about those compliments…"

Maya couldn't help but laugh, full, bright, and warm, pulling him down towards her for a peck. "The compliments still stand. It was really good." Her giggles continued as he flushed under her gaze, bashful but pleased.

She stood from the bed, heading off to the bathroom to clean up. When she returned, Justin's back faced her, muscles beneath sun-tanned skin flexing with the effort of pulling his discarded shirt over his head. "What are you up to for the rest of the night?" Justin asked, glancing over his shoulder as he moved to zip and button his pants.

Maya shrugged. She felt a sudden shyness wash over her. It had been so long since she'd had a one-night stand, and she didn't quite know the protocol for what came next. Was she supposed to kick him out? Rush him toward the door and pretend it was nothing more than a good lay? Or was she allowed to enjoy his company a little longer? Offer him to stay the night?

If the way he seemed to move in slow motion as he zipped up his pants was any indication, Justin had noticed the hesitance in her tone and the indecision in her gait. He turned to face her fully, the question in his eyes mirroring the one in hers. "Tell what you're thinking," he spoke, the rumble of his voice cutting through the quiet of the room.

Maya took a deep breath. "I don't know if this is how these things usually go," she admitted, playing with the hem of her shirt as she leaned against the doorway of the bathroom. "But, I had a really great time tonight. And, like you said last night, I do think we could be really good friends. Even with the other stuff."

He stepped closer, reaching out to take her hand. "So tell me your plans for tonight. Friends hang out, right?" Justin's eyes searched hers, hopeful but not pushy.

"Well," she exhaled, trying to ignore the way her heart raced at the thought of spending more time with him. "I've had a recipe bouncing around in my head for a client I'm working with. I could use some fresh eyes, and a taste-tester." She bit her lip, watching his reaction closely.

Justin's smile grew wider. "I'd love to help," he said, genuine interest lighting up his eyes. "Did you think I'd turn down a meal?" He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a gentle tug. "Lead the way, chef."

If she were a few shades lighter, the warmth in Maya's cheeks would have been glaringly obvious as she led Justin to the kitchen. She hadn't had anyone in her kitchen, not like this, for what felt like an eternity. It was her sanctuary, where she poured her love and passion, and now, she was sharing it with someone who had the power to dismantle the walls she'd built around her heart. There was a strange comfort in the simplicity of it all, though—just two people sitting in the aftermath of the afterglow. It felt almost domestic.

Wide eyes watched as Justin lifted a bite of the upscale plate, Maya's twist on her grandmother's oxtail stew recipe, to his lips. She'd been nervous about serving something so personal to a man she'd only just met, but the way he savored each bite told her she'd hit the mark. She couldn't help the pride that swelled in her chest as he nodded in approval, swiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "This is incredible, Maya. Really good."

The smile that broke out on Maya's face was a mix of relief and satisfaction. She watched as Justin took another bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. "Thank you," she said, feeling a bit more at ease now. "It's based on my grandmother's recipe. I've been playing around with it for a new client."

Justin continued chewing, slightly amused by the way she retrieved a notebook from one of the island drawers. She flipped the small black cover open, sorted through the pages filled with neat rows of notes, and scribbled something down. "Ah, the notebook," he teased, taking a sip of the freshly made mango-passionfruit juice she'd blended together.

"The notebook," she echoed with a chuckle, "This is my bible. It's where I keep all my thoughts, notes, and inspirations for my work." Maya looked at the notebook with affection before setting it aside, focusing her gaze back on Justin. "So, tell me, what do you think needs to be tweaked?"

He pondered for a moment, swirling the juice in his glass before taking another sip. "I don't know," he said honestly with a laugh and a shrug. "It's perfect, really."

"Okay, I guess I could ask specifics," Maya said with a smile. "What do you think about the balance of flavors? When does the spice kick in for you?"

