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natsaffection · 4 months ago

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Code Red. pt 4 | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha × Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24) hospital atmosphere, shooting mention, gun mention, blood, trauma, therapy, alcohol

word count: 12,3k

A/n: Tumblr has a freaking line limit, and I was stressing over it! So please, ignore the weird spacing. I had to mash a lot of things together just so Tumblr would let me upload it 💔

I even had to delete the entire ending and will have to add it in the next part, BECAUSE I RAN OUT OF SPACE

It had been thirty-one days. The hospital had changed since the shooting. There were more protocols. More drills. More doors that required keycards to open. But there were more people, too. New nurses, new faces from other cities, other programs. They’d flooded in like reinforcements when the ICU bled staff, some transferred, some promoted, some…never came back.

You were healed. The dressing had come off your shoulder weeks ago. The bruises were long faded. You walked clipboard under one arm, talking to nurses and humming under your breath when you thought no one was listening. Natasha always listened. She never stopped. “You’re staring again.” Maria murmured beside her at the nurses’ station, sipping coffee like it was a sedative.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Natasha shrugged. “Maybe I’m making sure my patient’s follow-up is behaving.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Your ‘patient’ was cleared for full duty two weeks ago.”

Today, the sun slanted in through the long windows of the atrium. Late afternoon. The lull before the night shift. You were leaning against a column, chart in hand, when you saw Natasha approaching and smiled. “You steal my post-op notes again?”

Natasha’s voice floated, low and teasing, and you didn’t need to turn to know that signature smirk was already in place. You grinned as you looked up from the nurses’ desk. “Maybe I’m just trying to be more like you.”

“Dangerous goal.” Natasha said, resting a hand on the edge of the counter. “You might end up brooding and terrifying.”

You cocked a brow. “And somehow still everyone’s favorite?”

Natasha shrugged. “Can’t help it if I’m charming.”

You laughed, a real one. Loud, open. It earned a glance from a passing nurse, who smiled like they all did now when they saw the two of you in the same room. Like they knew. And why wouldn’t they?

Natasha brought you coffee every morning now, black with a sugar packet she’d roll between her fingers first, just like you liked. She reviewed your charts even when she wasn’t assigned to your service. Left little red pen corrections in the margins with sarcastic smiley faces.

She waited for you after night shifts, even when she wasn’t on-call. Once, she dozed off in the hallway chair with her hoodie pulled over her eyes, and you had smiled like your whole chest couldn’t hold it. Natasha leaned a little closer now, eyes flicking to the notes on your tablet. “You missed a decimal here.”

You sighed. “You’re gonna bring that up forever, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace.”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Only to interns I like.”

Something soft passed between you, just a glance, but enough to hold the weight of what you didn’t say. “Hey, Natasha!”

Addison’s voice cut clean through the hum of the nurses’ station. You straightened instinctively, but Natasha didn’t flinch. Addison walked toward you in her signature heels and dark red scrubs, hair tied up in a neat twist. She had that glow about her, the kind that always made people move just a little to the side when she entered a room.

“Montgomery.” she greeted. “Looking terrifyingly awake for a double shift.”

Addison smirked. “Someone’s gotta make up for your brooding.”

Natasha chuckled. “Touché.”

Addison turned to you, and the moment shifted, just a fraction. Your whole posture softened. Your smile went crooked in that familiar, loving way. And when Addison leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was yours. Natasha looked away politely, just for a second. But her smile didn’t drop. She held it like armor. Addison lingered with her forehead against yours for a heartbeat. “Lunch?”

“I get off in thirty.” you replied, and your voice..God, your voice was happy.

Addison nodded, then turned back to Natasha. “You good for the cardio consult at four?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Don’t scare the residents too much.”

“No promises.”

Addison laughed, then took your hand and walked off, still talking softly. And Natasha stood perfectly still. Her coffee was still warm in her hand. The smile still played at her lips. She didn’t look after you. Not right away. But when she did, it was just in time to see you glance back over your shoulder, just once. Just a flicker. Your eyes met.

And you smiled. Not the way you smiled at Addison, but soft. And Natasha smiled back. She stood alone at the nurse’s station, a full chart in front of her and absolutely no memory of what she’d just been reading. She exhaled slowly. Then circled something in red ink. A note you wouldn’t read later.

29 days before:

Natasha sits on the edge of a cold plastic chair, one in a loose circle of doctors gathered in a pale conference room. Her hands rest motionless on her knees, fingers interlocked so tightly her knuckles have turned white. People are talking around her, low murmurs of fear, anger, relief, yet each word drifts in and out of her consciousness as if muffled by cotton.

She is aware of the others in fragments: Dr. Chen wringing his hands as he recounts how he froze when the shots rang out; Nurse Bello blinking back tears describing the blood on her shoes. A therapist or counselor is guiding the discussion, voice gentle and measured, asking them to share whatever they can. Natasha hears the question float by “How are you processing this?” but it might as well be directed at someone else. She doesn’t lift her eyes. She doesn’t speak.

All she can see is the memory replaying in an endless loop behind her eyes. The harsh white lights of the OR reflecting on the pooled blood across your abdomen. Her own trembling hands pressed against your sternum, performing compressions in a desperate rhythm. She remembers counting under her breath, one, two, three trying to coax a heartbeat back. The monitor’s alarm screamed a flatline tone, a single, high-pitched note that drowned out rational thought.

Maria’s voice cutting through the chaos: “He will kill everyone in this room!” At the time Natasha had whipped her head around in disbelief. Then she saw it, him, standing just beyond the swinging OR doors, arm outstretched, the black eye of a handgun trained on them. In the group therapy room, Natasha’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. The others’ voices fade completely as the memories flood her. She feels again the paralytic fear that turned her limbs to stone. In the OR, a lifetime ago and only days ago, she had locked eyes with the gunman. His face was a blur behind her tears, but she remembers the cold steadiness of the barrel aimed her way.

Her heart had thundered in her ears. Maria’s voice had come again, strained and barely calm, “Let her go.” Natasha’s arms had gone rigid, her blood-slick hands hovering uselessly above your open chest. She could still feel the warmth of your skin beneath her palms, then the awful absence of it as she lifted her hands away. For a moment in time, Natasha truly believed it was the end. She was certain she was watching you die. The flatline droned on, and your face was so still, too still. The world narrowed to that single point: the space between one heartbeat and the next, a heartbeat that wasn’t coming. And Natasha had let go. At gunpoint, yes, but she let go.

Someone in the therapy circle clears their throat. The sudden sound yanks Natasha back to the present with a jolt. Her lungs burn; she realizes she’s been holding her breath. Across the circle, all eyes are on her now, the facilitator must have asked her something. Natasha quickly drops her gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor. When the session finally ends, chairs scraping as people stand, Natasha slips out without a word. No one stops her. The hallway air feels cooler on her clammy skin. She draws in a long breath, trying to steady the unsteady thumping of her heart. She survived the crisis. You survived. That’s what everyone keeps saying. Yet as Natasha stands alone in the corridor, all she can feel is the hollow ache left by the moment she thought she lost the woman she…

Without conscious thought, Natasha finds her feet carrying her to the ICU. She pauses just outside your room, fingers hovering at the observation window. The blinds are partially drawn, leaving a gap where she can see inside. You lie propped up in the adjustable bed, pale against the white sheets and connected to a forest of IV lines and monitors. The steady beep of the heart monitor is softer here than it was in the OR, but Natasha zeroes in on it immediately, each measured beep a reminder that you are alive. It’s both a comfort and a knife twist of guilt.

She watches from behind the glass, afraid to open the door. Her own reflection faintly overlays the image of you in the bed: disheveled red hair, haunted green eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She barely recognizes herself. Natasha stands there for a long minute, just watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. The last time she saw you so still, there had been blood everywhere and a flatline threatening to never end. Seeing you breathing now should ease Natasha’s heart, but instead her chest only tightens.

You stir slightly, turning your head. Natasha steps back reflexively, out of view, her pulse jumping. Coward. She presses her back to the corridor wall beside the door, breathing shallowly. Part of her wants to flee before you notice her; she’s not ready to face those eyes, to field the questions you surely have. But another part of her aches just to be near, to reassure herself you are truly okay. That part wins out, albeit shakily.

Natasha slips quietly into the room. The faint scent of antiseptic and the low hum of the oxygen machine greet her. At the sound of the door, your eyes flutter open. They focus slowly on Natasha, and despite everything, one corner of your mouth lifts weakly. “Hey..” comes the whisper, raspy but warm.

“Hey.” Natasha echoes softly. Her voice is caught somewhere in her throat; she clears it and manages a small smile. She steps closer to the bed, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “You’re awake.”

Your eyes search her face. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to see you playing hooky from rounds..” you joke faintly. There’s a spark of humor in you despite the obvious pain it causes to speak. Ever the optimist.

Natasha’s answering chuckle is thin, but it passes for normal. “I’m just checking on a patient.” she replies, trying for lightness. She reaches for the clipboard at the end of the bed, scanning the vitals as a pretext to avoid meeting your gaze directly. Heart rate stable, blood pressure improving. All numbers that mean you are out of immediate danger. Natasha lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“They said I was pretty out of it after…” you begin, voice halting. “I don’t remember much. Just…pain, and then waking up here.” Your brow furrows as if trying to recall. “What happened? Is everyone-”

“Y/n.” Natasha gently cuts you off. Her heart gives a panicked flutter at the question. She forces a reassuring expression. “It’s okay. Everyone’s okay now.” You’re okay now. She carefully places the clipboard back. “You should rest. Don’t try to talk about it yet.”

You look unconvinced. Your hand twitches on the blanket, like you might reach out. “I heard I… I almost didn’t make it..” you murmur. Vulnerability shades your tone, fear, gratitude, confusion all at once. “They told me you saved my life.”

Natasha’s stomach twists. Heat prickles behind her eyes and she quickly turns her head under the guise of adjusting your IV drip. “The team saved your life.” she corrects softly, almost brusquely. Her own reflection in the dark monitor screen shows the flicker of anguish she’s trying to hide. “I just did my job.”

“But-”

“How’s your pain?” Natasha interrupts, grasping for any safer topic. “Do you need more meds?” It’s cowardly, changing the subject, but she can’t handle your gratitude. Not when she feels like the furthest thing from a hero.

You pause, realizing Natasha’s deflection. A shadow of hurt or worry crosses your expression, but you relent. “I’m okay. Sore… but I’m okay.”

An awkward silence stretches. Natasha forces herself to look at you directly now. The late afternoon light slants through the window, catching the gentle features of your face. You look tired, yes, and fragile in a way Natasha has never seen. But alive. Alive, because Natasha didn’t completely fail. The urge to reach out, to touch your cheek or squeeze your hand, wells up, but Natasha quashes it. She has no right, not with the secret she carries.

“That’s good..” Natasha says, and her voice comes out quieter than she intended. She clears her throat again. “You should get some sleep. I’ll, um, let you rest.” Your eyes flicker with disappointment that Natasha is already leaving, but you nod softly. “You’ll come by later?”

Today:

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual mid-shift chaos, forks clinking, pages fluttering, nurses weaving between tables with half-eaten salads and even less patience. Natasha sat across from Maria at a window-side table, untouched coffee in front of her, one elbow propped lazily on the tabletop as if she were actually listening.

She wasn’t. Her eyes were fixed across the room.

There, near the vending machines, you were laughing. Really laughing, head thrown back, hand on Addison’s shoulder, your scrubs wrinkled in the way that said you’d just come from surgery and hadn’t stopped smiling since. Addison leaned in to whisper something in your ear, and your face lit up like a goddamn sunrise.

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She didn’t even notice she was staring until Maria said her name for the second time. “Nat.”

No response. “Natasha.”

She blinked. “Hm?”

Maria arched a brow, her coffee halfway to her lips. “You heard absolutely none of that, did you?”

Natasha tried to play it off. She leaned back in her chair, flicked her eyes toward Maria. “Sorry. Thinking about the transplant case.”

Maria glanced at the untouched sandwich in front of her, then back at Natasha’s too-still face.

“Bullshit.”

Natasha’s lips curled in a half-hearted smirk. “What, you don’t think I’m committed to the art of liver transfers?”

Maria didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. Her eyes flicked once, subtle, sharp, toward the vending machines. Toward you and Addison. The way Addison’s hand brushed the small of your back. The way you leaned into it without thinking. Then Maria turned back, setting her cup down.

“This is exactly what I warned you about.”

Natasha’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Warned me about what?”

Maria didn’t blink. “Y/n slipping away. And you’re just sitting here watching it happen.”

Natasha forced a laugh, low, bitter. “Y/ns not mine to lose.”

“You were once.” Maria said calmly. “Or you could’ve been.”

Natasha shook her head, more to herself than anyone else. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that.” Maria said, voice still low but firm. “You just didn’t want to admit it. Not when she was lying in a hospital bed, not when she was asking for you every day, not when she looked at you like you were the only thing tethering her to this world.”

“That’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair,” Maria cut in, “is that she kept waiting. For you to do something. And instead, Addison walked in, cracked one joke, and you handed her the space you wouldn’t claim.”

Natasha’s throat worked. She looked down at her cup like maybe it held answers. “She’s happy.” she said after a long beat. “That’s what matters.”

Maria’s voice softened, but not in the way that gave comfort. “Don’t feed me that noble martyr crap.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Not directly. Her gaze drifted again, pulled by instinct, back to you, who were now holding Addison’s hand under the table. Smiling at her like she hung the stars. That smile used to be Natasha’s. Not really. Not officially. But close enough to believe it could’ve been.

“She’s not just happy..” Maria said quietly. “She’s in love. And you…you’re sitting here nursing a coffee you didn’t drink and pretending like it doesn’t feel like a knife every time she kisses someone who isn’t you.”

Natasha laughed once, too sharp. “Maybe I’m just growing.”

“Maybe you’re just scared.”

Natasha looked at her, finally. The smile was gone now. Her eyes weren’t angry, they were tired. “She deserves better than someone who didn’t know how to show up.”

Maria didn’t argue. She just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching her friend crumble in real time.

“You’re still in love with her.” The words hung there. Natasha looked back to the vending machine. Addison kissed your temple. You leaned into her.

And Natasha, very quietly, smiled. “Yeah..” she said.

After that, Natasha walked fast, eyes locked on the tablet in her hand. Lab reports, liver enzymes, graft viability. The transplant consult was already behind schedule, and her attending hadn’t signed off on the pre-op labs yet. She moved like she always did when she had a case on her mind, quick, surgical, with every step meant for something. She turned the corner too sharply. And collided with someone. The tablet jolted, almost slipping from her fingers. She caught it by reflex.

“Shit, sorry-” the voice was familiar before she even looked up. Dr. Derek Shepherd. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall and let out an awkward half-laugh. “Didn’t mean to bodycheck you in your own hospital.”

Natasha blinked, still clutching the tablet. “I’ve had worse.” she muttered, brushing her shoulder. Her voice was calm. Almost too calm. Derek shifted on his feet. “Right. Uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to..well, I know I already said it, but…I’m sorry. For what happened. For everything.”

She looked at him, expression unreadable. He went on anyway. “I didn’t know he’d come for me. I didn’t expect-”

“I know.” Natasha interrupted, gently. Not unkind, but final. “You don’t have to explain again.”

Derek nodded. “Still. I wasn’t sure if you…still blamed me.”

Natasha hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I blamed the wrong things for a while, but…not anymore.” Her voice was softer now, and maybe that’s what made it more painful. She wasn’t angry..just tired.

A beat passed. Something shifted in Derek’s face. “I’m glad you’re back.” he said honestly. “The OR feels different with you in it again.”

Natasha smiled, a faint curve of her lips. Not the sharp kind. Not sarcastic. Just quiet.

“Thanks.” she said. Derek stepped aside to let her pass. “It’s good…that things are finally normal again.”

Natasha looked at him for a long moment. Something flickered in her expression, something hollow. She nodded once. “Yeah..” she said. “Normal.”

27 days before:

Natasha stepped out of your room with her jaw clenched and her fists shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. The blanket you’d been curled under still clung to the ghost of your warmth. You hadn’t woken when she left. You were still sleeping, weak but alive.

She hated how much that still felt like a countdown. She made it halfway down the hallway before the tightness in her throat demanded air. She pushed into the small family break room, empty at this hour, and dropped into a chair at the table near the window. No monitors here. No beeping reminders. Just her and the thick, choking silence.

She sat there breathing too fast, knuckles pressed into her thighs. She could still see it. The scalpel glinting under trauma lights. Blood pooling like rainwater beneath the table.Your chest open. Your body limp. Your lips blue.

“She’s flatlined.”

“Natasha, let go.”

“There’s no rhythm.”

“LET. HER. GO.”

And Maria’s hand on the ECU cable. Unclamping it. Letting the monitor scream flat. She’d waited until she was alone for that. But now? Now the door opened. And the devil walked in wearing a white coat.

“Hey..” Derek said softly, stepping into the room. “I just checked up on her. She’s holding steady, it’s a good sign.”

Still, she said nothing. “She’s strong.” he added, voice gentler. “Stronger than any of us gave her credit for.”

Natasha’s jaw ticked. “She was the only staff member who got hit and survived..” Derek continued. “The others-”

“Don’t.” Natasha said, sharp. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Derek blinked, taken aback. “I-”

“She almost died.” she said, her voice colder now. “Because of you.”

He froze. “She got shot. Shot! She had a bullet rip through her chest because you had ghosts you didn’t clean up.” Her voice cracked around the edge. “And you weren’t the one who paid for it.”

“Natasha-”

“She coded!” she snapped. “She coded, and they tried to make me let her go. While she still had warmth in her chest. While her blood was still flowing. Maria unclamped the cable so the machine would lie for her!”

Derek’s breath caught. “And you-” her voice dropped, dangerous now, “..you’re the reason he came.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, Natasha.”

“She went through hell!” she hissed. “Woke up with a tube jammed between her ribs, no anesthetic, no sedatives. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move and you want to stand here and say she’s strong?”

“I didn’t say-”

“You didn’t have to.” she snapped. “You’re trying to make this easier for you. Trying to feel like this wasn’t your fault. But she almost died because someone wanted you dead. And I’m the one who had to hold her together.”

Derek didn’t speak. “You weren’t there when she whispered she didn’t want to die. When she cried into my chest because the pain was too much. You weren’t there when she told me to stop doing the calm voice, because she knew what it meant.”

Her hands trembled. “I had to choose between letting her die with dignity and slicing her open with a fucking scalpel while she screamed into her sleeve. I had to hurt her to save her. And the whole time, you know what I kept thinking?”

She looked up at him, eyes burning. “Why wasn’t it you instead?” Silence. Derek swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Natasha said. “But that doesn’t fix her ribs. Or her lungs. Or the fact that she’s afraid to sleep because the last time she closed her eyes, she died.”

The silence stretched. Then she stood. “I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want your guilt. Just stay the hell away from her.”

And she walked out. She stormed down the hallway, the echo of her own voice still ringing in her ears. Her skin itched with leftover adrenaline. Her fists were clenched. Every step felt too loud. She just needed air..needed out. Her blood was still humming with the weight of what she said and how much of it was true.

She hadn’t meant to say it. She’d meant to keep it all inside. But Derek’s voice..his concern, his gentleness, it scraped against the jagged edge inside her and all the broken things spilled out. She hadn’t planned to scream at him. She hadn’t planned to say she wished he’d been the one bleeding out on the table. But she had. And she hadn’t lied. Her boots hit the linoleum harder now, like her whole body was trying to outrun the shame curling in her throat.

“Nat.”

Maria’s voice, low and sharp. Natasha kept walking. Maria didn’t move. Just grabbed her arm, firm, and pulled her into an empty consult room off the hall. The door shut behind them with a soft click. The silence inside the room was heavy and instant.

Maria stood in front of her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What happened?” Natasha didn’t answer. She moved toward the opposite wall, leaned against it with her jaw tight.

“Talk to me.” Maria said, slower now. “You’re not okay.”

“I never said I was.”

“No..” Maria snapped, “but I can see it.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “You can see it because you’re back in the OR like nothing happened, while I’m still being evaluated like a mental patient.”

Maria’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The jealousy.”

“Fuck off!”

“No.” Maria said, stepping forward. “Let’s be honest. You’re pissed that I’m cleared and you’re not.”

Natasha turned sharply, eyes flashing. “You think I care about surgical clearance?”

“I think you care that I look like I’m fine. That I’m functioning. That I’m moving on and you’re not.”

Natasha barked a humorless laugh. “You are fine.”

“No..” Maria said, quieter now. “I’m not. I’m just better at hiding it.”

Natasha shook her head. “You didn’t beg them to let you keep holding her heart after she flatlined.”

“No. I was the one who told you to let go.”

That silence hit like a gunshot. Natasha’s hands clenched. “You lied.”

“I protected you.”

“No..” she growled. “You made me think she was gone. You unclamped the damn cable!”

“She was gone, Nat.”

“No, she wasn’t! She was still warm. Her heart was twitching. I felt it. I had her blood under my nails and you wanted me to pretend it was over!”

“I needed you to breathe!” Maria snapped. “You were seconds away from breaking in front of the shooter!”

“Then maybe I should’ve!”

Silence. Natasha’s shoulders dropped. Her voice broke open. “She wasn’t supposed to get hit. It wasn’t supposed to be her. The shooter came for Derek. She got caught in it. And now she..she wakes up crying. She breathes like it hurts. She doesn’t know what happened.” Maria was quiet. Watching her unravel.

“And I’m..” Natasha swallowed. “I don’t know what this is anymore. I’m furious. At you. At him. At me. I keep walking past her room like I’m being dragged back into fire, and then I can’t make myself walk in. I sit at the table and I think if I look at her too long, I’ll snap. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

Maria stepped closer. Her voice softened just enough. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why am I like this?”

Maria didn’t answer right away. So Natasha filled the space herself. Her voice shaking now. “I can’t stop seeing it. Her body open. Her face slack. That second where she died under my hands, and I knew if I let go, she’d be gone. And now? Every time I see her breathing, I want to scream and cry and throw something.”

Her hands were trembling. “I don’t know what I feel.”

Maria looked at her carefully. Then said the one thing Natasha couldn’t bring herself to say: “You love her.”

“That’s none of your business..” Natasha muttered, voice hard.

“It became my business the second I saw her wake up and look around for you.”

That landed. Natasha’s jaw clenched. “She don’t need me there.”

“She wanted you there.”

Natasha said nothing. Maria’s voice dropped lower now. Gentle. Almost sad. “And now you’re not the only one she’s looking for.”

Natasha’s gaze flicked to her. “What?”

Maria hesitated. “Addison.”

Natasha blinked. “The new trauma nurse?”

“She came in with the post-shooting support team.”

“And?”

“She’s been visiting Y/n. A lot..I saw her talking.” Maria continued. “Yesterday. And again this morning.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. “Talking..” she echoed flatly.

Maria’s head tilted. “Laughing.”

Natasha’s jaw ticked. “I don’t know what it is.” Maria said honestly. “But I know it’s new. And I know you’re watching her slip through your fingers while you’re still hiding behind a damn window.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not showing up either.”

Natasha’s voice cracked. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Maria’s voice sharpened. “You’re scared. I know that. You almost lost her. I was in that OR with you, remember? I saw you fall apart in silence. But this..what you’re doing now, it’s not protecting her.”

Natasha’s arms folded tighter. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Start with ‘hi.’”

A bitter laugh left Natasha’s throat. Maria stepped closer. “She keeps asking about you.”

Natasha flinched. “She still looks at the door when someone walks in, like she’s hoping it’s you.” Maria said. “But it never is. And now? Addison’s the one walking through it.”

Silence. Maria softened. “Nat, you were the last person she saw before they pushed anesthesia. You were the last person who touched her heart before it stopped. You fought for her when everyone else gave up.”

She paused. “But none of that matters if you don’t show up now.”

Natasha’s fingers dug into her own arms. “I’m not…what if she doesn’t want me like that? What if she’s just grateful, and I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time?”

Maria smiled sadly. “Then find out. But do it before Addison does.”

Today:

The OR was cold, bright, silent, the kind of silence that buzzed just beneath the skin. Natasha stood at the head of the table, eyes locked on the open chest cavity in front of her. Everything else blurred around the edges. She had waited for this. Worked her ass off for it. One month post-shooting. Cleared. Back on the board. And her first transplant in weeks, a complicated arterial graft, high-risk.

And she was in her element. “Retractor.” she said quietly. “Suction to the left. I’m going for the clamp in three.”

She could hear the nurses shifting. Her team moving as one. She barely needed to look up. And then, the door slid open. Natasha didn’t glance up.

“Assistant requested?” came a familiar voice.

Addison... Of course. Natasha didn’t breathe. Just gave the briefest nod. “Welcome to the table.” Addison stepped into her field like she belonged there. She always did. Her gloved hands hovered just inside the sterile line, ready to step in.

“Need a vascular whisperer, huh?” Addison smiled beneath her mask.

Natasha’s lips barely moved. “Wall’s too calcified. Graft line’s tight.”

“Mm. Got it.” Addison leaned in, eyes scanning. “This part’s always delicate. You’re doing great.”

Natasha focused harder on the scalpel in her hand. They worked in tandem, moving without needing more than a word. But Addison? Addison was always the talker. And Natasha should’ve known she wouldn’t stay silent.

“You know.” Addison said softly, conversationally, like they weren’t elbows-deep in someone’s chest, “She told me this was the first surgery she ever watched you do.”

Natasha’s pulse stuttered. She said nothing. Addison kept going. “She said she watched you work like it was watching fire. That you didn’t even look real. I get it now.”

A nurse passed Natasha the graft tool. Her fingers shook, just for a second. “She always speaks so highly of you,.” Addison continued. “It’s cute, really..”

Natasha didn’t answer. Just clamped. “They told me you kept her alive. That you refused to stop even when the odds were nothing.”

“Focus.” Natasha said quietly. “I need to finish the arterial line.”

Addison didn’t flinch. She just softened her voice. “They said you didn’t let her go. Not even when they told you to. I’m…really glad you were there.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her eyes were glued to the thread-thin suture she was guiding through tissue and graft. Her jaw was locked. Her shoulders too still. Addison’s voice turned even gentler. “She’s alive because of you. And I get to love her because of you.”

There it was. That last part was a whisper. Almost an offering. And Natasha..She smiled. That tight, too-sharp, I-might-destroy-something smile that never reached her eyes.

“Well.” she murmured. “Glad to be of service.”

Addison smiled too, oblivious or maybe willfully blind. “You’re kind of a miracle worker.”

Natasha didn’t speak. She might’ve thrown the scalpel across the room if it hadn’t still been in her hand. They finished the graft in silence. And when the new heart began to beat beneath her fingertips, strong, steady, she knew it wasn’t the only one still bleeding.

Just the only one allowed to show it. Natasha stood at the scrub sink post-op, letting the hot water scorch her palms. Her gloves were off. Her mask hung from one ear. Her eyes were fixed on the stream of pink-tinged water circling the drain, a mess rinsing clean. Too bad that didn’t work on her chest..The door creaked open behind her. She didn’t look up.

“Hell of a job.” Addison said, her voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. Natasha didn’t respond. Just kept scrubbing.

Addison stepped closer, her own mask now gone, red hair tied back, skin glowing from OR lights and a little victory rush.

“You still work like a goddamn machine.” she added, admiring. “Cold hands, warm heart… no pun intended.”

Natasha shot her a look in the mirror. “You coming in here for compliments or to gloat?”

“She talks about you, you know.” Addison said, voice softer now. “Y/n. Not the way I’d expect, given your history. Not with bitterness. Not even anger.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change, but the pulse in her throat betrayed her. Addison leaned in slightly. “She talks like someone who never really got over something she didn’t let herself want.”

“I was her boss.”

“She was also in your bed.”

Natasha didn’t move. Addison’s smile widened. “One night, right?”

Natasha turned her head. Slowly. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because I think it matters to you more than you let on.”

The air thickened. “I think..” Addison said, stepping back just a little, enough to feel like a threat pulled away, “you had her. You let her go. And now you can’t stand to see someone else hold what you dropped.”

Natasha laughed under her breath. Dry and dangerous. “You sound awfully smug for someone still checking over their shoulder.”

Addison’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, I’m not worried. She loves me.”

Natasha’s jaw twitched. “That’s new.”

Addison smiled. “No, Natasha. That’s earned.”

The OR was long cleared. The adrenaline had faded. The applause, the soft congratulations, the proud looks from the interns, it was all gone now. And Natasha was alone. The desk in the resident workroom was cluttered with post-op paperwork. Charts, vitals, blood gas reports, transplant summaries. Neatly stacked, just how she liked them. Her pen moved in clean, practiced strokes, her handwriting steady even when her heart wasn’t.

It had taken everything in her to keep still during that surgery. Everything not to shake when Addison leaned closer, asked for the scalpel, and casually said, “She talks about you, you know.” Everything not to respond. Not to react. Not to scream.

Natasha clenched her jaw now, eyes locked on the patient chart, but she wasn’t reading the numbers. Her focus had shifted somewhere quieter. Somewhere painful. The door opened. She didn’t look up. Maria walked in like she belonged there, because she did. Clipboard in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other. Her steps slowed when she saw Natasha still sitting there, back rigid, shoulders squared like she was in an invisible battle.

“I heard you were in the transplant with Addison..” Maria said, soft but pointed. Natasha didn’t answer. Maria stepped closer, leaned against the desk. “How’d it go?”

The question hung between them. Natasha took her time placing her pen down, folding the chart closed with perfect care. She adjusted the edge until it aligned exactly with the stack beneath it. Her hand stayed on the file for a second longer than necessary. Then, finally, she looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, but dry. Her voice was even, but low.

“You were right.” Natasha said. Maria tilted her head. “About what?”

“I lost her.”

The words didn’t slam out, they fell, heavy and quiet, like a knife dropped onto concrete. Maria’s breath hitched, just slightly. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let Natasha keep going.

“I kept telling myself there’d be time..” Natasha said, eyes unfocused. “That I’d wait until she was better. Stronger. Until I was cleared. Until I wasn’t a mess.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. “But Addison didn’t wait.”

Silence. “I watched her put her hand on her shoulder in the scrub room last week. Like it meant something. Like she belonged there.” Natasha exhaled slowly, like the admission physically hurt. “And maybe she does.”

Maria’s voice was quiet. “She only got in because you never tried.”

Natasha let her head fall back slightly, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of being the person who loved someone and didn’t know how to keep them!”

Maria took a step forward. “Nat-”

“I thought if I stayed quiet, if I kept my distance, it would make everything easier.”

She laughed under her breath. “It didn’t.”

Maria didn’t say I told you so. She didn’t need to. She just stood there, watching the strongest woman she knew finally let the truth settle into her bones. Natasha pressed her palms flat to the desk, bracing herself. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She looked so happy today.”

Maria said gently, “Would you rather she wasn’t?”

Natasha closed her eyes. “No. God, no.”

Her jaw trembled. “I just wish it was me.”

Silence wrapped around them again, not cruel, but raw. Maria reached over, placed a steady hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “She’s not gone. You didn’t lose her like that. You just…let her slip through your fingers.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. “She was in your hands once, Nat. Heart in your hands. And now someone else is holding it.” The chart beneath her hand still bore your name in neat black ink. Natasha stared at it. And didn’t move.

24 days before:

Natasha sat stiffly in the therapist’s office chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The small room felt too warm, too close, but her posture remained impeccably controlled. She answered the therapist’s gentle questions with clipped, clinical precision.

“I’m fine.” she said for the third time, her voice cool and even. “It was an unfortunate incident, but I’m ready to get back to work.”

The hospital trauma therapist , a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a soft voice nodded patiently, pen hovering over a notepad. “You went through a lot, Dr. Romanoff.” the therapist said quietly. “It’s okay if you’re not completely fine. Let’s talk about what happened in that OR.”

At the mention of the OR, Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her mind immediately pushed back against the memory threatening to surface, your blood on her gloves, the flatline tone screaming in her ears, the cold muzzle of a gun at her temple. She forced those images down, focusing instead on the steady tick of the clock on the wall.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Natasha replied, forcing a shrug. The effect was meant to be nonchalant, but her shoulders felt rigid. “My patient is alive. I did my job. End of story.”

Her tone was measured, almost detached. Only the slight tremor in her fingers, hidden as she clasped her hands in her lap, hinted at anything beneath the cool exterior. She was determined to keep it that way. Years of training taught her how to lock away fear and pain behind a steel wall of professionalism. She wasn’t about to let it crack now. The therapist offered a sympathetic smile. “Natasha…may I call you Natasha?”

A curt nod was the only answer she got. “Natasha, you performed CPR on her for nearly 4 minutes. You were still doing compressions when the shooter came in and forced you to stop at gunpoint.”

Natasha’s stomach clenched at the calm description of that horrific moment. She fixed her gaze on a spot on the floor, willing her face to remain impassive. The therapist continued gently, “That is a tremendous amount of trauma for anyone to process, especially when the person on that table is someone you…” she paused, “care about.”

For a split second, Natasha’s eyes squeezed shut, a flash of pain breaking through. Care about. The phrase was such an understatement it was almost laughable. But when Natasha opened her eyes again, they were cold, guarded.

“With respect.” she said sharply, “I don’t need a counseling session to tell me what I already know. I saved her life. It was traumatic, sure, but I’ve seen traumatic things before. I’m trained for this.”

Her words came out harder than intended, a defensive edge creeping in. The therapist leaned forward slightly, unfazed by Natasha’s icy tone. “You’re trained to handle medical emergencies, yes. But this wasn’t just any emergency. This was someone you love in danger.”

Natasha flinched at the word love and quickly masked it by sitting up even straighter. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, using the sharp pain to ground herself.

“It’s my job to handle it.” she replied, voice brittle. “And I handled it. She’s alive. I’m fine.”

The repetition of that phrase..I’m fine sounded hollow even to her own ears, and she hated it. She hated that her emotions were threatening to surface here, in this sterile room under the scrutiny of a stranger’s empathy. The therapist made a note on her pad, then looked back at Natasha, her expression gentle but firm. “I understand why you’d want to move on quickly. But the hospital requires clearance after an incident like this. I need to be sure you’re really ready. Right now, it sounds like you’re avoiding the feelings this brought up.”

Natasha’s temper, usually so carefully controlled, flickered at that. “Avoiding?” she echoed, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping before she could stop it. “What do you want me to say? That I was scared?”

She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her green eyes narrowing. “Of course I was scared. Any surgeon would be, in that situation. But I did what I had to do. I don’t see how dissecting my feelings about it now is going to help anyone.”

The therapist met her glare calmly. “Talking about it can help you, Natasha. You went into fight-or-flight mode and haven’t come down. It might help to acknowledge what you went through. You didn’t just witness a trauma; you experienced it firsthand.”

She paused, voice softening. “You almost lost someone you love in that OR.”

Natasha’s controlled facade wavered. She felt a burning pressure behind her eyes and immediately looked away to stare at the diploma on the wall. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. Almost lost was an understatement. In her mind’s eye she saw your body jerking under her hands with each compression, saw the heart monitor flatline…heard her own voice screaming your name. Natasha’s fingers dug into her palm so hard it hurt. Don’t you dare, she scolded herself, fighting back the sting of tears.

She would not break down. Not here. Silence hung between them for a long moment. At last, the therapist sighed quietly and closed the notebook. “Natasha, I can’t clear you for surgical duty yet.”

Natasha’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Her voice came out sharp, disbelief and anger lacing the words. A hot spike of frustration shot through her chest. “I’m perfectly capable of operating.” The therapist’s words felt like a slap; surgery was Natasha’s purpose, the one area she always maintained control. Now they wanted to bench her? Her nails bit deeper crescents into her palms.

“I know this is frustrating.” the therapist replied evenly. “But your reactions today show me that you’re still in a state of acute stress. If I send you back to the OR without processing this, it could be dangerous for you and for your patients. You need a little more time and support. Maybe another session or two.”

Natasha shot to her feet, pacing a few steps across the tiny office. The controlled mask was slipping, anger seeping through the cracks. “I don’t need time!” she insisted, each word clipped. “What I need is to do my job. Sitting here talking in circles isn’t helping anyone.”

She knew she was practically snarling, but she couldn’t help it. Being told no ignited something panicked in her chest, a desperate need to regain normalcy, to scrub off the lingering feeling of helplessness by throwing herself back into work. The therapist remained seated, eyes following Natasha with a mix of concern and resolve. “Natasha, please..” she said softly. “This isn’t a punishment. You went through something terrible. It’s only been a week.” Only a week.

It felt like an eternity trapped in one endless nightmare replaying behind Natasha’s eyes. She dragged a hand through her hair, realizing belatedly it was trembling and quickly dropping it back to her side. She took a breath, forcing her voice into a colder register. “I said, I’m fine. I don’t need more time.”

But the quaver beneath her words betrayed her. Even she heard it. The therapist stood now as well, maintaining a respectful distance. “I’m sorry.” she said, and she truly sounded sorry. “I know you want to get back to the OR, but I have to do what’s best for you. For now, I’m not clearing you.”

Natasha’s hands balled into fists at her sides. A storm of emotion roiled in her chest , indignation, fear, and an ache of frustration threatening to choke her. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure whether a scream or a sob might come out.

Instead, she gave a tight nod, snatched her jacket from the chair, and strode to the door. Her vision blurred for just an instant as she grasped the doorknob. Pull it together, she scolded herself harshly. She blinked the wetness from her eyes, willing her composure back. Without another word or a backward glance, Natasha yanked the door open and stepped out into the hallway, letting it shut perhaps a bit too hard behind her.

Today:

The hospital floor had settled into a lull. Monitors beeped lazily. The fluorescent lights above cast a soft white glow over tired staff. At the edge of the counter, Natasha Romanoff stood with one hand on a patient chart, pen poised, focus razor-sharp. Or at least, that’s what she wanted it to look like. She wasn’t writing. She was pretending to write. And Maria Hill saw right through it.

“Uh huh..” Maria said, striding up beside her. “Busy with that chart, I see. Real intense.”

Natasha didn’t look up. “Complicated case.”

“Right.” Maria drawled. “So complicated you forgot to call back the girl I hand-delivered to you.”

Natasha gave her a glance. “You what?”

“That ICU nurse. Red scrubs. Obvious crush. You were supposed to call her three nights ago.”

Natasha shrugged, barely hiding her smirk. “I got distracted.”

Maria crossed her arms. “You haven’t touched anyone in weeks.”

“Not a crime.”

“It is when you’re Romanoff and you’re acting like a nun. Something’s wrong with the world order.”

Natasha’s smirk twitched wider. “I’ve evolved.”

“You’ve repressed.” Just then, a laugh echoed down the hallway. The kind that hit too loud, too warm. Maria and Natasha both looked. You.

Coming out of one of the one-night rooms. Scrubs a little wrinkled. Cheeks flushed. Addison Montgomery trailing behind you with the cocky kind of smirk that only came from a very satisfying break. You were laughing at something Addison whispered into your ear. The sound hit Natasha in the chest like a punch wrapped in silk.

Maria’s voice softened just slightly. “They’ve got rhythm now, huh?” Natasha didn’t answer. She just looked away, pen tapping absently against the edge of the chart.

“She’s happy.” she said after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

Maria narrowed her eyes. “You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

“You’re over it?”

“I’m fine, Maria.”

“Sure..” Maria said, too sweet. “You look great. Pale. Unkissed. Basically one step from adopting twelve cats and crying during shampoo commercials.”

Natasha snorted, finally giving her a real look. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re lying.”

Natasha tilted her head, amused. “Oh?”

Maria leaned in, eyes sly. “You used to bring women to their knees with a look, Nat. You flirted like it was a blood sport. You had entire departments whispering after you walked by.”

“And now?”

Maria shrugged. “Now you’re reading vitals like they’re romance novels and making up fake cases so you don’t have to walk past the one-night rooms.”

Natasha exhaled a laugh, dry and low. Maria didn’t let up. “I miss that Romanoff. The one who made the air thick with tension. Who could snap her fingers and make anyone follow her into a storage closet just to beg.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Beg?”

“You know I’m right.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Natasha’s smile turned sharper. She tilted her head, lips parting slowly.

“You want that Romanoff back?”

“I dare you.” Maria said, grinning.

Just then, a nurse passed by, tall, striking, early thirties, glancing up from her tablet. She caught Natasha’s eye. Blushed. Fumbled slightly with her pen. Maria arched a brow. “Perfect timing.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. She stepped away from the nurses’ station and fell into step beside the woman, voice smooth as honey.

“Hey.” Natasha said, easy and low. “Long shift?”The nurse looked up, visibly startled, and then visibly flustered. “Yeah..Ten hours.”

Natasha offered the kind of smile that always came with a price. “You know what helps with that?”

The nurse swallowed. “What?”

“Letting someone else do all the hard work.”

Maria almost choked on her own coffee. The nurse laughed, nervously, excitedly, and Natasha leaned in just a little.

“I’ve got ten minutes..” she murmured, “and I promise you won’t be thinking about work when I’m done.”

The nurse blushed hard. “Are you-do you mean..?”

Natasha nodded toward the hallway. “Supply room. Now or never.”

The nurse didn’t even hesitate. As they disappeared together into the hall, Natasha tossed one last glance over her shoulder at Maria. Maria raised her arms in mock worship. “There she is!” Natasha winked. And vanished into the dark with the nurse.

Days later, Natasha blinks down at the chart in her hand again, but the words blur. She’s not even supposed to be here, her shift ended thirty minutes ago, but the second she saw the name on the appointment list, she hadn’t walked away. She hadn’t even hesitated. The door clicks open behind her.

“Nat?”

She turns. You stand there in scrubs, slightly flushed from running up the stairs. Your smile is tight, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

“I, uh..” You clear your throat. “I was supposed to have a follow-up with one of the trauma nurses today. About the scar. And they need someone from cardio to sit in.”

Natasha arches a brow. “You could’ve asked anyone.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip. “But I asked you..”

That pulls Natasha short. For a beat, she just…stares. She knows Addison works the late shift today. Knows this isn’t about logistics. Not entirely. And for the briefest second, she lets herself feel it, that flicker of something private.

“I’ll come.” she says quietly.

You smile, wide this time, and lead the way. The room smells like antiseptic and lavender lotion, a weird mix, like someone tried to cover up the clinical with something softer. You sit on the exam table, legs dangling. Natasha leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, pretending to be casual. She’s not.

“So…” You look down. “You and that nurse.”

Natasha’s head tilts. “Which nurse?”

You smirk. “Oh come on. The one with the long lashes. Room 4C?”

Natasha chuckles, surprised. “You keeping tabs on me now?”

“No.” You shrug. “Just proud of you.”

That hits deeper than it should. Natasha blinks. “We’ve been through hell.” you say softly. “And now you’re, you know. Living again. That’s a good thing.”

Natasha says nothing. The silence stretches a little too long. So you look away, your voice dipping lower. “I mean, I don’t know everything that happened that day. What it was like for you. But I know it must’ve been…more.”

More than you can imagine. More than anyone knows. Before Natasha can respond, the door opens and a nurse steps in. “Hey.” the woman says brightly. “You ready to take a look?”

You nod, swallowing hard. Your posture shifts..stiffens. Natasha sees it immediately. The tension in your jaw. The way your hands twist in your lap. “Just need to raise the gown a little..there we go.”

The nurse gently lifts the hem, exposing the scar across your chest. It’s mostly healed now, red and jagged but clean. No infection. No swelling. But it’s not the physical part that gets you. It’s the look in your eyes. Wide. Flickering. Lost in a memory you don’t want to relive.

Natasha swallows. And then, without thinking, she moves. Her hand slides into yours. You flinch for half a second, but then exhale slow, shaky. You squeeze back. Just once. Natasha’s eyes drop to the scar. She sees the angle of it. The tissue damage. Her own scalpel. Her own hands. And suddenly-

Blood.

Suction.

Flatline.

The weight of a heart in her palm.

She blinks it away before it swallows her. The nurse murmurs something about tissue healing well and finishes up, giving you both a quick smile before ducking out. The second the door clicks shut, you finally speak.

“It still hurts sometimes.”

Natasha nods. “I know.”

You look at her. And for a second, neither of you pretends. After a while the doctor existed you.

“Hey.” you say, almost hesitant. “Are you… doing anything tonight?”

Natasha blinks, caught off guard. “No. Not unless a liver decides to rupture last-minute.”