"The flavors are spot on," Justin replied, his eyes sparkling with delight. "The spice is a slow burn, which I like. It doesn't overpower the other seasoning." He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "But, if you're looking for something to tweak, maybe just a hint more of thyme."

"You don't even know what that means, do you?" Maya teased, raising an eyebrow.

Justin chuckled, setting his fork down. "No comment," he said, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. "But seriously, Maya, this is amazing."

Her laughter filled the kitchen, the sound bouncing off the gleaming countertops and stainless steel appliances. "Well, I'm happy to hear that," she said, her heart swelling with pride. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing. You can be my taste-tester."

"I'd be happy to help," Justin said with a grin. He casted a glance to his Apple Watch. "But, I gotta head out. Got some early morning training I can't miss." He stood up, stretching his tall frame, his muscles rippling under his shirt.

"It's getting late," she echoed. "How long's your drive?"

"Not too bad," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. "But I've got to get going if I want to get some decent rest."

She walked him to the door, feeling the cool night air sneak in as he stepped out onto the porch. He turned to her, his hand resting on the doorframe, and for a moment, Maya watch the conflict play out on his face—desire to stay, responsibility to go. "I had a great time tonight, Maya," he murmured, his eyes holding hers in a way that made her knees weak.

"Me too," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and the hope of future moments. Justin leaned in, capturing her in another kiss, tenderly giving into a brief second of abandon before pulling back. "I'll text you," he promised, the words lingering in the air as he took a hesitant step back.

"That sounds familiar," she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest as a good-natured smile tugged at her lips.

Justin chuckled, that deep, round dimple in his cheek resurfacing. "Deserved again." He propped his forearm above her head, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes tracing the lines of her face as her head tilted back to properly take him in. "But I promise, I won't be the one to fuck this up again. I'll text you first. I swear."

Maya's smile grew into a grin, the warmth of his body radiating against her as they shared the small space. "I'm holding you to that," she murmured.

Then there was a lull. Justin made no effort to turn around, unlock his car, and leave. Instead, he remained where he was, his eyes locked onto Maya's. It stretched on forever; this silent conversation passing in between dilated pupils and shallow breaths. From this angle, where Justin towered over her, Maya could see the slight stubble on his chin, the way the moon cast shadows on his cheekbones, the softness of his lips that had just been on hers. There was a pull to him, a gravitational force that she hadn't felt in so long, and she found herself leaning in for just one more taste.

She swore it would be quick. Just one more kiss to hold her over until they saw each other again. But as soon as their lips met, she felt everything all over again. The heat of his skin, the softness of his mouth, the way he tasted like a drug. It was addictive, this rush of sensation, a hit to the system that made her heart knock against her ribs. Her hands curled into his hair, his touch pressed into her waist.

One more kiss was never going to be enough.

She was obsessed.

#&. cassie writes.#justin herbert #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert smut #justin herbert fanfic #justin herbert fluff #justin herbert angst #justin herbert x oc #justin herbert x black oc #justin herbert x black!oc

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b14augrana · 1 year ago

Text

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Your story goes deeper than what meets Alexia’s eye

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. aditionally, alexia is pretty mean in this and there wont be a happy ending for a few parts 😬

A/N: massive thank you to this request for the amazing idea 🫶🏼. r is 18 y/o but still going under teen!reader. this is going to be multiple parts because theres so much i could do for this request that i find impossible to fit into one part and write to a good standard, so here you go!

The Stands

Football unites the world. It brings people, cities, and countries together, like nothing else.

You’ve seen it happen in your beautiful hometown of Barcelona — all you can see during the hours leading up to any match set to be played in the Camp Nou is red and blue in the sky. Blaugrana painted the streets below, and the entire city came alive with the commotion from the stadium.

You spent your entire childhood being part of the roaring atmosphere, waving your Barça flag proudly in the air alongside every other flag and wearing the infamous colours across your chest.

Most of all, you prayed with every bit of faith in you, that one day you’d be on the pitch, playing for the club of your dreams.

Everyone in the crowd had their own individual life. There could be a single mother, a lawyer who used up his last days of leave to attend the match, a young boy with his father, an elderly person on an outing with his wife, someone from abroad who’s spent thousands and travelled for hours to watch their favourite player in real life.

11 players could bring together almost 100,000 people just to watch them kick a ball around, and you wanted to have the same effect. You wanted to be so good at football and have the ability to transform a simple sport about kicking a ball around into 90 minutes of entertainment, performance, art. You wanted to do it with Barcelona.

You trained meticulously for months. You passed your small, worn out ball against the same fence in your backyard, you practiced your touch by juggling until the frustration made you storm away in tears and you learned new skills and used your own shoes as cones to pose as defenders and dribble around.

When you went to the Camp Nou to trial for the renowned La Masia academy, you were little and clutching your FC Barcelona backpack for support. The stadium already looked so big when you were up in the stands, but when it was empty and you were actually on the pitch, it was even bigger. You were stood on the same grass as your idols that once had the same dream as you, and that was unbelievable.

The start of your journey as a player at FC Barcelona had begun.

Day after day, you woke up early for training. Your siblings were never awake at that time, so the rare moment of peaceful alone time with your mother was something you looked forward to every morning.

She drove you to the La Masia facilities and then picked you up at sunset. Sometimes, when she had to work late, you and some of your teammates would go to the park and play with the other local kids until your parents came.

Those were the same teammates that you got promoted to the B team with, and the evening 5-a-side games in the park never stopped. They were your best friends — you all shared a common dream of getting to the first team and playing in big tournaments and winning titles, and even though you realistically wouldn’t all be able to do that, no one ever stopped believing that one day it would happen.

As you grew up and your career just started to take off, things started to change. Not just in football, but your life off the pitch too. All at the age of thirteen.

Your father started coming home late. As if your mother was stupid, he’d waltz into the house in the middle of the night, claiming he had to stay a little late because a last minute meeting was called or he lost track of the time. The mild arguments started, and when the late arrivals became more frequent, your mother’s suspicions grew stronger.

One night, it came to a halt. Just when you stopped expecting it, he came home at his regular time; half past six. The only difference was, he didn’t look happy to be home at all. A frown tainted his face ans there was something off-putting about his demeanour. Soon, it all made sense.

You watched from around the corner, your head barely peeking out. Your dad shrugged his blazer off, and you noticed the way his mouth twitched as if hesitating to say something. Once he spoke, a big part of you wished he hesitated a bit more and realised down the line that he was making a bad decision, but it was too late.

The reason he was working late, the secrecy, the floral smells that lingered on his shirts; he was never working overtime, the floral smells were not from the diffuser in the office, and he did have something to hide.

It was called infidelity.

Your siblings emerged from their rooms as soon as the cacophonous yelling started, and you were quick to usher them away from the arguing.

The reality of how bad the situation really was hadn’t yet settled in, but you knew the outcome wasn’t going to be good.

Your youngest brother complained about his rumbling stomach, and the other two were quick to jump on the hunger train. For a moment you were stumped, because you didn’t want to go into the kitchen where the argument was taking place and get dragged into it, so your solution was grabbing a €50 bill and sneaking out to the nearest restaurant.

You were the oldest of four kids. After you was one of two boys, Lorenzo, and then the twins, Magdalene and Dani. They shared the same passion for football as you, and your fondest memories consisted on being in the stands of Camp Nou with them.

All of you snagged a table in a cozy restaurant, one you were familiar with due to going there multiple times with the rest of your family.

The hour you spent in that restaurant with your siblings turned out to be the last hour of a carefree life you’d get to indulge in.

The Pitch

You turned 18 last week, but you got promoted to the first team last month. The headlines painted you as an emblem of success for Barça’s youth programme, the future captain of the first team, and there were all these opinions flying around about you as a player. The opinion that mattered most, though, was that of your captain.