You smile. “Wanna go to Joe’s?”

Natasha looks at you. Really looks at you. “Joe’s?”

“Yeah. Just us. I, um…I want to talk to you. Something important.” Something warm flutters in Natasha’s chest. Not fast. Not loud. Just…there.

She nods. “Sure.” The bar isn’t full yet. Just the low hum of chatter, a clink of glasses, and the smell of fried everything. You claim the usual booth in the back, the one you’d stumbled into on late nights after 36-hour shifts, shoes kicked off beneath the table. You’re already sipping a beer when Natasha joins you.

You talk for nearly an hour. About the new cardio attending who thinks he’s God’s gift to women and can’t intubate for shit. About Addison’s constant NPR podcasts in the morning. About that intern who almost passed out during a C-section. Natasha laughs more than she expects to. And every time you smile at her, really smile something unravels a little deeper in her chest. Then you go quiet. Your fingers toy with the edge of a napkin.

“Okay..” you say finally. “This is the part I was nervous about.”

Natasha straightens slightly, heart picking up just enough for her to feel it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you..” you continue, voice gentle. “But I didn’t want to just spring it on you at work.”

Natasha swallows. “Okay…”

You look up at her, eyes warm, almost shy. “I’m getting married.”

The words land like ice water. Natasha doesn’t flinch. She smiles. “Oh.” she says, her voice honey-smooth. “Wow. Congratulations.”

Your face lights up, radiant, soft. “Thanks.”

Natasha doesn’t blink. She can’t afford to. “I wanted to tell you before it went around the hospital..” you add. “And I wanted to…ask you something.”

Natasha nods once, tight. Bracing. “I’d really love if you came to the wedding.”

Natasha laughs, light, effortless, the way she’s perfected it. “You want me there when Addison says ‘I do’? That’s brave.”

You smile, a little bashful. “You’re not just anyone. You…you saved my life. You were there when I came back. And somehow, even with all the crazy and all the silence, you became one of my closest friends.”

Natasha’s throat burns. But she nods. “Of course I’ll be there.” Your shoulders drop with relief. “Really?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” There’s a long pause, soft and full of nothing but old music and the distant crack of a pool ball across the bar. “You’re important to me, Nat.” you say quietly.

Natasha looks at you then. And for just a second, a flicker, a heartbeat, she lets the smile drop. Just enough for it to feel real. “I know.” she whispers.

“You can bring someone to the wedding. If you want.”

Natasha blinks, startled for just a second. “Oh. Uh…”

“I mean..” you continue quickly, “you don’t have to. I just thought, I don’t know. That nurse..?”

Natasha smirks faintly. “Sophie.”

You smile. “Right. Sophie.”

Natasha nods. “I’ll ask her.”

You nudge her again, teasing this time. “So it is serious.”

Natasha’s smile stays in place. Just the right shape. Just the right strength. “She knows what she’s doing.” she says lightly. “Smart. Funny. Kind of scary with a scalpel.”

You grin. “Your type, then.”

Then she picked up her drink. “To love.”

“To love.” you repeat.

It was getting late. The kind of late where the streets are mostly empty and the neon beer signs flicker like they’re too tired to glow properly. Inside, Joe’s is half-lit and half-full, music soft and low, the clatter of glasses still carrying over low conversations.

Natasha leans back against the booth, her second, no, fourth, whiskey sliding warm through her veins. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a little messy from where she’s run her fingers through it a hundred times tonight. Across from her, you laugh, red in the cheeks, buzzing with that same alcohol warmth. Your beer is barely touched, but the shots Maria lined up earlier had done enough damage.

“I can’t believe you actually challenged Mark to a ‘who can hold a plank longer’ contest!” you giggle, leaning forward to steal one of the peanuts from Natasha’s side of the table.

“He insulted my abs.” Natasha slurs a little, smug. “That’s a war crime.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re laughing.” Natasha points out, finger waggling dramatically. “Which means you love it.”

“I think I’m just drunk.”

“Drunk on me..again.” Natasha declares with a lazy smirk. You roll your eyes but grin. “You’re such a menace when you drink.” You finish the last of your glasses in clinks and shaky giggles, Natasha tilting her head back to drain the final sip. She exhales hard and slow, letting the silence fall for just a beat between you. Then, Natasha murmurs, “I wish I was her.”

You furrow your brow. “Who?” Natasha blinks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Addison.”

There’s a pause. Then you snort. “Are you drunk-flirting with me again?”

“I’m serious.” Natasha says, voice suddenly softer. “I wish I was the one who got to hold your hand in public. Got to kiss you whenever I wanted. Got to…just be with you.”

You stare at her. “Nat-”

But Natasha’s eyes are glassy now, her voice dipping somewhere vulnerable and dangerous. “You remember that night? The one night. Before the hospital. Before the shooting.“ You don’t answer. Natasha sways slightly in her seat, drunk and raw. “It wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

A beat of silence. Then Natasha’s hand moves, hesitant, trembling, reaching across the table to cover yours. And you don’t pull away. So Natasha leans forward. She’s close enough to taste the alcohol on your breath, to see the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Close enough that if you moved an inch forward, your mouths would meet.

And then they do. Just for a second. Lips brushing, soft and unsure, a kiss not of hunger, but ache. But the second it happens- You pull back. Not harsh or angry. Just startled. Reality slamming between you. Natasha jerks back, guilt flashing instantly across her face. “Shit- shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

You exhale, blinking hard. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to-” Natasha scrubs her hand across her face. “No, I did, but I shouldn’t have-”

You reach out gently, laying your hand on Natasha’s arm. “Hey.”

Natasha stops. “It’s okay..” you repeat, quieter now. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. And we’re both a little stupid tonight.”

Natasha laughs, hollow and small. You give a soft smile back. “Let’s just get home before one of us makes another mistake.”

Natasha nods, throat tight. “Yeah. Good idea.” But as you stumble out into the night, side by side, shoulders brushing- Natasha doesn’t stop wishing she could go back. Just one more second..Just long enough to see if you would’ve kissed her back if you hadn’t pulled away first.

1 Month later:

The hospital hums like it always does, monitors beeping, carts rattling down hallways, someone yelling about a misplaced chart. But something’s different. Something feels different. Everyone’s smiling more. Because everyone knows what today is.

“Bride incoming!” someone calls out as you step off the elevator, clipboard in hand. A round of playful cheers echo from the nurses’ station.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re the one still working on your wedding day..” An intern calls from across the hallway, raising a brow. “That’s what’s ridiculous.”

“I just had one patient left to check on.” you insist, waving the chart. “It’s not like I’m gonna flatline on the way to the altar.”

“You better not.” a nurse mutters. “Or we’re doing CPR in tulle.”

That earns a laugh. But even as the staff clears the path for you, teasing and cheering, you duck behind a corner near the stairwell, just for a second. Just to breathe.

And then- “Really?” Addison’s voice rings out with that unmistakable blend of fondness and sass. “You’re hiding?”

You wince and peek around the corner. Addison is standing there in wine-colored scrubs, her hair half-up, makeup soft and done just enough to hint at the occasion. Your smile is sheepish. “I just needed a second.”

Addison steps closer, arms crossed. “You do know the whole ‘you can’t see the bride’ thing only counts when the bride’s actually in the dress, right?”

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, well. Close enough.”

Addison’s gaze softens. “You okay?”

“I’m…excited.” you admit. Then, quieter, “And maybe a little freaked out.”

Addison steps forward, slipping her arms gently around your waist. “That’s fair. But I promise not to let you run.”

You lean into her, breathing in the familiar scent of Addison’s perfume, something clean and crisp, like citrus and lavender. “You’d tackle me in the aisle, wouldn’t you?”

Addison smirks. “With love.”

You stand there for a quiet beat, the sound of the hospital fading under the weight of the moment.

“Do I at least get to see the dress before the ceremony?” Addison asks, nosing along your temple.

You pull back just enough to grin. “Nope. Rules are rules.”

Addison groans. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’ll head out soon. Just wanted one last round.”

“Of what?” You look around the hospital, your second home. Your battlefield. The place that nearly broke you…and gave you everything. “One last moment before everything changes.”

Addison presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at the altar.” You move down the corridor with a tablet in hand, scribbling notes from your last patient. Your hair is pulled up hastily, your badge slightly crooked, but you’re focused, in that calm, collected way you always are when your mind is busy. “Watch it-”

You collide into someone turning the corner. The tablet nearly drops, but steady hands catch you before it does. “Gotcha.” a familiar voice murmurs. You look up. Natasha. All black scrubs. Her hair is pulled back messily, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on her temples, the kind that only comes from a surgery done right. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Natasha chuckles, letting go of your arm slowly. “I noticed.” Her voice is low. Playful. But there’s something…careful in her eyes. “What are you still doing here? I thought today was…kind of a big deal?”

You give her a sheepish look. “I had a couple things to finish up. Patients don’t stop needing care just because I’m getting married in a few hours.”

Natasha nods once, smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Right. Of course.”

There’s a beat. Something unsaid is heavy in the space between you. Natasha shifts, then clears her throat, trying not to look as nervous as she feels. “Hey. That night. At Joe’s…” You look up sharply.

Natasha tries to keep it casual. “Do you… remember it?”

There’s a flash of something in your eyes. Surprise. Maybe something more. But you recover quickly, smiling, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “No..” you shrug. “I don’t know. I was pretty tipsy. You know how Joe’s gets. Loud. Blurry.”

You say it lightly. Natasha blinks once. Nods slowly. “Right.” She smiles. “Blurry.”

Her voice is quieter now. But steady. “Well…I should go. I’ve got charts to finish and, you know. A suit to iron.”

You laugh. “Oh..suit?”

Natasha shrugs with a smirk. “I’m full of surprises.” Then, just as she’s about to turn. A loud chorus echoes from down the hall. “Y/n!”

Your family. Your mom, arms wide. A younger cousin carrying a bouquet. A sibling with a camera already filming. They descend like a joyful storm, ushering you away, laughing and pulling you by the hand. Your smile blossoms instantly, all light and love. But right before you’re swept away completely, you glance back. And Natasha is still standing there, watching. Smiling. Still. But her eyes are dimmer now. Just a little. You lift a hand in a small wave, mouthing: “See you there.” Natasha lifts her fingers in a wave, too. Then she turns.

The golden light from the wide windows filters in like honey, soft and warm against the white walls and the lace-trimmed veil draped over the vanity chair. The hum of string music floats faintly from the garden outside. Everything is quiet. Perfect. You stand in front of the mirror in your wedding dress. You’re breathtaking. Hair pinned just right. Lips glossed in a soft pink. The gown fits like it was made for you,elegant, timeless, radiant. But your fingers fidget at the edge of the lace bodice. You exhale, shallow and slow, eyes meeting your own reflection like you’re trying to steady yourself.

Then, the door creaks open. Your intern, Jules, pokes her head in. Dressed to the nines in a simple plum bridesmaid gown, her hair curled, her grin wide. “Is the bride taking visitors? Or are we preserving the mystique?”

You turn, grinning. “Come in, before I sweat through this dress.” Jules walks in, stops just a few feet away, and lets her eyes sweep up and down, clearly stunned. “Holy crap…You look like the main character in every love story I’ve ever watched at 3 a.m. while crying into ice cream.”

You laugh, the kind that wrinkles your nose. “Wow. That good?”

“Better.” She steps closer, adjusting a tiny piece of veil near your shoulder.

“You happy?” You nod slowly. “Yeah. I really am.”

Your voice is soft, certain, but there’s a slight tightness in it. “Good. You deserve happy. Especially after…you know. Everything.”

A silence hangs between you for a moment, not heavy, but not light either. Then Jules smiles again, trying to lift the mood. “Honestly? If you’d told me months ago that I’d be here watching you marry Addison Montgomery, I would’ve lost a bet.”

You raise an amused brow. “What, you didn’t think we’d make it?”

“No, I just…” She hesitates, then shrugs, “I kinda thought you were gonna end up with Romanoff.” The words land like a soft, slow punch. Your breath catches. “What?”

“Oh. sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It just…I don’t know. Back then, after the shooting, it was like she only existed when you were in the room. The way she looked at you? It wasn’t subtle. None of us thought it was just professional.”

You turn back to the mirror slowly, your eyes distant. “She never said anything.”

“She didn’t have to.”

Your fingers still against the edge of the vanity. Your heart thuds once, too hard. “What exactly… do you mean?”

Jules shifts, suddenly realizing this might be more than casual talk. “I mean… I guess no one ever told you?”

You turn to face her, serious now. “Told me what?”

Jules opens her mouth. Then sighs. “Okay. Don’t freak out, but.. when you were in the OR, after the shooting, your heart stopped. Maria unclamped the cable to fake a flatline when the shooter came in. The machine went quiet on purpose.”

Your face drains of color. “And Natasha…she lost it. She refused to stop. Even with a gun pointed at her. She kept fighting for you. Said she could still feel your heart fluttering. She was shaking. Crying. But she wouldn’t let you go.”

You stumble backward, gripping the back of the chair. You sit, hard. Your vision blurs, like you’re trying to remember something you never got to witness. “They said she only let go when Maria begged her to, for everyone’s safety. She looked like she broke right there. After that…she was different. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t talk to anyone. She didn’t step into an OR for almost a month.”

You stare at the floor. Your mind races, back to Joe’s. That drunken kiss. The way Natasha looked at you. How she said, “I wish I was her…” and meant it.

All this time. You’d thought it was just a drunken mistake. A blip. But it wasn’t, was it? It was grief. Jules swallows, realizing her mistake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t need this today, I just-”

You look up suddenly, and your smile is back. But it’s different now. “It’s okay. Really.”

“I love Addison. I’m marrying Addison.” You exhale. “Whatever that was with Natasha… it’s in the past.”

Your voice is strong. Steady. And your hands are shaking in your lap. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

Jules leans down, squeezes your shoulder gently. “I’ll give you a minute.”

You nod. The door shuts. And you’re alone with the reflection again. Your fingers brush the scar on your chest, just visible in the low dip of the neckline. A line Natasha once held in her hands. You close your eyes. And for a second… you let yourself wonder: What if? But then you stand. Straighten your veil. And walk toward your own happy ending. Even if it’s not the one you expected.

The soft hush of music filled the air, delicate piano echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling of the garden hall. White flowers lined every aisle. Rows of guests, hushed and smiling, turned their heads in unison. You stepped into view.

Your gown shimmered in the afternoon light, every stitch tailored with care. You held a small bouquet of white lilacs and peonies, Addison’s favorite. Your father’s arm was steady at your side. Your eyes, uncertain, but brave, locked ahead, on the woman waiting for you at the altar. Addison stood poised, radiant in an ivory suit, the softest smile blooming across her face. Love, unmistakable and unfiltered, shone in her eyes as she watched you take each step closer.

In the second row, dressed in slate-gray, Natasha Romanoff sat still. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, fingers pale where they pressed into each other. A fine sheen of sweat coated her brow, though the room was cool. She didn’t blink. Barely breathed. She’d rehearsed this, told herself a hundred times she could do it.

But as the pastor began to speak, each word was like glass beneath her ribs. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” You reached Addison, gently taking her hands. Your fingers laced together, familiar and warm. You exchanged a quick look, loving, easy. Your lips twitched into a nervous smile.

Natasha didn’t blink. Beside her, Sophia leaned in slightly. “You okay?” she whispered. Natasha didn’t answer. Just nodded. The pastor continued. “If any person here knows of any lawful impediment as to why these two should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. Her pulse roared in her ears. She looked around. No one moved. Not a breath stirred. Her own legs tensed. She turned to Sophia, barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Then she stood. A quiet murmur rippled through the guests. Addison’s expression didn’t shift, but her grip on your hand tightened. Natasha looked like she hadn’t meant to stand. Her hand hovered uselessly by her side. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. And then, as if gravity caught up, she started to sit again- But stopped.

Instead, her voice, shaky, but clear, cut through the stunned silence. “I can’t.

Every head turned. Your eyes widened. Addison’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said, her voice rising now, firmer.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t plan to ruin this, I swear. I was gonna let you go. I wanted to. I told myself that was the right thing.” Her eyes found yours. Just yours.

“But I can’t sit here and watch you promise your whole life to someone else…without saying this.”

She stepped into the aisle now. The guests parted like waves. “I didn’t show up when I should have. Not after the shooting. Not after. I stayed away because I thought I’d break you even more.”

Her voice cracked. “But the truth is…I broke myself.”

Natasha swallowed hard, shaking her head. “That day, when I brought you to the OR, I wasn’t thinking about duty or protocol or even survival. I was thinking about your laugh. Your sarcasm. The stupid way you always corrected some post-op notes with a pink pen.”

A soft, stunned laugh rippled somewhere in the crowd. Natasha didn’t blink. “When your heart stopped, I didn’t let go. I held it in my hands. I begged it to come back. Even when- I just couldn’t.”

She looked down. Her voice softer now. “Because it wasn’t just your life I was trying to save.”

She looked up again. Straight into you. “It was mine too.”

The room held its breath. You stood frozen at the altar. Pale. Silent. Addison’s grip on your hand had loosened. Natasha took one more shaky step forward.

“You asked me that night at Joe’s…what I meant.” She exhaled, brokenly. “I meant that I’ve been in love with you since the first time you rolled your eyes at me in the trauma bay. Since the first coffee. Since the night we lost ourselves and pretended it meant nothing.”

She smiled, a tired, tear-bright smile. “But it meant everything to me.”

And then Natasha whispered, “I love you.”

Dead silence. The words hung in the air like smoke. And then, softly, apologetically, Natasha stepped back.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to say anything. I just…couldn’t let today pass without you knowing.”And with that, she turned to walk away. The room didn’t move. Neither did you.

The silence was crushing. The kind of silence that bent time. You stood frozen at the altar. Addison’s hand had just fallen from yours. The bouquet was on the floor behind you. Your chest rose and fell too quickly. You could still feel the echo of Natasha’s voice, raw and real and shattering, and now the room was full of stares, but you couldn’t see any of them.

Your eyes were locked on the door Natasha had disappeared through. And then you looked at Addison. Her face was unreadable. But her eyes- They weren’t angry. They were knowing.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard. “I’m sorry..” you said.

Addison blinked. “Y/n…”

“I’m so-” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”

Addison took a shaky breath and smiled. It was sad. But not bitter. “Go.”

Your chest clenched. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” Addison whispered. “But she’s out there.” That was all it took. You turned and ran.

Part 5

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov

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roc-haze · 5 months ago

Text

Arm’s Length | Will Lenney

Read Part 1 here!

In which Will is all in.

——

Cal: Can we talk? I miss you.

“I didn’t realise that you and Cal were still talking.” Will’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“We’re not, really. Why? Has something happened?” Y/N looked to his phone. “Is he texting you?”.

“Darling, this is your phone.” Will handed it to her, the screen illuminating.

She looked at the message, confused but deciding to lay the phone face down.

“Are you gonna get back to him?” Will asked.

“Not right now. It’s probably a drunk text,” she rested her hand over the top of his. “Anyway… back to what I was saying.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what really happened between you two?” Will chose his tone carefully, not wanting to sound too accusatory.

The group were largely unaware of the small romance between Cal and Y/N. Bach had spotted them walking hand in hand through the tube station on a Wednesday evening, but put it down to nothing after finding Cal swiping through Tinder the following weekend. Will, however, had an inside source. Harry Lewis.

They had been filming a pub golf video for Chris’s channel when Harry had brought it up.

“Mate.. can you believe Y/N and Lux?” Harry lowered his voice.

“What do you mean?” Will hadn’t heard anything from Y/N.

“She hasn’t said anything?”. Harry cocked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure they’re together. Like in a serious way. He was asking if he should introduce her to his family.”

“If it’s legit, she’ll tell me when she’s ready.” Will took a sip of his drink, avoiding meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Do you think she’s embarrassed of him? It seems like he wants everyone to know… but she hasn’t even told you? You basically live in her pocket.” Harry questioned Will, somewhat disbelieving his longtime friend.

“Nah, I don’t think she’d be embarrassed of ‘im. He’s a good lad. It’s probably just a lot to figure your shit out with a group as big as this.” Will had always known Y/N to be calm. Level headed. Always with a plan. She’s just probably not ready to tell people yet. She wouldn’t until she was sure he was the one.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not gonna lie mate, I thought it would be you.”

Less than 3 weeks later, Y/N had thrown herself into work. Cal had stopped posting stories of two wine glasses and snippets of songs Y/N had just happened to like. But to their friends, nothing had ever happened. They had always interacted politely, and they moved forward normally. Hey Y/N, you look well. A quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. You too! Did you go to the football this weekend?

When Will had asked her about it, Y/N had just said, “nothing really happened between us… we’re just better off as mates.” He had his suspicions that there was something a little more sinister going on. Maybe one of them had been a little controlling. Or there was a third person in the picture. Cal immediately reinstating his Tinder profile reeked of unfaithful. “That’s a shame. You deserve someone good.” Like me, he felt like saying.

“If I’m being perfectly honest… Cal was starting to feel like he was the placeholder for you.” Y/N hesitated telling him the full truth. “I feel like such a dick. He figured out my feelings about you long before I did. I just kinda feel like I’ve dropped him in shit and then left.”

Will’s face softened. “Fuck. I always kinda assumed the worst.” He shifted in his seat, hand covering his mouth. “No wonder he hasn’t called me recently.”

“Oh come on, Will. It’s a two way street. You haven’t reached out to him either.” Y/N pursed her lips.

“I know… we have that dinner for Freezy’s birthday coming up. I’ll try and talk to him then,” Will reached out for her hand, intertwining their fingers. “Okay.. let’s make sure he’s okay and finish this conversation. We were starting to get somewhere.”

“Can’t we do that first? I have a lot I wanna say to you.” Y/N stared at him, trailing her eyes from his eyes to his lips.

“Don’t look at me like that… you’re making me feel bad. Just send a welfare text or something. I’m not gonna get pissy at him for messaging me girlfriend if the intention is just to be nice.” Will spoke quickly.

Y/N looked straight at him, a smirk beginning to grow. “Girlfriend?”

She typed a message back to Cal, Will’s hand taking up residence on her knee.

Y/N: Yeah, we can. Is everything okay?

Cal: Not really. I feel like our dynamic is kind of fucked at the moment. What do you think?

Cal: (I also have an insurance question but this is probably an inappropriate time to ask 🫣)

Y/N: I think it’s definitely a little stiff. But I expected that. How would you like to move forward? (Send me a meeting invite for tomorrow and we’ll chat through. I’m free after 2pm)

Cal: I miss my mate. I’d love for us to get a point again where we can have a pint and chat shit

Cal: Also schweeet. That time works perfectly

Y/N: Okay. Are you up for a liquid lunch tomorrow? Half productive business insurance, half gossip? 🤭

Cal: Count me in. Meet you at the usual?

Y/N: Sounds good. See you at 2!

Cal: Great 👍 good to have you back mate

Y/N: You too chief 🫡

“Are you happy with that, William? Do you feel better now?” She placed her phone on the table in front of her, giving her full attention to the man in front of her.

He laughed, taking her hands in his. “That was very nicely done. It just didn’t feel right moving forward until you and Lux were in a good spot.”

“Well. Now I’m gonna talk. You’re not going to interrupt me.” She spoke sternly, before flashing him a Cheshire Cat smile.

Will raised his hand to his mouth, making a zipping motion.

“You and me are meant to be. I am into you in the grossest way. Like I’d happily fold your socks. Pop your zits. Whatever you want. I’m all in, Will. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay but I’m going to have to leave London out of embarrassment.” She sat vulnerably, searching the man’s eyes for any emotion. Suddenly, the room felt heavy and the exit was looking a little more appealing.

Will sat in silence, blank stare on his face. A few moments passed.

“Are you going to say anything?” Y/N exclaimed in frustration, her voice beginning to crack.

“Am I allowed to speak now? I didn’t want to interrupt.” He grinned at her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. “I thought I made it pretty obvious with the whole girlfriend comment, but if you’d like to hear me say it…”.

She nodded, finally sinking back into her seat.

“I won’t pop your zits because you’d just about batter me for not having a pimple patch. But I will carry you home after nights out. Take you on hot dates to the Tesco reduced section. Brag about you to people on the street if you’ll let me.” He stopped to take a breath, captivating her gaze. “I’m all in. Even when you start to think I’m wrinkly and pruny.”

“I thought you were just good looking, but turns out you can sometimes string a romantic sentence together.” She looked at Will sincerely, placing her hands on each side of his face.

“I just speak in syllables. Makes me seem all wise.” He laughed, resting his hands on either side of her waist. He pulled her closer, his breath fanning on her face before their lips met.

The kiss was gentle at first. New. The two of them had known each other so well, but this was uncharted territory.

They pulled away, Y/N resting her hands on his chest. “Why didn’t we do this earlier?”

“Don’t ask me. I’ve been waiting around for you.” Will smiled at her, pulling her into his lap. He joined their lips together again, his hands subtly creeping underneath her knitted jumper.

Y/N ran her hands along his forearms, tracing all the way up to the back of his head and tangling her fingers through his hair. His breath hitched as she lightly pulled on a few strands. Will pulled her impossibly close, attempting to shuffle them into a horizontal position.

As Y/N went to adjust her knees on either side of his, almost in a straddle position, her knee couldn’t get a grip on the leather like material and she started to slide off the couch.

Will, unable to get a grip on her quick enough, decided to go down with the ship. They lay on the soft carpet, side by side.

“Are you alright, pet?” Will tried to hide his laughter as Y/N lay rubbing circles over her elbow.

“Fuck, I think I have carpet burn.” She whined, laughing out of embarrassment.

“D’ya want me to kiss it better?” Will turned to face Y/N, seeing her nod. He sat up, placing a kiss on her cheek. Watching the smile spread across her face, he moved to her forehead, other cheek, jaw, chin and eventually her lips.

She laughed as he pulled away. “Wow, I miraculously feel so much better.”

Before the moment could continue, there was a buzz on the intercom.

“That’d be dinner.” Will sat up, making his way to the door. While he greeted the delivery driver, Y/N made her way to the kitchen to collect the essentials - a bottle of red, two glasses, plates and two sets of chopsticks.

Will met her in the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you.. we’re having sushi”.

“I know. We always get sushi after you film.” She led him back toward the living room, setting up the coffee table to accommodate all of their food.

“I ordered some of the teriyaki chicken salad you like. That way you won’t have to worry about buying any lunch tomorrow at work.” Will grabbed the cushions off of the couch, setting them down so they could sit comfortably on the floor.

“You know me too well, Lenney.” She grinned at him, taking a seat and beginning to search through the Netflix suggestions.

He reached over, placing a gentle kiss on her temple. “Always have, sweetheart. You were only just an arms length away.”

Y/N to Ugly Stepsisters chat: I did it. I got the guy.

———

Author’s note:

All finished! Hopefully not too bad for my first fic out of retirement. If you can’t tell by the title, I have been very much listening to Sam Fender’s new album 🤭

Thanks for reading 🤍🤍

#uk youtuber #willne x reader #WillNE #will lenney #harry lewis #roc haze #Spotify

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aurumalatus · 2 months ago

Text

cw mentions of being hit by a car… but like in a lighthearted way, if that makes sense…it probably doesn’t so just read for context lol

You hate the company outings.

First, it’s the pressure. Your boss approaches you with a serene smile, the first sign that something is wrong. He’s talking about everyone getting a drink after work, and all you can do is nod along, kissing your post-work plans goodbye.

Because you want that promotion next month, and you want it bad. So you’ll go along with the office politics for now.

You later regret that choice when you end up trapped in a noisy bar with your drunk coworkers, rubbing at your temples in a futile attempt to avoid a migraine.

The bartender gives you a pitying smile, like she understands; it makes you feel marginally better.

“I’ll have a beer,” you say. If you’re already here, you might as well.

“Make it two,” Scaramouche sighs, sliding into the seat next to you. “You can put it on my tab.”

His appearance surprises you for multiple reasons. First, Scaramouche never goes to company outings, even casual ones—you think friendly interaction just doesn’t align with his personality.

But you’re moreso shocked that he’s choosing you to interact with. Your disposition doesn’t hide your feeling in the slightest—your eyes widen, jaw dropping.

Scaramouche seems to sour at your astonishment.

“What? Get that stupid look off your face.”

The bartender slides a full glass of beer to you, and then the other to Scaramouche.

“I’m surprised you came out with us,” you admit, raising a brow. You tilt your glass, watching the amber liquid swish around inside. “Don’t you usually work until 10?”

“I’m surprised you came out,” he counters, eyeing you as he sips his drink. “Then again, probably the first time anyone has ever invited you out.”

He’s annoying. Truly, utterly annoying, you think as the alcohol slides down your throat. But somehow, he’s the only one you really want to talk to right now.

“Rich coming from you,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Last I checked, there’s a running tally on how many people quit our company because of you.”

Honestly, if you were a bit weaker-willed, you might’ve followed them. But you refuse to let Scaramouche get the upper hand on you.

“But you didn’t.”

“Because you don’t scare me,” you say cheerily, even as he rolls his eyes.

“I know. You’re tougher than the rest of them.”

You don’t know why his words make something squeeze in your chest. Maybe it’s the alcohol. That is, until he follows up with—

“More fuckin’ annoying than the rest of them too.”

An immediate irritation crosses your face, and it makes him smirk—you hate that he was expecting your reaction.

“Why don’t you go talk to someone who isn’t fucking annoying then?”

It comes out in a hiss, just before you take another long gulp of your drink, burning as it goes down. Scaramouche has the audacity to laugh, finishing off his beer.

He doesn’t dignify you with a response, instead sliding money over to the bartender—for his drink and yours. Then, glancing over to you, he frowns as he stuffs his wallet back in his pocket.

“You’re not a lightweight, right? You’re not gonna stumble in front of a car or something on your way home?”

Your brows knit together. “It’s one beer. Who do you think I am?”

Your other coworkers are still drinking, hooting and hollering as they cheers another round. Glancing over to them, Scaramouche shrugs, sliding his jacket on over his shoulders.

“Just checking. Don’t want them to have to mop your guts off the street.”

The imagery is disgusting, but somehow it still makes your face warm. In his own twisted way, he does care about you. Even if only a little bit.

“I’ll be fine.”

Nodding, he takes a cursory step away from you, toward the door. It’s getting late, and half your drink is still left, so you start to down it just as Scaramouche talks again.

“You’re sure? Don’t be an idiot, if you think you won’t be okay, then I’ll walk you.”

He’ll walk you?

You don’t turn to face him, too afraid that he’ll read the flustered expression on your face. Opting for a sense of indifference, you shrug.

“I’ll be okay. Go home already, workaholic. Thanks for the drink.”

He scoffs in reply, a touch of mirth in his tone.

“Whatever. You better show up tomorrow then. Don’t piss me off.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left with the screeching sounds of your coworkers and the pounding of your heart.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche #wanderer #adeptus ink

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uglypastels · 1 year ago

Note

Logan x reader where the reader is scott's younger sister and they're in a secret relationship because she's younger/obviously doesn't want her brother to know. Maybe Scott tries to set her up with someone else or she gets hurt on a mission or something because she got too cocky and everything comes to the surfaces. Sorry I know that's now very descriptive🙈

no don't be sorry this was perfect, if not giving me too much to word with lol. this is so great I wasn't really sure how to incorporate all the elements, but I hope what I managed to do was still good. I certainly had a lot of fun writing it lol. also, apologies if there are some dumb mistakes/errors. i am so sleep deprived but just really wanted to post this before going to bed.

warning: Smut 18+ only. MDNI. no condom [wrap it before you tap it pls]. p in v. fingering. swearing. degradation ["slut" is used]. accidentally almost public stuff. quickie. sub/dom dynamic. un/intentional cockblocking.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Oh my god,’ you moaned out as Logan pressed you against the wall of the small janitor’s closet. It was too cliché to even think about it. And who would have ever expected the Academy to have a janitor’s closet? If you thought about it, it was almost as if the universe wanted you to take this opportunity and hook up with him in the little cubby.

The second you saw him that morning in his loose-fitted long-sleeve and those boot-cut jeans, the only thing you could think about for the rest of the day was how much you needed him. You had managed to survive past noon, and then you had to go and stumble into the garage and catch him working on his motorbike.

His long-sleeve was discarded to reveal the white, now slightly dirty, tank top. His arms were toned and tanned. You watched him just long enough for him to notice your presence, then to grab the towel hanging from his back pocket and wipe his hands clean.

‘C’mere, Princess,’ he called you over with two fingers, and you almost felt like you had gained the ability to float so quickly had you made your way over to him. Next thing you know, he had picked you up, his hands firmly on your ass, yours in his hair, and your lips colliding in a passionate crash of a kiss.

‘Fuck, I missed this,’ you moaned out in a desperate moment to catch a breath with your chest already heaving. ‘Missed you.’ You kissed the corner of his mouth, getting the most satisfaction at how a smile formed in the spot where your lips touched him. Neither of you could help yourselves. The urges you felt were nearly animalistic, but when you were around him, you also felt like you were up in the clouds, feeling light as a feather and giddy like an idiot. The need for him was coursing through your veins.

‘Mmm, I know, sugar,’ his voice came deep from his throat in a growl full of yearning. ‘Gonna let me have my way with you, yeah?’

All you could respond with was a desperate moan. So caught up in the delicious feeling of his body against yours, that you nearly missed the beeping announcement of the garage doors opening. You would have gone on unaware of anything going on around you if it wasn’t for Logan pulling away and setting you back on the ground. It was like a switch flipped on inside your brain, and just in time, as the doors opened and a car drove up as you took your precautionary steps away from Logan, who had gone back to working on his bike.

The car halted in its designated parking spot, and you weren’t surprised to find your older brother, Scott, stepping out of it. Only he would have such perfectly unfortunate timing.

‘Hi Scott,’ you tried to sound chipper about bumping into him, and absolutely not like he had just interrupted a much-needed make-out session with your boyfriend that he knew nothing about. How you had managed to keep it a secret for all these months, you had no idea.

‘Hey,’ he smiled politely you way, as he had already made his way to the exit. As always, you couldn’t see his eyes through the red glasses he wore, and yet you could tell exactly where he was looking at with that judgemental look of his. But Logan didn’t pay him any attention, which might have even been the bigger insult than if he had quipped something your brother’s way. You knew he wanted to, though, but you also knew that he didn’t want to insult your brother right in front of you.

You waited for Scott to walk out of the room, but to your surprise, your brother turned around to you. ‘Are you coming?’

‘She was about to.’ You heard Logan mumble under his breath as he… You weren’t sure what exactly he was doing with that bike with the screwdriver. You never understood much of mechanics.

‘Uhm, yeah,’ you responded, ‘I uhh– I just wanted to ask Logan something. I’ll just be a moment.’

‘No, I’ll see you later, bub,’ Logan caught you off guard. ‘This might still take a while and I don’t want to keep you waiting.’

‘Oh, ok.’ You pushed the disappointment off your face before you started walking to the exit where Scott stood, still none the wiser. As soon as you walked into the corridor, you made up an excuse to go the other way and walked as fast as you could without making it necessarily suspicious if he had glanced your way.

The hours that followed went by painfully slow. You kept your eye out for Logan, but he was nowhere to be seen all afternoon. Dinner had come and gone, and you were returning to your room, already having made your peace with the fact that today was simply one of those days where fate kept you apart.

And exactly at that moment, Logan turned the corner.

‘Where the hell were you all day?’ you questioned, annoyed, but no matter how angry you pretended to be, the grin on your face at the sight of your boyfriend was quite clear in meaning.

‘I did have stuff to finish on my bike.’ He took a few large strides your way, ‘and then some kids needed help with something.’

‘Aww, that’s sweet.’ You leaned into him, your chin on his chest, as you looked up into his eyes.

‘Don’t act too surprised, Princess.’ His arms immediately wove themselves around your waist, and you slowly leaned for a kiss. It was risky to do this in an open hallway where anyone could walk in, but in the moment, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to feel him, all over you. The desperation for it grew with each second and was ready to explode.

That was all in theory, of course, since as soon as you heard any threat, the risk-taking daredevil part of you immediately hid, and you were looking for an escape route. It was two pairs of footsteps this time that echoed through the hallways. You cursed under your breath.

Just your luck to be standing next to a door. Trying its limits again, you pulled down at the door handle and sighed with relief as it opened. You quickly slipped inside, pulling Logan in behind you by the hand. He closed the door back behind him just in time as the footsteps, which you now recognised to be Scott and Jean’s, along with their voices, moved across the spot where you had just been standing.

‘Are they—’ but your question never was finished, as your lips were caught in a haste kiss. It was pitch black in the tiny room, but you heard Logan pull the lightbulb cord. The next thing you know, the faint yellow light illuminated what you now recognised to be the janitor’s cubby. A closet large enough to fit a large shelfcase filled with cleaning products, buckets, and towels. But Logan needed no time to orientate himself. He was already all over you. One hand pinning your leg up against his upper thigh, leading you against the wall.

‘Oh my god,’ you moaned out as you felt the pressure and structure of the room against your shoulders, Logan’s chest against yours. His hand stroke up and down your leg, squeezing at the soft flesh of your ass.

‘Wanna be my good little girl?’ Logan growled into your ear.

‘Yes,’ you whined, desperate for more than just his kiss. ‘Fuck, yes.’

‘Want me to fuck your tight little pussy, sugar? Just like you’ve been begging me for? What you say, you little slut?’ At the sound of his words, all of yours simply escaped you and so you could only respond in a series of moans and whines. All sounds that brought Logan immense joy and arousal. ‘Yeah, thought so.’ It had been a very conscious choice you had made that morning by wearing a skirt. Not that you had expected to end the day in this closet, but you were sure it would end somewhere in Logan’s grip. And so you were fully prepared.

His fingers smoothed over your panties, pressing over your slit, feeling the material get soaked through just that one simple touch. But it wasn’t enough. For either you or him. He kept toying with you for a few more minutes, never crossing the material barrier of your underwear, long strokes up and down, pushing in closer, almost as if nothing was there to separate you.

‘Please,’ you cried out, ‘baby, please. I need–’

‘What do you need, sweetheart? C’mon, use your words?’ God, you hated when he got so cocky. You could never take much of his teasing. Then again, you weren’t in here to exactly last long.

‘Need your fingers. Please.’

‘Good girl,’ he kissed your forehead, snapped the band of your underwear to make you whine so prettily as he loved, and pulled the panties down your legs.

Another filthy moan left you as his fingers slowly filled you up. The expletives rolled off your tongue in the rhythm of his thrusts. He kept a steady pace, and one that left you shaking against him. So much so that soon enough, he had to hold you up by the arm, pinning you down even harder. One leg propped up high for even easier access to his favourite part of you.

‘Such a good slut, taking anything I give you, anywhere I want you.’ His voice could practically get you over the edge alone, and he knew that well enough on his own, and so he kept talking. ‘Can’t wait to get my hard cock in you, Princess. Gonna fill you up so good. Fuck. Just you wait—’

‘No, please,’ you cried out.

‘What’s that? My girl can’t wait a few more minutes for her cock?’ He kissed your neck so ferociously it was more like his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, and the sensation left shivers down your whole body. He raised his mouth up to directly speak against your ear.

‘So fucking desperate. Wish you could see yourself now. Just know you’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?’ He punctuated the question with one final deep thrust of his large fingers. ‘You gonna cum? No, no, no. Not yet. You’re gonna let me have my fun first, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes.’ was all you managed to say. Then his lips clashed with yours in another of your sloppy kisses. Your hands found themselves in his hair for the second time that day, and you already felt yourself falling into bliss, and that was all without even the feeling of his length finally pushing deep in you. If only you could scream the pleasure you felt. But for now, in the closet, you would make due by digging your nails into his shoulder. That, in turn, only got Logan more riled up as his thrust grew in pace. He hit all your right spots evenly, hard and deep. If he kept going like that, and you were sure he would, you didn’t know just how much longer you would last.

‘Fuck, I’m gonna–’ your voice was breathy and out of focus, as all that was on your mind was him inside you.

‘Yeah, c’mon, sweetheart, come for me. Come all over my cock.’ he growled the words with the same intensity and desperation for release you felt.

You were so close. Just ready to burst. Moment away when—

When suddenly, a knock on the other side of the door halted the both of you. In a sudden moment, everything washed away with the power of a tsunami. Leaving nothing behind but emptiness.

Someone cleared their throat. Someone who you could already recognise from that simple gesture.

‘Alright, it’s past curfew, lovebirds, knock it out.’ You could hear in your brother’s voice just how uncomfortable he was by catching two, what he assumed to be students, clearly hooking up. Your guess was that the room had not been as soundproof as you imagined a cubby to be. Or you were that much louder.

You looked up at Logan, who had already started zipping up his jeans. There was another firm knock on the door.

Well, if Scott had already felt embarrassed, you were about to make it ten times worse.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

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baisemains · 26 days ago

Text

Elements of Desire

Chapter 11: I'll Be Your Strength

single mom!sevika x fem!reader

word count: 4.5k

contains: angst, some fluff, mentions of past emotional abuse, language, hurt/comfort

description: coming face to face with your past leaves you shaken, but the person in your corner has your back, in more ways than one.

a/n: hi guys!! i'm so sorry for not posting the last few weeks, this chapter is a bit shorter than the last few but i hope you still enjoy it, happy reading!

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous // sevika masterlist

You can feel the instant change in atmosphere as the entire group goes from lighthearted and cheerful to suddenly on edge in a heartbeat, gazes immediately flitting to the newcomer. Spine rigid, your fight or flight instinct kicks in immediately, but you know there's nowhere to run. Swallowing harshly, you take a moment to collect yourself before addressing the woman in front of you while trying to ignore the stares boring into your back.

"Gert. I didn't expect to see you this weekend."

Your throat is tight, voice is clipped. You can feel Sevika's gaze on you, the rage and worry radiating off of her, but you don't turn, not wanting to meet those eyes just yet. Instead, your attention is focused on your ex and trying to convince yourself that she's not going to say or do anything irrational in front of the kids.

All you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears as Gert takes a small step closer, that same sickeningly sweet smile still on her lips. "Neither did I, but I guess the universe has its reasons for everything."

That causes Sevika to finally move forward but the hand rubbing your legs shoots out low enough to stop her before she can do anything drastic. The motion catches the intruder's eye, gaze flickering with amusement as she puts the pieces together.

"Well, we should go, Genevieve presents tomorrow and needs her rest."

Gert then moves to place her hands on her daughter's shoulders, the teenager looking extremely uncomfortable with the situation at hand.

"Maybe we'll run into you again before the weekend's over."

Not waiting for a reply, the woman turns around to exit the ballroom, her daughter following right behind her without sparing you a second glance.

Once they're gone, you finally let out the breath you were holding in, body immediately deflating now that the immediate danger is gone. Your shoulders slump as you try in vain to get your heart rate back to normal, hands noticeably shaking. The other patrons in the room mill about like they were before the encounter, but the slight ringing in your ears is all you can focus on at the moment.

"I, um..."

Finally breaking your silence, your eyes flick around to the face of every person in your group, a varying degree of concern in all of them. "I think I'm gonna head up for the night."

Giving Ekko's parents a tight smile, you tell them you'll meet them in the lobby in the morning as previously discussed, before turning to the two teenagers and telling them to have fun at the party. Once you face Sevika, you can see in her face that she wants to say something, but you interrupt before she can get the chance.

"I'll call you later."

Ducking your head and hastily walking towards the elevators, you leave everyone behind in an awkward state, unsure of what to do. After a long moment, Sevika and Ekko's parents politely say their good nights to each other and tell their respective child to be safe at the party and when to be back at their room.

Kissing Powder on the head, the older woman watches the girl leave with her classmate, staying at the table far after they've left her sight. The last few minutes replay in her head as she begins to get upset with herself for not saying something to Gert, but she reminds herself that it was your situation to handle and not her place to jump in. Sighing deeply, she begins making her way to her room upstairs, thoughts of you still on her mind.

When Sevika reaches your shared floor, she walks up to her door before stopping in front of it and glancing over at yours down the way. Tapping her room key against her other hand, she debates whether to wait for your call like you said or to check on you now. After a few long moments, her concern wins out and she heads over to yours before lifting her hand and gently rapping her knuckles against the wood.

You've already removed your shoes and flopped down in the center of the bed when you hear the knocks, lifting your head to see if you heard right. Part of you wants to ignore it, pretend that you're already fast asleep, but you know that she won't leave until she's at least seen you. With a reluctant sigh, you push yourself up and swing your legs off the bed before padding over to the door and opening it.