You and Alexia Putellas didn’t get along. Her opinion on you was nothing short of disapproving, and she let you know of that as you arrived at practice.

“(Y/N),” the woman said, her voice holding notes of irritation as she approached you. You looked at her, preparing yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“You’re late again. You might be young, but over here you’re the same as all of us no matter your age, which means getting to training at the same time as us,” she berated you, her hands set on her hips and her eyebrows furled in annoyance.

“Look, captain, I had to–” you started, but your explanation was cut short by Alexia.

“I don’t have time for your excuses. Do better next time, or you’re sitting out of practice entirely. Go run your laps,” she snarled, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

You could only watch in anger as she stormed away while the others looked at you sympathetically, and you bit your tongue as you walked to the locker room and dumped your bag in your cubby.

She belittled you in every interaction you two had, which was a shame because you really liked her beforehand. In fact, you looked up to her, and you looked forward to being captained by her, but now it was hell on earth every time you entered the gates and met her scrutinising gaze.

Training was nothing special. It was the same old passing drills, small-sided games, shooting and free kick practice, and then before you knew it, home time.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and left before Alexia could stop you and give you yet another lecture. After stopping at the primary school to pick up Magdalene and Dani, you three drove to the middle school to pick up Lorenzo. Barcelona rush hour was rife around the time you picked up your siblings, so you spent another half an hour stuck in traffic until you finally got home.

All you wanted was your bed, and a nap. Still, you dragged yourself to the kitchen to make something quick for dinner so it was ready for your siblings when they were hungry, and then you tidied up in the living room.

Ever since your dad left, your mother was a wreck, leaving you as the successor to her caretaking duties of the kids. She was never a drinker, but after he left, she found herself depending on alcohol for a quick escape.

It was nice for a little bit; a short break from the world that always ended too soon. She kept chasing and chasing that relief until she was in too deep, and it was never enough. The bottles multiplied, the cans lined the rubbish bins, the stench polluted the air that once smelled of a fresh vanilla essence, and she became latched onto it.

You blamed your father for it all, because it was his unchastity that motivated every drink. Your mother was a beautiful woman who loved her family more than herself.

That was what ruined her.

“Hermana, hermana,” Magdalene spoke, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt. You looked down just as you turned off the stove, and she rubbed her stomach, “I’m hungry.”

“Okay hermanita, ask the boys if they’re hungry, please,” you replied, smiling at her. She nodded and ran to their bedrooms, and soon they all emerged from around the corner.

After scooping generous amounts of macaroni and cheese onto their plates, you put some onto your plate and sat down with your siblings to eat. Together, you all talked about your busy days and they listened to you tell them all about your training. They loved hearing your stories about Barça, and every time, Magdalene and Dani would ask you to continue your stories until they fell asleep.

Tonight was no different as you tiptoed out of the twins’ bedroom, gently shutting the door behind you. As much as you loved sleeping after a long day, part of you also dreaded it, because it meant starting a new day and facing Alexia.

When you woke up, it was to gentle knocking on your bedroom door. You were awake enough to comprehend the quiet pattering of footsteps across your hardwood floors, and when tiny hands grazed your skin, you jolted awake. “Hermana, time to wake up! School time!” Magdalene chimed.

So your morning routine began.

With one sock and half your jacket over your head, you made three lunches for the kids right after making their breakfast. Your mother slowly slumped out of her bedroom, wrapping her robe tight around her.

“Bon día,” she mumbled, a smile on her face. With a glance over your shoulder, you acknowledged her before going back to slicing two oranges.

“Morning, mamá,” your siblings responded quietly, shoving food into their mouths to avoid speaking any further. She sat on the couch, sighing deeply.

As she walked past you, you could immediately recognise the stench of alcohol — no surprises there. Years ago, she would’ve smelled like warm musky perfume, not the pungent smell of chemicals.