Your face must look more tired than you thought, as the sight of it causes her expression to soften. It's quiet for a moment before she speaks.

"Can I come in?"

You don't protest, only moving aside to let her enter, closing the door as she walks past you and taking a few beats to collect your thoughts.

"How are you doing?"

You give a noncommittal shrug, walking over to sit down on the bed where you'd been before. "I've been better," you reply quietly, keeping your head low to avoid making any eye contact.

Sevika comes to sit down next to you, staying a few inches away to give you the space you seem to be silently asking for. The other woman fidgets with her fingers, not wanting to push you but also not wanting you to bottle your feelings up, especially when it comes to this situation. She's just about to say something when you break the silence, voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't think I'd see her ever again, let alone this weekend. I just...wasn't prepared." You bite your bottom lip before finally meeting her gaze, trying to keep your expression neutral but failing when you see the worry in her eyes.

"And not just that, but seeing Genevieve so grown up now, I..."

The other woman gives a small nod and hesitantly lifts a hand, pausing before gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion.

A shaky breath leaves your lips as you feel the contact, leaning into her touch and subconsciously shifting closer until your shoulder bumps into hers. Her hand starts to move in firmer circles, the motion surprisingly helping to ease some of the tension in your muscles. You're surprised she's able to read you so well, but you're thankful for it.

After another few moments, you manage to speak again. "I'm just so tired. Every time I think I’ve healed and moved on, I��m pulled right back in."

Sevika continues the impromptu massage, a small sigh falling from her lips at your divulgence. "Some wounds never completely heal," she tells you, her voice quiet but steady. "They just become more manageable as time goes on."

Her palm presses down on a particular spot of your lower back, making you release a small groan as tension you didn't know was there eases, your body unconsciously curving against her. Feeling you relax under her touch emboldens her slightly, pressing her hand in between your shoulders and working out even more of the knots in your back.

"You can't keep holding everything in, you know," she murmurs, shifting to push her prosthetic thumb against a stubborn muscle and drawing a sharp inhale from your throat. "At a certain point, you're gonna break."

Nodding slightly, you exhale before replying, "I know, it's just that...I've worked so hard to get past it, I feel like I'm going backwards." With a slight shake of your head, you feel the emotions rising to the surface, but you finally let yourself embrace them, feeling safe in Sevika's presence. With a crack in your voice, you tell the woman, "I just want to be happy."

The movement against your skin stills, your words hitting her right in the heart as she hears the waver in your voice. Her warm hand then lifts to your chin, gently cupping it and turning your head to face her. "Hey, look at me." When your eyes meet her own, she sees the unshed tears that have collected, feeling her chest clench at the sight. "You will be."

With me, Sevika thinks to herself. Seeing the pain in your eyes, she pulls you in and wraps a strong arm around you as if to tell you so without words. You all but melt into her, hands clutching her shirt tightly as your shoulders begin to shudder. Her grip tightens as she continues to rub your back, silently letting you know she's there. The dam that’s been holding everything back finally breaks, tears streaming down your face and dampening the soft fabric of her top, each breath coming in short gasps accompanied by a hiccup. Sevika simply holds you through it, murmuring little nothings in a soothing manner and rubbing your back while you let it all out.

You cling to the woman, the anguish intensifying as your shoulders start to shake. "I don't want to feel like this anymore," you sob, burying your face in her shoulder and squeezing fistfuls of her shirt. Her arms tighten around your frame, a large hand smoothing over your back to try and calm you as you allow the emotions to take over. "Shhh, I got you," Sevika whispers, resting her chin on the top of your head. "I got you."

Eventually, your breathing begins to even out and the tears slowly come to a stop, the only sound in the room being the steady thumping of the other woman's heart against your ear. Your grip on her shirt loosens and you pull back, lifting your face to reveal the tear tracks on your cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Her heart breaks at the sight of you but your expression is noticeably more relaxed than when she came in, which gives her a small amount of solace. She reaches up to gently wipe underneath your lashes, softly telling you, "You're okay."

Giving her only a slight nod and a half smile, you feel a little embarrassed about the breakdown. "Sorry," you offer softly, averting your gaze entirely.

Sevika tuts quietly and hooks a finger under your chin, forcing you to look at her. When your eyes meet again, she gives you a small grin and whispers, "What have I told you about apologizing for everything?"

That gets a small giggle out of you, remembering the conversation she's referencing from a few months prior. It seems like so long ago now, and you think about the progress you've made since then, the walls you've started to let down. Without warning, you swoop in and press a gentle kiss to Sevika's lips, pushing everything else out of your mind and simply letting the other woman consume your senses.

The motion catches her off guard, her entire body going rigid for a split second before softening considerably. Her hand slides to the back of your neck, thumbing over the soft skin as she returns the affection, eyes sliding closed as she loses herself in the moment. You gently bite her bottom lip, causing her to release a small sigh in the back of her throat, and you smile against her mouth. The kiss stays slow and gentle for the next few minutes, not in search of more, but instead a bubble of comfort.

When you finally part, you remain close enough to exchange breaths, foreheads resting gently together. She slowly opens her eyes and you stare into them, taking in the sight of her so close. Her thumb rubs gently over your separated lips, breaking the silence with a soft, "Better?" You give a small nod and affirmative hum, reaching up to cradle her cheek in your palm in return. "Good."

The corner of her mouth twitches upwards slightly at your behavior, eyes still studying your face and scanning over your expression as if to make sure you're actually okay. When you don't break her gaze, she lifts her hand and places it over the one on her cheek, leaning into it as she closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. Something in her chest twists as a realization hits her in this moment, but she pushes it back down, not ready to voice it just yet.

Sevika changes the subject to something lighter, sensing that you're done talking about the Gert situation, which you're thankful for. As the two of you talk, the thought of her knowing you this well plays on a loop in the back of your mind, exciting and terrifying all at once. Almost two hours later, Sevika happens to see the clock on the wall behind you and checks her phone, pursing her lips as she realizes the time.

"I should get going, Vi's gonna be back from that dance soon."

You nod in acknowledgment, knowing tomorrow will be a long day. As she stands up from the bed, you follow and stretch your arms above your head with a groan, the fatigue finally hitting you. When you lock eyes, she asks, "We’ll grab breakfast in the morning?" You give her a small smile and nod, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second. The older woman has to stop herself from actually cooing at the expression you're wearing, instead opting to wrap you in a warm embrace that you reciprocate right away.

Pressing yourself against her, you inhale deeply and get a whiff of her familiar scent. She tucks your head into the crook of her neck, placing a kiss on your head before murmuring, "Get some rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." You nod against her, not wanting to let go quite yet, but your tiredness wins out as she gently detangles herself and heads to the entrance. Before leaving, she flashes a tender smile and closes the door behind her.

When the door finally clicks shut, you feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you that nearly makes you dizzy. You barely remember to set an alarm before slipping into your pajamas and crawling under the covers. Drifting off into a somewhat fitful sleep, thoughts of the woman down the hall dance through your dreams.

Sevika is fresh out of the shower when she hears the room door open, signaling that Powder is back. After drying off and throwing some comfier clothes on, she heads out to the living area and sees the teenager grinning at her phone and typing away.

“You have fun?”

Powder looks up from her phone and purses her lips, cheeks brightening to a noticeable shade of pink. "Yeah, a lot. Ekko's pretty cool, actually."

Sevika hums quietly, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Is that why you're smiling so hard? Texting him?" The question is mostly rhetorical as she takes a seat on the couch next to Powder.

"Yeah..." Powder lays her phone face down next to her as she fidgets in her seat before facing the woman. "He asked about hanging out when we get back home."

At that, a brow lifts curiously, the older woman turning more to face her daughter. This was news to her. "Oh? And what did you say?"

Powder shrugs casually, playing off just how giddy the suggestion made her feel. "I said I'd ask you, and we talked for a bit more after that before the party ended and we had to go back to our rooms."

"I see." She doesn't miss the excited look in her daughter's eyes, deciding to take the conversation more seriously rather than playfully teasing her. Leaning back into the couch, the woman considers her next statement. "And you want to hang out with him again?"

Powder nods enthusiastically, biting her lip to try and contain her excitement. She knows her mom isn't against her having crushes, but she's also not the most relaxed person when it comes to it either. "Yeah, I do. He's really nice and pretty fun. And..." she trails off before mumbling, "he's kinda cute."

Sevika lightly bites her tongue, running it over her top teeth before replying. "I see." She's still getting used to having a teenager that asks permission before doing things and not one that she has to hunt down after doing what Sevika told her not to. "He seems respectful from the time we talked at dinner."

"He is, really," Powder affirms quickly, the eagerness in her voice quite obvious. Sevika's heart melts just a bit at the look on her daughter's face, a small sigh leaving her mouth at how much like a little kid she still manages to look sometimes, even with all the effort the teen puts into looking tough. Sevika hums in contemplation for a couple moments before saying, "I don't see a reason to say no, but we'll talk more about it when we get home, okay?"

Powder's eyes light up at that, a grin overtaking her features as she nods vigorously. "Okay, sounds perfect," she replies, trying her hardest to sound as mature as possible about the situation. The expression makes Sevika laugh softly, shaking her head at how adorable her daughter looks right now. "Alright, now tell Ekko good night and start getting ready for bed, we have to be up bright and early tomorrow."

The teenager pops up from the couch and salutes vigorously before grabbing her phone and heading to her suitcase to begin pulling her toiletries out. That gets a chuckle out of the older woman, shaking her head once again at the theatrics. She watches her daughter move around, a strange feeling blooming in her heart. It was almost bittersweet, seeing Powder begin to grow and blossom into a young woman as opposed to the little girl she used to be. The thought makes her chest ache slightly, but a happy one, the kind that comes with pride.

After Powder heads to the bathroom to change, Sevika strolls over to the decently sized fridge in the kitchen and opens it, curious if it's stocked with anything. To her pleasant surprise, there are a couple rows of water bottles on the middle shelf, labeled with the hotel's logo. Opening it and taking a sip, she notices that it's decently cold but still not to her liking. She searches the freezer before moving to the cabinet above the sink and finds several glasses along with a small metal bucket. Bingo.

After knocking on the bathroom door, she asks, "Hey Powder, I'm gonna go get some ice from the machine, you want anything from the hotel store?"

Powder pokes her head out of the bathroom before opening the door completely and tapping her finger on her chin. "Hm, something sweet would be nice, if that's okay." Sevika smiles at her before replying, "I guess I could bring you some chocolate." Powder grins and begins walking over to the double sink with a "thanks", allowing Sevika to slip on her shoes and exit the room with her wallet and bucket in hand.

She stops by the candy shop in the lobby first, already knowing Powder's taste in sweets, before heading back up to grab the ice. The machine is on the opposite end of their floor, tucked away in its own private corner, and Sevika almost gets turned around a couple of times due to the sheer size of the place. When she finally locates it, she sets the bucket in the designated spot under the dispenser and presses the large button on the front of the machine. The bucket is about halfway filled when she hears soft footsteps walk up behind her and calls over her shoulder. "I'm almost done, it should be just a minute or so."

"Oh, take your time, I've got all night."

Sevika freezes instantly, releasing the button and dropping her hand to the bucket's handle. She's only heard that voice once before, but it instantly raises her heartbeat, a scowl already forming on her features. Slowly turning around with the ice in hand, she comes face to face with Gert, a smug look dancing across her face, arms crossed and eyebrow quirked like she knows a secret Sevika doesn't.

Every muscle in Sevika's body tenses, eyes narrowed as she takes in the woman standing in front of her. She can already feel her blood begin to boil, but she keeps her composure, not wanting to allow her the satisfaction of knowing just how much she gets under her skin. "You're staying here?"

"Yes, actually, on this very floor. Isn't that a funny coincidence?"

Sevika can hardly believe the audacity of the woman trying to get a rise out of her, but as much as the thought of physically retaliating plays in her mind, she does her best to appear calm. "Hilarious," she grits out.

As she moves to walk past Gert and back to her room, the other woman makes a comment that stops her in her tracks.

"Good luck this weekend. Especially with that one."

Sevika's teeth grind together as she comes to a standstill, a sharp inhale of breath audible in the sudden quiet of the hallway. She can only stand there seething for a moment longer before turning back around, unable to stop herself from snapping, "What did you just say?"

'What you heard," Gert replies nonchalantly, shrugging a single shoulder. "I know how overly sensitive she can be, and I know running into me probably sent her into an episode. Typical."

That sends Sevika over the edge, and she steps forward until the two of them are chest to chest, smoke practically pouring out of her ears. "Don't you dare fucking speak about her. After all the bullshit you put her through, you get zero say in how she heals, you hear me?"

That pulls a wicked smile from the younger woman, but Sevika doesn't miss the flash of nerves in her eyes, gone as quick as it arrived, but still noticeable. "Oh, are you her bodyguard? How long have you known her, a few months maybe?" Gert puffs out her chest in an attempt to look more menacing, but Sevika couldn't care less, rage coursing through her veins. "We were together for years, you don't understand her like I do."

Sevika barks out a laugh at that, narrowing her gaze as she does. "Right, you understand her so much that you still went and cheated on her."

"Is that what she told you?"

"That's what she showed me. I saw the texts between you and the wedding planner, you went behind her back for over a fucking year, and she broke it off when the planner told her everything. So don't try to spin me the same shit you're telling everyone else, I know exactly what you are."

Gert's jaw tightens at the words, but she stays quiet for a moment before a scoff leaves her lips and she replies, "You think that's the whole story?"

"I think it's the truth."

"Funny how you think that you know her so well based on the one side she told you. Did she also tell you about her panic attacks? The trust issues? The constant clinginess?"

"So your answer was to go and have an affair, and then lie to everyone about who actually cheated? That's an asshole move however you tell it."

"I was in a loveless relationship, what was I supposed to do? Let her take her time with her issues while I just sit and wait for something to happen?" The words come out before Gert can stop herself, but she doesn't regret them, not when it finally gets Sevika's expression to falter slightly. The older woman's jaw clenches tightly at hearing them, eyes hardening in a heartbeat. "She was struggling so badly for months before I even started looking elsewhere. I got tired of trying to fix something that wasn't there anymore, is that such a crime?"

"So you break up! Holy shit, how hard is it to understand that you don't cheat on the person you love?" Sevika's chest is heaving at this point, several emotions swirling in her chest the more Gert tries to explain herself.

Gert scoffs, rolling her eyes like the other woman is being ridiculous by reacting this way. "Right, because she could really handle a break up in addition to the panic attacks she was already having. She could barely be alone, how do you think she would've reacted to the only person she had leaving her? She would've spiraled and you know it."

Sevika's fingers itch at her side at how indifferently the other woman says that, a scoff of her own leaving her mouth before she replies. "You say that like you were doing her a favor, how noble of you. If you were so worried for her, why didn't you suggest therapy? Why didn't you talk to her about how you felt before going behind her back and doing what you did? You have some balls to try to paint yourself as some self-sacrificing saint."

"Oh, please. You have no idea what it was like being trapped with her, watching her fall apart at the smallest thing. It's not like it was the first time she pushed me away, I was sick of being treated like an afterthought, I had needs and she wasn't giving them to me, so I found them elsewhere. And frankly, it was the best decision I've ever made."

The sound of the ice bucket dropping to the floor reverberates throughout the hallway as Sevika grabs Gert by the front of her shirt and pins her against the wall. To her credit, Gert doesn't cower at the motion, keeping her chin lifted and refusing to back down.

Sevika's face is only a couple inches away, eyes narrowing further as she snarls, "You're a selfish, heartless, lying, manipulative, egotistical snake. Count your blessings that I love my daughter enough not to jeopardize her place in this competition, but let me see you any place else outside of this hotel, and I won't be as kind."

Taking a step back, she adjusts her clothes and picks up the previously forgotten ice bucket before casting a threatening look towards the woman against the wall. "Keep her name out of your mouth and stay away from her." With that, Sevika marches off down the hallway, disappearing from the younger woman’s line of sight and leaving her to exhale deeply.

Throwing her head back, Gert closes her eyes and quietly curses herself for acting the way she did, so used to being on the defense, even when she's in the wrong.

Unbeknownst to her, Genevieve was right around the corner, listening to the entire conversation. What had started as her going to ask her mom a question after she left her phone in the room ended in a revelation of biblical proportions. The teenager then scurries back to their room, hopping in bed and pretending to be asleep by the time her mom walks back in. For the rest of the night, she can barely sleep, the discoveries of the hours before bombarding her thoughts.

taglist! @daughterofthemoons-stuff @vii-v @runawaybaby3 @ferxanda @sevikas-whore @vikashoneybee @sleepingwasp @savedforlaterr @lia-winther @bebadoobie @nymanas @dyketoast

#YAYYYYYYYY i can breathe a little easier now that its posted 😪#see you all in two weeks for the next one!#sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika angst #sevika fluff #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane angst #arcane fluff

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lostinlovingrevery · 6 months ago

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You Set Me Free

Weapon X! Logan X F! Reader

A/N: Weapon X? More like Weapon SEX, amiright? Huh? Huh?

Logan gets some serious post nut clarity in this one

Plot: You'd been watching the secret research lab at Lake Alkali, searching for a way to save your husband who's been turned into a weapon. You find one night that your reunion may come sooner and more differently than you think...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+!, MAJOR DUBCON/NONCON/CNC ELEMENTS YALLS, Unprotected PiV, multi creampies, feral Logan, oral (F! recieving), logan sniffs reader a lot, mentions of fluids, rough sex, outdoor sex, a nice reunion I guess?, I didn't mean for this to go on as long as it did., yall are prob gonna judge me when you finish reading. Maybe this be seen as an analogy for sex connecting people? idk

Word Count: 4453

The wind blew softly through the trees, making leaves and branches rustle through the warm spring air. Crickets chirped rhythmically. Stars, nearly hidden by the green canopy of pine trees, twinkled in the night sky. The forest was dark, and mostly quiet, save for a distant noise that was approaching slowly. A deer runs by - stopping first with its tail up, and a twitch of its nose, before disappearing between the trees.

It was observing you as you walked through the forest, each step crunching the leaves and sticks underneath.

You were coming back from an unsuccessful reconnaissance mission. Walking back to the cabin you were temporarily calling home. The cabin, conveniently located on the other side of Lake Alkali, allowed you to observe the activities at the concrete giant posing as a regular dam for the lake- when inside you knew the horrific truths that were happening.

It’s been 6 months since you last seen him. Well, see him as…him. The real him. Not the weapon they turned him into. It pains you to see what they’ve done, and what they will continue doing to him.

You deemed Logan the love of your life almost immediately after you met him- about 6 years ago. When he was brought to the mansion, he nearly pummeled you after running into you in the hall during his confused haze where he was trying to figure out where he was. After that, he was nothing but polite and apologetic, and soon you two got to know each other and eventually fell in love.

You continued walking through the forest, your hand unconsciously moving to your ring finger, twisting and fiddling with the ring that Logan had given you. It was nearly a year ago when he proposed- and you two got hitched a month after. You were too impatient to plan a wedding, and neither of you was much for throwing big parties after all. You were lost in thought, not paying attention to the surroundings you have become so familiar with in the last 5 months.

You didn’t notice how the sound of nature has stopped.

Only the quiet crunch of your footsteps echoed through the woods.

A few months after Logan came to the mansion, the team got into a nasty skirmish with Dr. Stryker and his group of scientists and military officials that worked under the radar of the U.S government, performing illegal and immoral experiments on mutant kind. It was found out that Logan had apparently been a victim of those experiments years and years ago, and he had supposedly gotten his revenge on Stryker, leaving the man for dead, wounded and bleeding, in the cold, secluded forests that Lake Alkali was found in.

Only years later, the X-men find out the bastard escaped his fate, and had still continued his operations after successfully alluding and then tricking the U.S. government, which allowed him to continue his research. It led to a complicated scheme that captured Logan, your love.

They broke him down and practically tortured him, turning him into the base layer of his mutation. A beast. A creature they themselves could barely control, having to create a device that allowed them to track his movements and monitor him- and make him come back to the base once the mission was complete. They used him for countless assassinations- another part of Stryker's plans, in order to gain more power over the government.

It practically destroyed you. It took the entire team to talk you down from storming into the secret base of operations alone with your powers and wiping out every single fucker in the place, and saving your love- and the other victims trapped there. It was Hank really, who managed to calm you down, since his position as secretary of Mutant Affairs allowed him to be able to get to the right people that can help. It wasn’t that the X-men couldn’t do it, but Stryker's operations have grown, with a lot of loyal subjects and a lot of controlled and dangerous mutants- Logan being one- that would make things even more complicated.

The plan was reconnaissance- something you quickly volunteered for. Someone who will stay nearby and observe the base- learn the schedules, the people- whatever information that could help. Your powers helped you with that, allowing you to get close and learn much information needed.

Some days you’re able to get some real information, but other days- like today. It was dead quiet. The usual trucks moving in and out, scientists and guards on smoke breaks, talking about their plans for the weekend. You saw no sign of Logan, so you assumed they must be keeping him inside today, no “missions” for him to complete.

You continued twisting the ring on your ring finger, a comforting habit that you have developed when you found yourself missing him. You counted the days when you’d see him again. Looking up at the sky, you noted how the stars always looked bright and beautiful around here.

When will Logan get to see those stars again?

You suddenly felt your hair rise along your arms and neck, and a sudden sense of danger was screaming at you. You stopped in your tracks, slowly glancing around at the dark forest that surrounded you.

When did it get so quiet?

Fear crawled up your throat from your gut, as you took a few steps backward, staring straight ahead. Something, someone was watching you. There were predators in the forests, coyotes, bears, whatever, you’ve encountered them a few times but never actually had an issue with them before. Whatever was stalking out there, hidden in the darkness and tree lines, was something you felt was more dangerous than a bear.

Turning on your feet, you took after back towards the small cabin. Your footsteps echoed through the trees as you ran down the path, weaving through trees to hopefully throw off whoever was following you, someone was certainly following you though- because you could hear the sound of footsteps that weren’t your own closing in behind you.

Your heart was pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You don’t know what or who was chasing you. The closer the sound behind you got, the more your limbs began to feel like jello- and you prepared yourself for a fight. It was when you turned your head to try to get a glimpse at your pursuer- that your blood ran cold.