“Can you make me something, hija? ‘M very hungry,” she said to you, looking your way. You kept your head down, sealing the lunchboxes and cleaning up the counter.

“No, ma, I have things to do. Make your own breakfast,” you responded coldly, “Hermanita, pequeños, bring your dishes here.”

Your siblings scrambled from the table with their empty plates, giving them a quick wash before retreating to their rooms to get their uniform on. On the couch, your mother was still begging for food.

“Hija.. I’m hungry,” the woman slurred.

“Mamá, I have to get your kids to school and go to my own job, which my captain is already angry at me for being late because I have to drive them all around Barna,” you hissed.

“Then I have to come home and make dinner after cleaning your mess. You can make your own breakfast, for once!”

You always felt bad for yelling at your mum, but your life was hard enough with trying to get to work and drop off your three siblings in time while worrying about making your mum a meal.

You had a chance at life. You had a chance to succeed, and you weren’t going to waste it. You weren’t going to rely on a man to look after you in the future until he turns around and wants to look after another woman, leaving you damned.

“Bye, mamá,” you grumbled, grabbing your keys from the bench and swooping your boot bag up from the floor.

It was Dani’s turn to pick which song to play on the radio on the drive to school. He chose a very popular song within your siblings; ‘Me Gustas Tu’. The song had been broadcasted on the radio one day, and everyone seemed to love it. Their favourite part of car rides to school was winding the windows down and singing as loud as they’d like.

Somehow, amongst your father leaving and your mother’s new habits, your siblings were always happy, and that’s what you admired most about them. Maybe they were unaware of the harsh reality, but they were still naïve and unscathed by everything that happened.

It was almost 9:30 in the morning when you started making your way to the training pitch. Mentally, you were preparing yourself for the big lecture you were about to get from Alexia and seriously didn’t need, but physically, you looked unbothered if not a bit tense in the shoulders.

You almost tripped on your way out of the car as you rushed around to get your gear. Walking into training everyday just to get yelled at by Alexia was never nice, but you were used to it. Unfortunately.

That wasn’t the sort of relationship a captain should have with one of her players. It was almost like she despised you, and if she had her way, you probably would’ve been off the team within the first week.

Sure enough, when you appeared on the pitch, the first thing you heard was the low whispers beside you.

“…She’s irresponsible and doesn’t belong on the first team. Being late once, I understand, but multiple times? Her excuses are not good enough–”

“Excuses? Ale, you’ve never let her explain herself.”

“There shouldn’t be any need for excuses anyways, because she shouldn’t be late at all. If she wants to take her time and be let off easy like a child, send her back to the B team. Look, she isn’t even here yet.”

“She is, though. Look behind you.”

The woman turned around, her glare settling on you and being as cold as ever. She spun her whole body around and folded her arms across her chest, her frown heavy.

You sighed, looking down to your feet. It made you feel even worse that you couldn’t help it, and you couldn’t explain it to her either, because that action had potential to get your siblings taken away.

“Drop your bag, get comfortable. You’re not training today,” she snapped.

Your heart sunk. You fought to fend off any tears from forming on your waterline as you nodded, raising your head slightly.

“Listen, (Y/N). This team is everything to me. I have lots of respect for the people who coach us and come here to be coached. You, showing up late? That shows a lack of respect for those people. You’re lazy, unorganised, irresponsible–”

Irresponsible was untrue. If anything, you were the most responsible person you’ve ever known, but Alexia didn’t know that because she didn’t care to know you.

“…I can’t expect you to represent our club and our city on big stages if you can’t even come to training on time. You aren’t FC Barcelona material, and unless things change, you never will be.”

Your lip quivered as your body aligned to bolt for the locker room as soon as she left you alone, away from the watchful eyes that surveyed you in pity when had you arrived. Alexia turned on her heel and stormed away past Mapi, whom she was talking to previously.

She left you in her wake, crestfallen and misunderstood, defeated by circumstances beyond your control.

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