You could see Logan, chasing you on his hands and feet. Snarling face, wild untamed hair, with that metal cage-like helmet on his head. He had next to nothing on, aside from some cloth that looked like shorts or boxers. He looks like an animal. You knew you would not be able to escape him- Logan was too fast. Just in the few seconds you had looked at him, he had already closed in several feet between you.

You turned forward, and could see the silhouette of your cabin in the distance.

Maybe I can make it

Your thoughts were drowned out by the loud growl emitted from Logan, and you felt your body being tackled to the ground. The harsh tackle knocked the wind out of you, and your head knocked to the ground.

You were barely able to comprehend what was happening, feeling a heavy weight pressed on top of you- at first you only saw stars, before Logan’s snarling face came into view.

He was so different. His hair was wild and grown out, and face twisted and contorted into something you didn’t recognize, wrinkled nose and bags under his eyes. His teeth bared- his canines sharp like an animal. He looked at you with murderous intent- yet you couldn’t bring it in you to use your powers to fight back. You couldn’t hurt him even though you knew that he was likely about to kill you right then and there.

You reached your hands up to cup his face, his own hands roughly grabbing yours and pinning them on either side of your head. You gasped-

“Logan-” You breathed. There was no change in his expression- except…He sniffed. You blinked, staring up at him in confusion. He took another sniff, his face relaxing into something more bewildered, as he leaned down into your neck, and took a deep sniff, his nose pressed into the crook of your neck.

Confusion wracked your brain, and then you heard him grunt.

Wait a minute, did he recognize you? Your scent?

You always teased him over that. The way he liked to deep inhale of your hair or neck. He’d always rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Can’t help it, princess, you smell so damn good all the time.”

You felt his hip press into yours, as he groaned again before his tongue licked against your skin, hot and wet.

You’re fucking kidding me,

Is he seriously getting fresh with you?

You’re never going to let him live this down if you get out alive

His nose brushed up the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps down your skin. His hips started to grind against yours. You’d almost laugh at the situation you found yourself in; if it weren’t for the fact that you were getting wet by his mere rutting over you. You didn’t know what to do, what the hell do you do in this kind of situation?

One of his hands let go of your wrist that he had trapped, and came down to grope at your breast, soft and careful at first, before he gripped it, fondling it roughly. His head came up to lick the space behind your ear. You swallowed, your eyes watching his every movement when it occurred to you that your hand was free- and he was close enough for you to rip off that helmet.

You waited, letting him grunt and lick at your skin, keeping him distracted with…Whatever he was doing. You counted the seconds- hoping that Logan's superior senses were clouded by his pure animalistic horniness to notice the change in your body.

In a quick movement, your hand reached up, yanking the metal cage of his head with a rough movement, and throwing it to the side. His head shot up - eyes wide and angry, staring at you and then to the helmet, where it rolled across the ground before finally stopping, upside down, a few feet away from where you and Logan were.

Not paying you any mind he climbed off of you, walking on his two feet over to the helmet. You turned to your side, panting as a little relief climbed over you.

Did you do it?

He bent over, picking up the metal cage, his eyes examining the object. There was a quiet neutralness in his expression, and you wondered if your Logan has come back. He looked insane, with his hair and beard grown out, bulging muscles all the way from his shoulders down to his calves, cloth- which looked similar to some type of jean shorts was the only thing covering him- still, tight enough to leave little to imagination, you could see his erection pressing against the cloth. He looked like some rated R version of Tarzan.

A beat passed, and he suddenly tears the metal apart with a roar. You watched in terrror- and slight arousal- as he raged against the helmet, tearing it into smaller pieces- shrapnel flying into the woods and landing on the ground near you. You could make out small pieces of electrical wire and circuit boards scattered in the grass and dirt.

Bastards, you thought to yourself, as you moved to push yourself up from the ground. Logan finished his rage, yelling into the forests with a fierce roar that echoed through the trees and sent fear up your spine. You were up on your knee when Logan turned out- looking straight at you. Your stomach sank at the sight of his eyes- still wild and frenzied.

It wasn’t him, whatever part of Logan you knew was still deep asleep inside the beast of the man you were gazing at.

You were not safe yet.

You pushed up to your feet, and quickly turned to continue running back to your cabin. It was stupid, considering you barely got two steps before you were knocked down to your stomach. You attempted to crawl, but his hands grabbed your ankles, and pulled you under him- flipping you roughly onto your back.

You didn’t have a minute to process when his hands went to your shirt and r i p p e d it apart. He ripped your bra apart too, baring your stomach and breasts to him. You gasped, your hands went to his shoulders, some attempt to regain control that was completely futile.

He dipped his head down to your chest, his tongue running over your nipples, his hands roughly gripping your waist and pulling you onto him, grinding against your core.

“Logan-” You gasped- your hand moving to press against his forehead to push him off you. “Lo- I know you missed me and all-” You say, some feeble attempt to calm yourself and your pounding heart to add some humor to this…situation you found yourself in.

He growled, shoving your hand off him as he lurched forward, licking and biting your neck roughly, making you whimper at the feeling of his teeth scraping over your skin. You attempted to crawl out from under him, but he held you in place.

You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight.

You managed to turn your head to look at him, grunting and grinding against you. A deep part of you wondered if maybe there was some part of him inside that was reaching out to you. Did your scent trigger a memory? Does he recognize you through his animalistic haze, and he’s desperately trying to connect with you in the only way he knew how due to his brainwashing?

It was Logan. He could never hurt you.

He sat up, his attention moving to your jeans, a deep growl escaped him as he reached down and grabbed where you jeans were buttoned together and pulled them apart, ripping them open at the seams, exposing your panties to him, wet with your arousal due to his grinding and licking at your skin. He lifted your hips ups, face planting against your mound as he took a deep inhale of your scent, making you gasp. He stuck his tongue out, running it up your clothed pussy- and letting out a deep groan, almost a whimper.

It made your skin hot, the way he groaned at the taste of you. You’ve heard him let that same noise out countless times, the way he inhaled your scent like you smelled like a fresh baked pie. He’d act like you tasted so sweet, like he could never get enough of you.

He let out something resembling a whine again, and his hand came up, grabbing the hem of your panties and ripping them off you- the fabric scratched your skin- but you could barely register the pain of the fabric because Logans mouth crashed onto your wet pussy. You squealed, the feeling of his tongue running up and down your folds, not in any particular pattern, it was like he was drinking every ounce of you, unable to quench his thirst as you swore you could hear him audibly gulping your fluids down.

His tongue came over your clit, making you involuntarily thrust into his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked up at you- filled with a hazey lust, his brows creased angrily. His beard and hair scratched your inner thighs, leaving them red, but the juices of his spit and your fluids coated them as he carried on practically eating you alive. His nails dug into your hips, tight enough to scratch you.

You felt your stomach getting tight. He wasn’t even doing anything particular to stimulating you other than his tongue running over every inch of your slit, occasionally dipping into your hole- pulsing around him. The wrongness of it all, the animalistic nature of him though- you couldn’t help it. You attempted to push his head off you, snapping out of your lustful state, I shouldn’t let this happen. Both your hands came up pressing his against his forehead, as you started to squirm in attempt to get away.

He grunted, attempting to continue devouring you, before anger flashed across his face. He snarled, shoving you into the ground and flipping you onto your stomach.

“Ah! - Lo!”

You yelped, as he pulled off the tattered pieces of your clothes still on you, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to him. He leaned over you, his tongue running from your back up to the back of your neck, you felt drops of his spit on your shoulder- as he shuffled behind you, desperately pulling off his pants. You attempted to crawl away one more time, but his hands grabbed you, pulling you back under him. One hand went into your hair, fingers gripping and pulling your head back and to the side eliciting a cry from you, as he leaned down and bit into your shoulder.

His other hand, brought your hips and ass up- and you felt his throbbing member press into your soaked folds, grinding into you. His legs pressed against the outside of yours, your body tensed, your toes curling as you waited for the inevitable thrust. You knew this was so goddamn wrong, but your body hummed in anticipation and excitement.

It had been a kinky pleasure between you and Logan, the way he would let his animalistic side out on you, pinning you down and fucking you until you nearly blacked out. What was happening now was no different, other than the fact that the Logan you knew was not there to control himself from going too far.

His tip found your leaking hole, and pressed into you. He let out a harsh pant against your shoulder, where he was still biting down on you, before fully thrusting himself inside- a shriek escaping you. Your legs kicking from the intensity of him forcing inside you. It didn’t matter how many times you and Logan had been together- the size of him was always intense the first few minutes. Your body trembled, your hands digging into the dirt below you. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, and his other hand went and grabbed your hip, before he pulled out nearly to the tip, and thrusting back inside harshly.

He began to pick up pace, the weight of his body pinning you to the forest floor, he was grunting with every thrust, your body bouncing with his movements as he took you with a ferocity you never felt before. His hands gripped your hair tighter, yanking your head back farther, as he moved to clamp down on your neck, leaving a deep bite mark in your shoulder that was turning shades of blue and purple, a whine escaping him as he continued thrusting. You felt him slamming into you, his large cock molding shape inside of you, and eventually you melted- pleasure fully enveloping your body.

“Oh god- Logan-” You cried, hot tears pricking your eyes from the stimulation of him everywhere.

It’s been so long.

You attempted to arch your back, trying to get that perfect angle so he could hit that sweet spot that would send you careening. Logan hissed at how tight you pulled around him. He let go of the clamp he had on your neck, pulling your hips and angling you to be practically folded in half. His large arms wrapped around your waist and he pressed his face into your mid-back, and you felt his drool falling against your skin, practically burning from how hot it was.

He thrusted into you with an inhuman pace, you could barely keep up, your eyes rolling back as you felt your stomach tighten, your hole squeezing tight around him, and your thighs began to tremble. His tip repeatedly thrusted into you, hitting the sweet gummy spot inside you- and sent you over the edge.

You cried out his name, as he fucked into you through your orgasm that seemed to never stop- you body shaking and you could barely focus on anything. He fucked into you one more time, and a loud roar slammed his hips into your ass, burying deep inside you and you felt spurts of his cum covering inside your walls. He kept thrusting, burying himself over and over inside you, making sure every bit of his seed is buried inside. It felt neverending the way he seemed to keep cumming in you.

With a harsh grunt he finally stopped inside you, his arms still wrapped around your waists holding you tight against him. He was panting, his large chest heaving- your body still trembling.

He pulled out, pushing and manuevering you onto your back. Your arms laid out on either side of your head, your hair tangled into the dirt and twigs below you. Your legs spread wide, as your combined fluids soaked your thighs and lower stomach and his cum slowly leaked out of your hole. The strength of your muscles felt utterly depleted.

Your eyes took in the wild man sitting up before you. Sweat dripped down his body, your arousal from earlier covering his lower face and beard. His muscles flexed and veins popping out down his arms and stomach. He panted, as he stared down at you, his eyes still wild- but not as quite ferocious. Your eyes trailed down to his cock, hard and swollen already, his tip beet red and leaking generous amounts of pre-cum. You swore you could see him throbbing.

Oh fuck

He climbed back over you, and you couldn’t bother to try to move. Your legs were spread wide for him, and your body was pliant. He braced his hands on either side of your hips, and thrusted back into you with a swift motion of his hips. You gasped, the feeling of fullness returning but not as quite overwhelming as the first time.

He grunted as he begin bouncing in and out of you again. You were overstimulated, your heart was pounding in your ear, and pleasure enveloped your body as he took you roughly again. You could barely move, as his large cock moved in and out of you with ease. It wasn’t quite as rough as the first time, but you swear he was being gentler with you.

You felt yourself relaxing this time around, letting him do what he wanted. Your mind pictured all the sweet moments you and him shared in the past together. If he wakes up out of this haze, break free from the brain washing- you’re not quite sure if he’ll remember this...Or how you’ll explain it to him.

He watched your breasts bounce with his movements, fascination and enjoyment in his eyes. If you hadn’t felt so weak, and fucked-out, you’d probably laugh. His hands grabbed your legs, the space under your knees and pushed them up towards your chest as he went deeper, angling himself inside you and once again hitting that gummy spot. You thought you were crazy, but you swore he was trying to hit the spot that made you cum the first time.

He leaned back down over you, his chest pressing against the back of your legs, as one hand braced next to your head. You moaned, tipping your head to the side as you weakly brought your hand to grab his arm and hold onto it. He seemed to be spurred on by your moans, and picked up his pace, thrusting into you with a renewed vigor. Wet noises echoed through the forests as his hips slapped into yours.

You felt your body tensing again, a second orgasm quickly approaching, a white hot burning in your lower belly building up with each hard and quick thrust into you. He was whining, leaning down to bury his face into your neck, tongue coming out to lick the sweat off your skin.

“Oh- Logan-” You whined, arching your back, and he growled, bracing his arms on either side of your head, pounding into you once more until you both snapped, your greedy pussy squeezing tight around him almost painfully, as he filled you up again with his hot cum. He yelled out in pleasure into your neck, as ecstasy rolled between both your bodies as he continued thrusting.

Your body went slack, your muscles occasionally twitching from being pushed so far. Logan was panting, his breath hot on your skin. You felt him move, pushing himself up and looking down at you.

You gasped at the sight of his eyes- his face. An expression of regret, and a little confusion. His eyes- It was him.

“Logan?” You whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face.

“Baby I- I’m so sorry I don’t know what-”

You cut him off; pulling him down to kiss you. Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. You didn’t care how it happened, why it happened. You just had him back. Broken free from the tortured recesses of his mind. His arms wrapped carefully around you, kissing you back gently, almost as if he was scared he was going to hurt you. You pulled back, looking up at him.

“I missed you.” You say softly. He looked at you with small relief.

“Are you okay?” He asks, brushing hair out of your face. “I didn’t- fuck I didn’t know what I was doing. I just could smell you and then- you took that helmet off. I’d be fighting for so long and…”

You shushed him. “Doesn’t matter. You’re back now baby.” You brought him down to kiss you again. “Typical that it takes sex for you to wake up...” You mutter. He let out an exhaling laugh. His arms cradled you safely against him. “You need a shower by the way.”

He chuckled again, looking down at you and looking up around him, then up at the sky. The relief that flooded his face as he saw the stars.

"I couldn't control myself. It was...Like I was trapped in my head, watching someone else control me." He says. "They'd do these things that send me into this...rage. Nothing would stop me. But no matter what I did....You were always in my thoughts. I think that's what happened. I think I smelled you and I recognized you somewhere...You got me free."

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #weapon x #vans daydreams #logan #weapon x fanfiction #i can't believe this went on as long as it did.

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teeth-farie · 7 months ago

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Restroom Rendezvous

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)/Reader

…: I’m back from the dead! I can’t guarantee that I’ll post often, but I at least wanted to share something I wrote. Deadpool has been my hyperfixation since I saw DP&W last summer, so this is set right after that. Thanks for reading!

Wade totally wasn’t caught up on Vanessa’s rejection, not at all. Things don’t work out sometimes, and that was fine, really, it was. She let him down easy, he was thankful for that, at the very least. People change. She had and so had he. They simply weren’t what each other needed anymore.

It hit him bitterly, that he can admit. He spent many long nights drowning his sorrows in ice cream cartons and reruns of the great British bake off, and a couple nights actually drowning himself in the bathtub. It was a rough period, but life goes on.

He’s since come to terms that romance just isn’t in the cards for him, not when most people ended up nauseous after a first impression. However, that wouldn’t stop him from living vicariously through Logan’s love life.

He’d put up a good fight so far, but Wade would be damned if he let all that go to waste because The Wolverine doesn’t know how to flirt with this universe's population. Seriously, he’s never seen someone be so politically incorrect and over correct in his life.

It all leads them to a seedy little bar, but one with enough charm to know you probably won’t be getting an std. Probably.

He has to tug Logan away from the bar and to the pool table before he can get too shitfaced, sighing in exasperation.

“It’s like you don’t even want to find anyone.”

“You said I’d be getting laid, not that I’d fall in love.”

“Oh, but don’t you just love the trope of strangers to fuck buddies to lovers?”

Logan snorts a puff of air from his nose as he grabs a pool stick and rubs the little thing of blue chalk on the end of it.

Wade turns to scope the bar population, leaning up against the edge of the pool table as Logan lined up pole tip to white ball, cradled by his fingers.

“At first I was like, ‘let him have some time, he’s new to this universe’, but now I’m like, ‘fuck it, he’s had enough time!’,” Wade begins, the sounds of pool balls clacking making him roll his eyes.

“See, that’s exactly it! I took you here to mingle and now you’re huddled away playing fucking pool. Alone. You aren’t even playing with anyone.”

Clack. Roll.

“I didn’t even think you could play pool alone, it seems like a very obvious two player game, but you do know best,”

Clack. Thunk!

“OW!!” Wade turns dramatically, hand on his ass to face the other man with a look of betrayal.

“Did you just hit my ass with a pool ball?”

“Shouldn’t be sittin’ on the table there then, bub.”

Wade frowns and Logan chuckles to himself, jaw flexing with his hidden grin.

“You’re gonna make me do the work for you, huh? You big baby. You big 5’3 baby.”

SNIKT!

“YEESH, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m leavin!”

There’s that saying of ‘there’s always more fish in the sea’, but the fish out here look a little too dead eyed for his tastes. Well, Logie’s tastes.

Just when he’s about to call it quits, he spots you (Duh, you know what you came here for).

There’s nothing outright that he can pinpoint that draws him to you. Maybe it’s the way you dress, or the way you hold yourself, but something about you makes him feel just about as giddy as a kid in a candy shop. Part of him wonders if maybe he could snatch you for himself.

Checking his breath in a cupped hand, he winces and shrugs. It’s not like the rest of him was all that better.

Wade leans up against the bar next to you, dark hoodie shadowing his mottled face under the overhead lights. His smile still gleams, crooked lower teeth and blistered gums.

“You’ve been looking over at me and my friend a lot, I noticed it.”

“Ah, guilty as charged.” You respond, a split smile, beer on your breath. “I’m sorry though, if it made you uncomfortable.”

“No! No no, the opposite, actually,” he sits down on the barstool, leaning on his elbows against the sticky countertop. “See, my friend over there,” he points over his shoulder, voice suddenly low and conspirative.

You follow the point of his thumb to his friend, thick and burly, bent over the edge of the pool table to line up another shot. Truly a magnificent specimen, but your eyes don’t seem to be on that prize.

“I’ve been trying to set him up for ages now, and between you and me, he thinks you’re real cute.”

“He does, does he?”

“Oh yeah, super cute. He might seem like an asshole, but he’s a real softie at the center, all gooey and shit.”

“Mhm,”

“Ok, ok, I see I’m losing you a bit- but what’s the harm? Come on over, just don’t say I brought you over here.”

You sigh, resting your cheek on your palm, and he can’t help but feel a little scrutinized under your gaze.

“You know, it wasn’t him I was staring at.”

“I…oh, pfft, yeah, this whole thing,” he gestures to his face, scarred and tumored flesh pulled taut and tender. “Wanted a ticket to the freak show?”

“No, not like that,” you say quickly, a little hot in embarrassment. “I meant, I think you’re…cute.”

Wade almost balks at you, silent before scoffing. “Cute? Pardon my French, but are you fucking blind?”

You laugh, and you’re a little worried that you probably shouldn't have. “Listen…”

“Wilson. Wade Wilson. Did that sound cool?”

“Wade,” you say, and the way you say it makes him feel all tingly at the base of his spine. “You seem like you really love your friend.”

“Totally! We’re BFF’s, best friends forever, we’ve got the matching necklaces, too.” He tugs on the thin chain dangled around his neck, a half heart charm jingling underneath his hoodie.

You’re resting your hand on his thigh, a deliberate movement that makes his fingers twitch a little, necklace falling back under his shirt. You lick your lips a little, and he’s back under your spell.

“Wouldn’t your friend want you to…have a little fun?”

His mouth falls open to say something, then closes, then opens again. “F..fun? I like fun, what kinda fun are we talking about?”

Your head leans back with a laugh at his flustering, hand squeezing his thigh just a little tighter. He shifts in his seat and you notice it, of course you do.

“The kind of fun where you follow me into the bathrooms and I,” you stop, fingers inching up just a little bit higher on his thigh, just shy of bumping this fic rating from mature up to explicit. “Well,” you sigh out, and move your hand away entirely. “I wouldn’t want to give it away, not when you can come see for yourself.”

“Yes,” he strains, leaning up in his seat like he was ready to jump you right then and there. “I want that, I wanna have some fun with you—if, if you still want it?”

“Honey, I’ve been groping you for the last minute, of course I still want to.”

“Right! Right, right, right,”

“Leave a bit of distance, don’t make it so obvious,” you say to him, getting up from your seat and nodding towards the bathrooms with a wink before you leave.

Wade’s heart pounds in his ears almost louder than the bar's music. Surprisingly jazzy, they probably came on a themed night. In ways, he thinks his heart might be singing too.

He looks over to Logan, finding him still at that damn table. At least this time it looks like someone’s joined him, or he hopes so. He really wants to be following you right now.

Then, with a skittish bit of flair, Wade slinks away into the crowd.

—

Wade’s tarnished skin feels impossibly hot when your mouth makes contact, lips and tongue over the length of his jugular. His hands wander, catching on your clothing, rumpling the fabric under his grip. Yeah, this fic is getting rated explicit.

“This is fucked,” he huffs, head lolling back against the bathroom stall. You make a questioning sound against his neck and his whole body shivers. “S’posed to be hooking you up with Lo’, not…not…” you’ve found the tender little spot below his ear as he speaks, blunt teeth pressing firm and he hates how reactive he is to it.

“God, you’re not playing fair, this isn’t fair,” he wheedles, tugging on your clothes.

You laugh and wiggle your leg between his, hip pressing against his groin, and you’re pleased to find him half chubbed already. “If I were fair, I’d be talking to your friend right now instead of kissing a cutie in the bathroom.”

“I’m- am I the cutie?”

“Yes, you’re the cutie.”

You’re mouthing lower and Wade is sure his heart is going to burst from his chest Alien style. Your teeth catch on the chain of his necklace, a touch of your tongue against his skin and you tug, breathing out a laugh when he whimpers.

“That shouldn’t have been so hot,”

“But aren’t you glad it was?”

You’re only stopped by the neckline of his hoodie, lavishing your mouth over the exposed skin of his throat. He’s breathing heavy, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your teeth.

He’d never thought anyone would want to be close to his cancer riddled skin, let alone kiss. The scabbing and sores of his skin don’t bother you, you devour him all the same.

Just as he thinks it can’t get any better, he feels your fingers tug on the waistband of his jeans.

“Is this ok?” You’re asking, all soft and hushed, like you haven’t unraveled him at the very seams.

“Uh,” he stammers like an idiot, flushed red and sweating. “Yes, yes, it’s ok, it’s more than ok, actually! I’d really uh, it’d be totally cool, totally consensual—“

You cut him off with a kiss, fumbling with his buttons and pulling down the zipper with a huff puffed from your nose.

His pants shuck down easily enough, caught around his thighs while your hand finds his erection. The first touch is like bliss, your fingers wrapping around his mottled cock and tugging, toying with the foreskin around the tender head.

You make a pleased sound, reverberating into his mouth as you give him a testing squeeze, his hips canting forward.

It feels better than he anticipated, much better, though he supposes it’s due to only having his right (and left) hand for a while.

“No undies, huh?” You’re laughing, a sickly sweet sound that makes his knees feel weak. “And here I thought you were just trying to set your friend up. Were you hoping for this all along?”

He shakes his head, though it’s more like a frantic twitch. “Huuh, nuh-uh,”

“No? I think you did,” his cock weeps enough to make the slide of your fist easy, the soft palm of your hand so much better than his own blistered one. “I think you were hoping I’d pick you, that I’d come kiss you all better, make you feel good.”

“Please,” is all he can muster, nosing against your head with a pitiful sound.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you croon, letting go of his cock to put your cupped palm below his chin, expectant. “Come on, get it wet for me, Wade.”

It’s all but purred, the way you say it. Like butter and cotton candy had a baby and it was your voice. And he’s obeying, gathering the saliva in his mouth and spitting it into your palm, flushed red hot and wanting.

“Good boy,” you whisper and he thinks he’s in love.

Your wet hand is grabbing his cock again, slick and dripping.

“Tell me what you like, cutie.”

“Tighter? Oof- not that tight, j-just kinda- ohhh,”

His body feels like it’s blooming, warmth flooding into his nerves different from the anxious, hormonal flush of his blood. He sucks his lip in between his teeth, eyes rolling when the web of your finger and thumb catch on the head.

“Now that’s a pretty expression,” up and down, up and down, wet and messy. “I think it’s cool, how your dick is like the rest of you. Nice on the hands…” you thumb over the uneven skin, thumb pressing against the more tender and raw flesh, pulsing with his heartbeat.

“Oh, ha..haha, r-ribbed for your pleasure, amiright?”

“Oh, Wade…” your tongue slides across the shell of his ear, saccharine voice a heady whisper. “I’m not the one that’s gonna be bent over.”

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, hands shooting up to cover his face in near comedic embarrassment.

You laugh in his ear and it sounds utterly mocking, your voice trailing off into a sigh of a moan (which isn’t helping him in the slightest- or it is, and that’s why he’s suffering).

“God, you’re wet, I don’t think I even needed you to spit at all.” You thumb over the head, a back and forth rub that gets your fingertips sticky with his pre. “Look at that, like a fucking garden hose.”

Wade huffs loudly through his hands, spreading his fingers to peek out, pupils dilated under the milky sheen of his eyes. “Don’t stop,” it comes out strained and weak when he says it. “K-keep talking, I need- I-I—“

His hips jerk in aborted thrusts, biting on his own tongue when his teeth clench. He whimpers, and you kiss him better, tongue against tongue.

“Close,” he still tries to whimper anyway, his balls drawing up to his body in anticipation, the building of his orgasm festering in his gut.

“Close? Alright, alright,” you start to shuffle him forward and he makes an indignant sound when he’s pulled away from your mouth. “Aw, don’t look at me like that, I’m just trying to avoid getting a stain on my clothes.”

You position him over the toilet and he grabs at the tank of it, your hand wrapping around him from behind and pointing his cock down to the bowl. It’s not the first time he's jerked off over a toilet, but this time is definitely more enjoyable.

“There you go,” he can hear the smile in your voice, feel your hands wrapped tight around him. It makes him feel kinda jelly inside, soft and jiggly and vulnerable.

He finds himself holding onto the hand on his stomach, your other making quick work of his erection, pumping quickly to push him right back to the edge again.

“C-can you,” he swallows, tries to catch his bearings.

“Can I what, sweetheart?”

It only makes him whine, a gutteral noise from the back of his throat. “Say I’m good,”

“Ha, you want to be a good boy? Want me to call you that?”

“Please,” really, it’s all he wants. At least in the moment. Or maybe after too, think about the way he made you happy and apply that to himself so he doesn’t seem like that much of a fuck up anymore.

You don’t notice his inner quarrels, of course you don’t, but you still squeeze his hand back, dig your thumb into just the right spots with your other to make him push back against you. It’s enough to tip him over from the edge where he teetered, down into the fallen abyss or whatever poetic shit his mind could conjure.

You keep his cock aimed and he spills into the toilet, shuddering with the force of it. It’s the deep rooted kind of orgasm, the kind that makes your eyes roll and bones go gelatinous. Yeah, that kind. It’s honestly the best orgasm he’s had in months, he thinks he could actually cry.

No, scratch that, it’s not hot to cry after sex, even if it’s a bathroom handy.

He feels your hand move up and down against his stomach, petting him, such a soft action that he does sniffle a little.

“Good boy,” you say to him, tender, kind.

Oh boy, here comes the waterworks.

—

Wade would have been an idiot not to have grabbed your number after that night. Actually, it’s more like you grabbed his phone and put your number in yourself, which made him fall just ever a little bit more in love.

It’s scary, he thinks, to try again after so much heartbreak. Vanessa would always be his friend, even if at one point, he had still wished it to be more. Actually, he thinks she might be proud of him for making another new friend, and that thought does make him feel warm inside.

He meets you today at a cute little coffee shop for a technical first date after the restroom rendezvous (which he’s still surprised got no knocks on the door, thanks author).

It’s cliche, sickeningly so, but it’s so healing to his mangled up little heart that he’s damn well bringing a bouquet with him, too.

He knows it’s your favorite spot, not because you told him, but because he did some light stalking on his own. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with doing a little research! He had to make sure you weren’t an ax murderer or something (which would have just been another score in his book).

He watches you from the window of the shop for a minute, a certain type of nervousness gnawing in his chest, more so than he felt with you before. Maybe it’s because this time it’s more than just a mindless fling. Maybe he just really likes you.

You catch him when you look up from your phone, giving him a wave through the window and he gathers himself up once more, and pushes open the door.

#spicy #deadpool #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #dom reader

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mcybank · 2 months ago

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SCORSESE BABY DADDY [ — Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader ]

When Rafe Cameron uprooted his life for the better and moved away from Kildare, you came as a product he believed meant he made the right choice. Now, you are at the Cameron's family dinner and Rafe is at risk of you learning about a past he was commited to leaving behind.

cw: emotional repression, father issues (ward cameron), self-sabotage in a yearning way, post-dinner spiral, one (1) scared boy being loved anyway, unresolved guilt, healthy communication disguised as casual conversation, toothbrush intimacy, crying into girlfriend’s shoulder (strategic), touch starvation recovery arc, character study disguised as fluff n hurt/comfort, healing (against his will), risotto (bad), rafe cameron being the saddest and most annoying boy alive

a/n: if you enjoyed this u might potentially enjoy (self-promo so sorry) my rafe fic on wp :)) i have 10k words written out for it already waiting to be posted and it's gonna be a longlong ride!!

When Rafe was eleven, he spent an entire summer teaching Wheezie how to hold her breath underwater. She'd follow him to the pool like a little barnacle, limbs all uncoordinated and eyelashes clumped from sunscreen. Everytime she came up too early, he'd flick water at her and make her do it again.

"You can't just bail 'cause it's too hard," he'd tell her, chest puffed like a coach, then he'd sneak her an orange Gatorade under the lounge chairs and let her wear his hat backward so she'd feel cool.

Rose and Ward never watched from the balcony. They never asked who taught her how to swim. But Rafe did it anyway, again and agaiin, day after day, until her kicks got cleaner and her timing got better and she could stay long enough to pretend she was someone else entirely.

He hadn't thought about that summer in years. Not until tonight when you reached for his hand under the white tablecloth and squeezed it once, like you could feel it too. That old ache and quiet question in him that never quite left: Did it all still turn out wrong?

You smiled at Wheezie across the table. Told her she looked pretty. And Rafe felt something ease at the base of his neck, something old and tight and coiled.

He hadn’t thought about that summer in years. The one where she still wore floaties and called him “coach,” back when he thought maybe being good at taking care of her was the same thing as being good. Back before anyone expected anything else.

Ward poured himself another glass of wine and said, “Still can’t believe they let you back in here after that mess at the bar. Guess it helps to have friends in real estate.”

It landed like nothing. Barely a wrinkle in the tablecloth of conversation. No one paused. No one flinched. Except Rafe. Slightly.

You turned toward him, just barely. “What mess?”

His jaw flexed. “It was years ago.”

You waited, softly. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer, but his fork scraped the plate a little harder than before. Across from you, Wheezie was suddenly very interested in her water glass.

Ward went on, still smiling. “You know what the real problem was? Not the broken nose, not the broken window. It was that smug little look on your face, like you thought you were entitled to break things. That’s what scared people.” He laughed like it was funny now.

You felt Rafe’s hand stiffen under yours. Just enough to know it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. And maybe not the worst thing that had ever been said to him.

Ward finally turned his attention to you, shifting in his seat with the posture of someone who believed charm was a currency and he’d never once been denied a loan. “So. You’re the reason he came back for the weekend.”

You smiled, polite. “He said his sister had a swim meet.”

Wheezie didn’t look up from her water glass.

Ward hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Right. And you go to Duke, too?"

“I do,” you said, not unkindly.

“Duke,” Ward repeated, as if the word tasted good in his mouth. “God, finally. Someone at this table who might actually graduate with honors.”

It was delivered like a compliment. Rafe, across from him, didn’t react. You felt his hand go cool.

“English major,” you added, hoping to pivot the conversation somewhere easier. “And art history minor.”

Ward gave a short laugh, turned to Rose. “Well, she’ll at least know what to hang on the walls.”

Rose smiled thinly. “We could use some taste around here.”

“I like her,” Ward said then, like you weren’t sitting right there. Like he was sealing something. “She’s composed. Level-headed. You could learn from that, Rafe.”

Still no response.

You turned slightly in your chair, your thigh brushing against Rafe’s under the table. His jaw was tight. Not clenched. Contained. His water glass was half full, untouched.

Ward leaned back, gesturing broadly with his wine. “You know, I had my doubts. Kid goes off to school, I think—finally. Fresh start. Clean slate. Then I hear you’ve got a girl. First thought? Poor thing.”

You raised an eyebrow, unsure if he expected a laugh.

“But I’ve got to say,” Ward continued, “he did alright. Even if he’s still figuring out what not to set on fire.”

That got a small sound out of Rafe—something between a scoff and a breath. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

“You done?” he said.

Ward smiled. “Just catching up.”

You looked at Rafe then, watching him carefully. There was something simmering just behind his stillness, like a held breath too long underwater. You’d never seen him like this. Not quite. He’d told you bits about growing up here—never whole stories, just outlines. His past, you were starting to realize, was shaped more by what he didn’t say.

The first time you stayed over, it wasn’t planned. You’d come over to study, except Rafe had gotten bored halfway through your flashcards and started tossing pens at your notebook. Then you fell asleep on top of him mid-sentence—mouth slightly open, legs tangled in the blanket he swore he didn’t use but always had on his bed. When you woke up hours later, still groggy and confused, you found him lying stiff as a board next to you, arms folded behind his head like he didn’t know what to do with the rest of his body. “You drool,” he said, deadpan, staring at the ceiling. “You hog the blanket,” you replied, voice scratchy. “I gave you my blanket,” he said. “Which is basically a declaration of love. Don’t make it weird.” You blinked at him. He still hadn’t looked at you. Then, after a beat: “You can stay, by the way. I mean. If you want. Not forever, obviously. Jesus.” You smiled, rolled onto your side to face him. “Are you nervous?” “Me? No,” he scoffed, finally glancing at you. “You’re the one who clung to me like a koala all night. Hope you didn’t imprint.” But later, when you drifted back to sleep, you felt him shift closer. A hand on your hip. His voice was low, almost a whisper: “I don’t snore, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

You weren’t.

You were sitting on his floor, cross-legged in his boxers and your own hoodie, eating cereal out of a measuring cup because all of his bowls were “in the sink,” which actually meant on his desk, under three empty Gatorade bottles and a protein bar wrapper.

“Why do you have three forks and one spoon?” you asked, holding the spoon like it was evidence in a trial.

“Because people don’t steal forks at parties,” he said, flopped out on his bed like he hadn’t moved in an hour. “Spoons, though. Everyone wants a spoon. It’s the intimacy of it.”

You looked up. “Did you just say spoons are intimate?”

He smirked. “Yeah. Think about it. Forks are aggressive. You stab with a fork. You cradle with a spoon. One’s for violence, one’s for trust.”

You stared at him. “You’re actually insane.”

He rolled over, arm dangling off the side of the bed, eyes half-lidded and lazy. “Tell that to the spoon you’re using right now, thief.”

You tossed a pillow at his head. He caught it midair—smug—and then, in the most casual voice possible, said, “You look good like that, by the way.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “Wearing my boxers. Eating cereal. Ruining my cutlery system.”

You didn’t know what to say. So you looked back down at your cereal like it wasn’t the best thing anyone had ever said to you.

A second later, he added, quieter, not looking at you. “You could keep some stuff here, if you wanted.” Then, louder, he continued, “Not like—drawers. But, like. A toothbrush. Or whatever.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just smiled into your spoon. Cradling it.

It started when you offered to make him a playlist. Just something to listen to while he studied—mostly as a joke, because you’d caught him using the “Beast Mode: Workout 2019” Spotify default for everything from walking to brushing his teeth.

“I don’t trust other people’s music taste,” he said, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.

“Even mine?” you asked, dramatically wounded.

He shrugged. “You like sad girl shit.”

You crawled into his lap and draped yourself across him like a human protest sign. “Sad girl shit has range, thank you.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t push you off. Just rested his hand on the back of your thigh and mumbled, “Fine. One playlist. But if there’s a single ukulele song on it, I’m blocking your number.”

You made it later that night, half serious. Some of your favorites. Some songs you thought he might secretly like if no one was watching. You sent it with no caption.

He didn’t say anything about it.

Not the next day. Not the one after.

Then, a week later, you borrowed his headphones to take a phone call—and when you opened Spotify, your playlist was at the top of his “Recently Played.” The last track was halfway through.

You smiled. Just a little.

But when you looked up at him—Rafe, slouched on the couch, pretending not to notice—there was something in his posture that caught you. Something tense, almost embarrassed. Like he was afraid of what it meant to be known.

“I didn’t save it,” he said quickly. “Just clicked it by accident.”

You didn’t tease. Just nodded and said, “Cool.”

Because what you didn’t know—what he wouldn’t say—was that no one had ever made him anything before. Not without expecting something back. Not just because they thought he’d like it.

He’d listened to it three times. All the way through. Alone. With the volume low. Like it was something fragile.

Back in his room, he didn’t turn on the light. Just sat on the edge of the bed and untied his shoes like it was any other night, like his father hadn’t spent the last hour gutting him with compliments sharp enough to bruise. His jaw was tight. Not clenched in anger—set, like he was bracing for something. You didn’t speak. Just stood in the doorway, the scent of his old cologne hanging in the still air, like it had nowhere else to go.

He kicked one shoe off, then the other, and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was trying to wring the tension out of his own fingers. His eyes didn’t meet yours. Not once. It was like being shut out of a house that had once let you in. You walked in slowly. Sat beside him. Close, but not touching.

“Say it,” he said suddenly, voice flat. “Whatever it is you’ve been holding in since dinner.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I wasn’t—”

He laughed, sharp and humorless. “C’mon. You think I didn’t see your face every time he opened his mouth?”

“I just—” you tried, but he cut you off with a shake of his head, like he didn’t want to hear whatever soft thing you were about to say.

“Don’t try to fix it,” he muttered. “Seriously. Don’t—don't do the whole ‘they were wrong about you’ thing. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

That landed. Not because he said it harshly. But because he said it like a fact. Like he needed it to be true.

You sat still. Silent. Felt the breath stall in your chest.

“I know how they see me,” Rafe said, staring at the floor. “I don’t need you to pretend it’s different.”

You wanted to reach for him. But something in the way he was holding himself—tight, coiled, like a pulled wire—warned you not to. Not yet.

And then, quieter, he said, “You’re not gonna be the exception.”

He said it like a fact he’d had to learn the hard way, like it would save you both time if you just nodded and left now.

You didn’t.

You sat with it. Not like you were absorbing the blow, but like you were letting it pass right through you. Then you said, almost conversationally, “You left your toothbrush in my shower caddy. I was gonna pretend it was gross, but it’s not. I kind of like it.”

Rafe didn’t move. But something shifted. Just slightly. A pause that felt like a flinch he caught in time.

You went on, still calm. “Also, I stole your hoodie. The green one. The ugly one. I wore it to the dining hall and someone asked if I’d lost a bet."

You continued, “They said ‘Cameron? Like Rafe Cameron?’ And I said ‘Yeah.’ Just like that. No panic. No apology.”

Still nothing from him. But he was listening now. Really listening. You could feel it.

“And this girl—Ava, I think—she just nodded. Said ‘huh.’ Like it made sense. Like you made sense.”

You looked at him then. Not soft. Not pleading. Just real.

“I don’t need a version of you that other people approve of,” you said. “I just need the one who texts me pictures of raccoons at 2 a.m. and refuses to admit he has a skincare routine.”

The silence that came after was almost holy.

“I only do the toner because you said I looked tired.”

You smiled.

And for a second, you thought that would be it. The soft edge of humor, the space to breathe. But then he leaned forward again, rubbed both hands over his face like he could blur the night out of existence, and said—too fast, too quiet—

“I was fucking terrified to bring you here.”

You froze.

“I didn’t say it,” he went on, like the words were pushing themselves out now that they’d started. “I tried to act normal, I tried to play it cool—like this was just... whatever. But the second we crossed that bridge, I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That it was a mistake,” he said, without hesitation. “Not because of you. Because of me. Because I know what people here remember. And you—you’re gonna see it. One of these days. You’re gonna run into someone at the store or the gas station or the fucking yacht club, and they’re gonna look at you like they feel sorry for you. Like you don’t know who you’re with.”

He laughed, but it came out sharp and sick. A knife, not a joke.

“We’ve got two more nights here,” he said, voice thinner now. “That’s plenty of time. Plenty of time for someone to say something. For you to hear something. And then...” He trailed off.

You looked at him. Really looked.

“And then what?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor, jaw tight, like he was waiting for the version of you that walked out.

Like he was already trying to forgive you for it.

"Then what, Rafe?" you pressed. "Then I'll leave?"

He exhaled, slow and uneven, like the question itself hurt more than the answer. His hand dragged across his knee. He still wouldn’t look at you.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he said finally. Voice low. Unsteady in that dangerous way—like it was trying too hard to be calm. “That’s the thing.”

He leaned back, spine hitting the wall behind the bed with a soft thud.

“You think I don’t know how this works? You show up here, and everyone sees you and thinks, God, she doesn’t know what he’s done. And maybe you don’t. Not really. You’ve heard pieces, maybe. Hints. But not the shit that sticks.”

You didn’t speak. Let him go on.

“I’m not stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “I know the kind of person people think I am. I was that person. That version of me—he didn’t care who he fucked over, who he scared, who he broke. I hurt people just to feel something. Sometimes just to prove I could.”

He paused. Swallowed hard. His voice cracked, barely. “And if I didn’t have you... I’d probably still be doing it.”

That landed. Sharp and heavy.

You felt it in your chest, in your throat. That kind of quiet honesty that didn’t come with redemption, just... regret.

“I brought you here,” he said, finally looking at you. “And now I’m just waiting for someone to hand you a reason to hate me. Like it’s inevitable. Like it’s already written.”

And the way he said it—flat, matter-of-fact—made your stomach twist. Because he didn’t sound afraid of losing you. He sounded like he already had.

"You are the only good thing I've had, and it has lasted while I wasn't here. I brought you here, and now I keep wishing I hadn't. Not because I don't want you with me. But because I do. And I think that might be the worst thing."

You didn’t touch him at first. You just sat there, letting his words settle in the dark like dust, like ash. And then, softly, almost like you were scared of startling him.

“Okay,” you said.

His head turned toward you, barely. Confused. Cautious. Like he was waiting for the rest of the sentence to fall apart.

But you just said it again. “Okay.”

“I’m still here. I’m tired and full of shitty risotto and mildly traumatized, but I’m here.”

He gave a breath of something that might’ve been a laugh. Or a warning. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t. I wasn’t here for the worst of it. I don’t know what you’ve done, who you were, what people will say to me at the gas station or the grocery store or wherever else they sell recycled grudges in this town.”

You leaned in, a little closer. Not pressing. Just available.

“But I know you now. I know the way you make sure I always walk on the inside of the sidewalk. I know you refuse to admit you have a favorite mug but always give me the same one when I stay over. I know that you don’t sleep until I do. And I know that when you’re scared, you get mean. Not because you want to hurt someone. But because you’d rather be hated on purpose than loved on accident.”

That was what broke him.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a breath that caught. A blink that lasted too long. A hand that went up like he might cover his face, but stopped midway and curled instead into the fabric of your sleeve.

“I don’t want to lose this,” he said, and it came out strangled. Raw. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You might,” he said. “You might find out something and—fuck, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Rafe,” you said, so gently it almost hurt, “you’ve already told me the worst thing.”

“What?”

“That you don’t believe anyone could love you and stay.”

And that—that—was when he finally let it go.

His shoulders sagged, and he turned into you like he didn’t mean to. Like his body moved before his mind caught up. You pulled him in, arms around his neck, his face buried against your collarbone, his breath shuddering like it couldn’t find its rhythm.

And still, he tried to apologize. You felt it in the way he whispered your name like he was confessing to something.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron hurt/comfort #rafe cameron fluff #rafe #obx #outer banks x reader #obx angst

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itsnotbird · 8 months ago

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Ghosting

Post!Hydra Dark! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

‘I’ve been ghosting…I’ve been ghosting along, ghost in your house, ghost in your arms.’

Summary: Maybe his tendencies are odd, but maybe the two of you are just meant to be? He doesn’t want to be the ghost that looms around, but what choice does he have?

Warnings: Stalking, dark themes, 18+ content, not intended for minors! Reader gets harassed in the beginning, Bucky is…he’s a little crazy but he means well. Isn’t he so dreamy? Trust the process here.

A/n: I had this idea and I’m going to poorly execute it! Not cannon whatsoever, post Hydra/Winter soldier Bucky but…old habits die hard.

“You want to come back to my place?”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s um…that’s a kind offer, Connor, but I’m kinda tired.” You politely say as you leave the restaurant.

It’s a bold offer for him to make after a first date- a lousy first date. He made you pay half the bill, made subtle comments about your choice of outfit, talked about himself the entire time. Now, he has the audacity to ask for a lousy hook up.

He looks at you with a confused smile. “No? Oh…okay.”

“I don’t know if you were…expecting something but…I just don’t think we’re the best match.” You say honestly.

He scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Okay, wow, um…I was trying to be nice because you’re clearly desperate-”

“Desperate?” You choke out a dry laugh.

“-but hey, go ahead and be a tease, that’s fine.”

“What?” You squint, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”

“Yeah, it probably doesn’t take much.” He says with a serious look.

“Wow, what a wasted night.” You say to yourself.

“Yeah tell me about it, you sat there going on and on about your parents and I’m not even going to get head? Hey, newsflash! Your parents are probably just disappointed they have a screw up of a daughter. Seriously, you’re so fucking boring.”

You huff in disbelief, not able to wrap your head around how mean his words are.

“I’m gonna go.” You say. “I hope you can find a decent personality.”

As you turn, walking back in the direction of your apartment, he shouts a few choice words in your direction. You only wrap your coat around you tighter.

Though you hate it, tears burn your eyes. Silently crying in the dark, you place a call to your best friend.

“Hey! How was the date?” She asks in a cheery tone.

Immediately you sniffle. “Pretty bad.”

Your soft sobs echo off of brick walls, all the way up to Bucky sitting on the roof of the building you pass. The sound is enticing, causing him to look over the edge at your figure.

Somehow, he knows that he should just stay where he is, it’s really something he doesn’t need to get involved with.

But…he finds himself hopping over to the next roof, following you. It’s like he’s enticed to do it. Part of him - the small part that’s still sane- recognizes how crazy and creepy he’s being.

The much larger part of him doesn’t give a fuck.

Rooftop to rooftop, he’s like your shadow, listening to your conversation, watching the surroundings around you to make sure you don’t get hurt. He aches for you, utterly displeased that you are upset. Which is a crazy idea because he knows nothing about you.

Well, not for long.

See, it’s like the universe is on his side. Because though he’s not trying to keep track of you, you’re constantly crossing his path. Over the next week, he quickly learns your schedule. He learns that you leave your apartment building at 8am to go to work at the overpriced coffee shop down the street, you usually get off at 3pm. Then your night plans alternate, one night you go to a college class, the other you go to a friend’s house where you don’t come back until very late.

You grocery shop at a Whole Foods, you don’t shop for yourself, you like music, you play the guitar. He watches you open your apartment window and sit on the sill, smoking a cigarette once in a while and that’s how he knows you’re stressed.

At first, he ran into you purely by chance.

But it became almost too easy to pin you down when you lived the same, boring life.

On the coming Saturday, you go on another date. He doesn’t know this until you and the man come into the bar he’s in.

You look gorgeous, like always. You seemed to have this classic elegance about you, and this guy…well, he’s wearing brown shoes and black trousers so there’s no hope.

He tries not to stare, but you laugh so beautifully and your smile is sparkling, then he’s angry because this fool is making you laugh and smile.

You have much hope for this guy, Noah is his name. He’s sweet, he’s funny, he…is so insanely boring.

But you push past it and claim that everyone is a little off on first dates. He pays for your drinks and offers to call you a cab home. What you don’t expect is for the way he grips you sharply in the alleyway of the bar, kissing you heatedly. You awkwardly laugh and try to tell him this wasn’t really your style, but he’s rather persistent.

You feel stupid. Did you give him the wrong signs? He was so good the entire night and this is how it has to end?

“Noah, wait. Wait, stop.” You say, trying push his hands off of you.

“You’re really gorgeous.” He huffs, pulling the strap of your dress down so he can suck on your shoulder.

“I- thank you but really, I don’t want you to do this.” You struggle again, only to be pushed back harder against the brick. Your head hits it and pain blooms in your skull.

“No, it’s okay.” He claims, holding your hands down.

You begin to panic, frozen in fear as you start begging him to let you go.

“Hey.” A voice suddenly says.

You look over at the man who has a very scary look in his eye.

“I think the lady wants you to stop.” He says.

Noah rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Bucky looks at your quivering lip and determines that he can’t do that.

So he sighs, then calmly comes to grip Noah’s shoulder and rips him away from you. He stumbles back, aiming to throw a punch before Bucky stops his fist and punches him in the face, hard enough that he falls to the ground.

You gasp, fixing yourself and quickly wiping your face. The stranger turns to you, eyes searching you.

“Are you hurt?” Bucky asks.

“No. Thank you.”

He nods, then motions to the street. “I’ll get you a cab home.”

You aren’t completely sure what to do, it was all so strange. Looking back to Noah on the ground, you quickly get away from him, trusting this stranger more than anything now.

He does exactly what he says and hails you a cab, watches you get in and shuts the door behind you.

There are no other words spoken.

You drive away and that’s where it’s left.

Or so you think.

In all actuality, that little interaction has been fueling his growing obsession. He’s paying closer attention, in every shadow, you could find him there. But you never do.

From the fire escape, he sometimes- lots of times- he sits when he can’t sleep. He sits on the ledge, concealed in darkness, and silently observes you. Bucky determines that you were strategically placed in his life, you had to be.

The universe was never on his side, so why was he being rewarded now? If he didn’t understand it, it’s because his brain is still trying to connect wires back together. Oh but it does make sense, you’re this shining star, you’re the lark bird with a broken wing and who is he? He’s the man to help.

He recognizes the look in your eye, the gaze that searches for salvation in every person, he knows desperation because it’s been under his mask for years. He could be your savior.

He is.

No, no he won’t force anything. You’ll have to ask, admit that you strive for something other than the cards you have been dealt. But you couldn’t do that if you keep ignoring your ghost.

He’ll pull the sheet off of his head, that’s what he’ll do. He’ll strategically plan the way your paths will cross again, like any good soldier does, and it’s going to open that shut door. He won’t have to look for an open window anymore, physically or metaphorically.

Saturday night. You’re dressed up. You leave your flat in heels and a backless dress. You should really put on a coat, that shall around your shoulders won’t keep the chilly air away.

He watches from the adjacent roof top, he makes sure you get in your cab alright.

He knows you’re going to your best friend’s birthday night out at the city’s newest jazz club, a very elegant place, he’s heard you discussing it with her for weeks.

That’s where he’ll be.

Dressed the part in a suit he’s lifted from the dry cleaners, he’ll lurk around the bar, hide within the crowd, stay far away from the dance floor.

Nostalgia seems to make him feel a little sick, the music, the theme, everything seems to be reconnecting him to the boy he was before.

James Buchanan Barnes. That’s who he needs to be now. Charming and all smiles and smooth talking, he could do, can’t he?

Irritation bites at his nerves when opportunity doesn’t present itself for a while. You seem glued to your star-of-the-show best friend. He admires your loyalty, your blind adoration for a woman who tends to brush you off often for much more interesting people.

How dare she? If you were stitched to his side, he’d never make you feel pushed out, he’d give you his attention, he’d make sure you knew you were the most important thing in the room.

He’s bitter now.

He needs a drink. The idea of it soothes more than the alcohol does, given the fact he could drink three entire bottles before feeling something. That’s a painful disadvantage of the serum in his blood, he couldn’t even effortlessly get drunk to forget his troubles.

At the bar, he orders whiskey neat and pushes his hair back in a huff.

“Hi, could I get another glass of champagne?”

There it was, that voice that’s better than every song being played here.

You stand beside him, smiling at the bartender.

“Actually.” You change your mind. “A Martini, please. No- just a double Tito’s with three olives. Please.”

The barman chuckles at your request and begins to make it for you.

You’re here, all elegant in your green silk dress that compliments your eyes, smelling like your nice perfume, the one you spray on your wrists and behind your ear. Suddenly, Bucky is at a loss of words.

He’s waited around all night and you’re finally here.

You sigh in dissatisfaction, it’s a noise he never ever wants to hear from you ever again.

“Thank you.” You thank the barman again as he slides your drink to you.

Bucky watches you take a sip, he envies the martini glass for the way your lips wrap around the rim. Your eyes shut as you taste the alcohol, dark lashes flutter together and you look just like a doll.

“Rough night?” He questions.

You face him, an excuse on your lips but you pause when you recognize him.

“No, no my evening has been fine. I’m sorry, you look so familiar. Have we met?”

He thinks it’s cute the way you pretend you don’t remember him.

“Briefly, I believe. Outside of the-”

“Outside that bar. Right. You…helped me.” You state, obviously feeling a little embarrassed even though he isn’t sure why you would be.

“That guy was a dick, don’t worry about it.” He says, drawing your eyes back to him.

“Thank you…most people would’ve just kept walking.” You say, genuine tone, vulnerable face.

“Most people suck.”

You laugh, and it’s the best sound he’s known. He smiles, watching you tuck away a strand of hair that has fallen from your updo.

You introduce yourself now, giving him your name to hold, not like a secret.

“I’m James.” He says.

“James.”

His name has belonged on your lips for over a hundred years.

“I like that name.” You determine, sipping on your drink. “What brings you here tonight, James?”

He’s quick to think on his feet.

“A failed double date.”

You give him a questioning look.

“How was it failed? She wasn’t a damsel in distress?” You joke, and he smiles at your smile.

“No, she left with another man. Honestly, it’s fine, I wasn’t interested in her.” He lies, adoring the pout you gain on his behalf.

“That’s a shame, you seem like great company, James.”

He hasn’t been told that for as long as he can remember, well, he can’t remember much, actually. But he does know that he loves getting to know you face to face, not just learning from a distance. There would never be a distance again, he knows this, feels it in the way you accidentally touch his arm as you laugh in conversation.

You feel as if you’ve known him for ages, you haven’t but he sure knows you.

“Why look so drab if you’re celebrating your best friend’s birthday?” He asks, watching you toy with your empty glass before the bartender takes it away.

A sigh leaves your perfect lips. “I’m happy, of course I am…I just, well, sometimes I get looked over. It’s fine, it’s not my night, it’s hers…but somehow it happens very often when her and I go out. I suppose it’s just easy for people to forget I’m around, especially her when she has so many people’s attention.”

He shakes his head, you might as well have confessed to a crime. Those words shouldn’t have left your mouth.

“You’re not easy to forget.” Bucky tells you, his clear, blue, eyes heavy in yours. “In my opinion, you’re much more memorable and-and admirable than her.”

He hasn’t spoken this much in forever, he’s surprised he remembers words as big.

You blush at his compliment. “Really?”

“Really.” He coos. “Girls like her are a dime a dozen, but not you. I could tell from the moment I saw you, you have something far more interesting than her.”

You selfishly let his words flatter you for a moment.

“She’s my best friend since high school, she’s really been there for me so for that I am grateful but…well, she has a tendency to make me a sidekick. I don’t like being Robin.” You laugh.

Bucky pretends he knows who you’re talking about.

“You deserve to be the hero.” He chimes.

You giggle. “I am no Captain America.”

That has him at a loss for words.

You don’t notice though. You look over to the stage, the band plays a slow throwback, a smooth jazz song.

The alcohol bas mostly calmed your nerves, and the way your best friend has yet to notice your absence, has you making an offer you’d never make.

“Are you a fan of Frank Sinatra, James?” You ask.

“Never heard of him.” He jokes, definitely finding it far more amusing than you do.

“Do you dance?” You question now, boldly taking his hand.

You haven’t figured out the deal with the gloves he wears yet, but you don’t ask in fear you’ll offend him.

And though he said he’d stay far from the dance floor, he’s blindly guiding you to the space where the others sway, it’s like he’s enchanted by the low lighting on your skin, or the way you’re so willing to let him in. He’s not even sure he remembers how to dance, but he falls right into the rhythm like it’s always been with him.

Gentle, he’s oh so gentle with you, you have no clue how much he’s thinking about the touch he’s giving you.

It’s you who gets flirty, hand sliding over his shoulder to gently hold the back of his neck, you gently press into his rather broad frame.

You can see the way your best friend’s eyes finally find you, and she’s immediately curious.

You’re immediately frightened.

She’s going to want him, she’s always had the same taste as you.

You let out a shaky breath and look away.

“What’s wrong?” He immediately asks in a protective tone as he feels you go rigid in his hands. His defense is up, he looks around the room for a threat.

“Nothing, sorry. I’m sorry, I’m okay.” You let out a soft laugh, laying your head on his chest.

The action immediately distracts him.

Here you were, falling right into him like you were meant to, his perfect girl.

He tucks that loose hair behind your ear, he lets his fingers gently trace down your spine until he comes back to hold your waist.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast.” He says close to you, not thinking about the possibility of you asking just how he could tell.

“I’m trying not to step on your shoes.” Is all you say with a fleeting giggle.

As the song closes, you’re in some sort of dream land. It’s not the alcohol, even if it was a strong drink, it’s all him.

That elated feeling continues as he pulls you away from the crowd, and it dissipates right when your best friend finds you.

“There you are!” She smiles at you. “I see you’ve made a friend.”

You should just go home.

“This is James.” You say, watching them greet each other.

“It’s my birthday, James.” She tells him in her tipsy tone.

He looks at her birthday sash and nods. “I can see that. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. You can give me a gift later if you want.”

You should really just go home and put on your sweats and a movie.

But then you feel his hand on the small of your back.

“We’re actually going for a stroll.” He says, because what else is he to say? That your friend’s actions aren’t attractive? How she comes on far too strong in the worst way? Perhaps he’s only in this mindset because he can see the way your face fell when she posed a threat.

She’s no threat, sweet girl. No one is a threat to you, ever, not now that I’m here.

He says it with his eyes as you look up at him in question. The gentle nod he offers has you easing. A stroll sounds nice.

You find yourself agreeing? How is it so easy to agree and tell your friend good night? It’s as easy as your hand around his- large- bicep as the two of you walk the glimmering night streets of the city.

He makes you feel so…secure. Maybe this is how girls get kidnapped and turn up dead in alleyways, but you feel the need to trust him with your life.

You feel the need to grow obsessive over every word and touch he gives you.

Maybe that’s how you end up showing him your apartment. He acts like he’s never seen it before.

And he has not one intention on things going further- well, maybe just one. But he’s a perfect gentleman, drinking the coffee you make him, complimenting your music collection, asking about the instrument in the corner.

It’s all you who gets closer.

And as your lips touch, you can’t help but think this is insane.

You should pull away, but then he grips your waist and deepens the kiss and you completely lose your mind.

He’s a stranger in your home, on your lips.

But is he really?

“I’m sorry.” You immediately say when he pulls back and turns his head away. “I-I don’t do this, a lot of girls say that, but I really don’t do this.”

He knows you don’t, and the fact that you’re doing it with him has him trying to control himself.

“I’m sorry.”

You apologize too much. He’s going to have to fix that.

“No, no.” He says, looking back down at you. “Don’t. It’s me, not you.”

“I’ve heard that before.” You laugh awkwardly, anxiously.

His hand comes to your cheek. “Hey, no it really is me. You’re perfect, I…am not.”

Your brows droop together. “You seem pretty perfect to me…I’m pretty sure I like you. Is that crazy?”

How sweet, how innocent.

He struggles with his emotion like he always does, too confused to put things into words, and the confusion turns into irritation and soon he’s huffing and drawing both hands to your face, like it will help.

“Not crazy.” He says. “I like you too, I’m certain of it…but I am not perfect, do you understand?”

He’s a magician, or he’s drugged you. James speaks assertively and it’s like you’re in a daze, just nodding along.

He sees that spark in your eye, in that moment his suspicions are confirmed. He’s watched you strike out on dates because you try with men who don’t understand what you need. Only he knows, only he knows you want someone to comfort and lead you. That’s how he gets you to do as he asks, which all just consists of changing out of that damn gorgeous dress and relaxing on your sofa with him. But in the long run, he knows you’ll follow with your blind loyalty and never forsake him.

He doesn’t let you be nervous, thinking he’s expecting something from you. He sits and lets you decide how close you want to be next to him, and that’s because Bucky is confident you’ll be following right along in his plan without his assistance.

You sit about five inches away from him, knees curled to your chest in your flannel pants and you bunch your sweater sleeves around your hands. When it’s supposed to be a two way conversation, you hardly notice how he lets you do all the talking.

That’s because he isn’t sure how to go about explaining things to you yet, he has to wait for the moment he’s confident you’re all in on this.

“It’s weird, I feel so comfortable around you…like I already know your presence.”

You do, you just don’t know that.

Bucky hums, then is immensely pleased with the way you draw yourself closer.

“Sometimes people are just like that. Familiar.” He says, slightly stiff as you turn to lean into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you seem familiar, James.”

That’s a statement echoing in his haunted mind, bouncing off walls as he carries you to bed and tucks you in after you fall asleep against him, it’s with him in the following days when he shows up in your life again after you had the fear you were never going to see him. You woke up and he was gone, no note, no number to call and you cried and felt pathetic and yet, here he is now.

Bucky is waiting outside the coffee shop as you come out after your shift, he looms in such a way you almost don’t see him.

“James.” You say in surprise, heart beating a little faster at the abrupt introduction of him. “Hi, I-I didn’t- were you waiting for me? Meeting someone?”

Bucky smiles at your nervousness. “I was waiting for you.”

Interactions like this become common. Before you realize it, you’re getting to know someone who has you memorized perfectly. There’s no concern on how to reach him, because he always manages to find you, he’s always there when you need him. And weeks pass and Bucky wants to hear you say his name a thousand times over, his obsession grows and you know it.

The best part? You don’t mind it. Sure, it’s an adjustment, your whole life has been a constant fight for attention. So when he’s here, physically ignoring people when you’re near him, your first reaction is to think it won’t last.

He assures you through his actions that he is here to stay, because when he wants something, he takes it.

You could classify this as dating, wouldn’t you? Those nights he takes you away to places where it’s just the two of you, those are dates in your mind. To Bucky? There what life is meant to be like forever.

A month after the meeting in the bar, you’re sitting in your lounge chair, murmuring about how much you hate your job and the fact that you can’t seem to get a better one, it’s a conversation Bucky hears often. And somewhere from the moment you’re draped over his lap and his hand nudges your chin up when you get blue, you sigh.

“You never touch me.” You say, large eyes blinking at him.

Bucky grows confused. “That’s not true.” He states.

Your head rests against his collar bone, face almost nuzzles into his neck and you reach for his hand.

“I don’t know the feeling of your skin.”

It’s in this moment that he knows you’re ready for the truth, as much of it as you can handle.

When you started to fall for James, you knew he was different, had a different energy about him. Never in a million years did you expect him to start explaining a story so dark and horrid, and it’s only the version he alters for you, not having it in him to taint your perfect mind with the entire nightmare.

He talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk, for thirty two minutes you sit in his lap with wide eyes and a pale expression, trying to wrap your head around it. You have about a hundred and one questions and can’t fully form any, you wait until he finishes, then he looks at you with something so humble and vulnerable.

“…What?” You breathe. “What!?”

You’re off of his lap, pushing the sleeves of your shirt up and starting a pace while you try to process the information. He sits there, watching you, letting you get through the shock.

“James- you know that sounds crazy, right? Metal arm, wanted by the government, over a hundred years old- crazy.”

You continue to mutter and work through the sheer fear of ‘oh God what did you just get yourself into?’, then after about eight and a half minutes, you settle.

Just like he knew you would. Because that’s the kind of woman you are, able to think things through from an alternate perspective.

You stand before him, hair tucked behind your ears and you breathe.

“I want to see.” You state, sure of it.

“Why?” He questions.

“I might not believe you otherwise.”

You believe him, of course you do, this is something that could only happen to you. The more you think about it, this story explains things. Like the way he always hold you with his right hand, how he goes rigid at the mention of things that could be triggering for him and you had no clue.

Bucky processes it, then stands.

A glove comes off, a perfectly normal, large, right hand is under it.

Then, the other.

You blink, staring at the metal that has been revealed, shiny and silver.

He swallows hard, then pulls at the hem of the henley shirt he wears. It lands on the floor and you don’t move, just let your eyes explore the new discovery. Up his right arm, toned bicep, broad shouldered, expanding chest, down his stomach and back up and then…

His head turns, he looks away when you see it, the scarred skin of his left shoulder. It’s jarred, metal meets flesh and you can’t look away.

Maybe you should be repulsed, but you aren’t. You step forward, hand raised and he flinches slightly.

“Can I? I-I’ll be gentle.” You whisper.

If you were not made just for him, you would have left already, screamed perhaps, anything but let your fingertips graze his skin with no anger or malice behind it.

He continues to look away while you explore, and even though you’re filled with curiosity, a sour feeling stirs in your stomach at the thought someone did this to him.

“What is it?” You ask, your index running down the metal, watching it flex almost human like.

“Vibranium.” He says, tone bare.

“This is like…Stark technology stuff.” You gasp, watching his fingers flex.

He lets out a shaky breath at the Stark name, you make a mental note to not speak of it again.

Your hand skims the expanse of his chest, firm, tense. Had you truly not realized just how huge he is? Down his flesh arm, fingers follow valleys of muscle until they slip right into his. His hand is warm and entirely engulfing yours.

The other, it holds the back of his neck, lost in his hair, forcing him to look down at you, just in time for you to lean up and kiss him slowly.

You’re okay with it, all of it.

Perhaps you’re secretly just as crazy as he is?

With your hand in his, he has no choice but to grab your waist with the thing he viewed as a weapon. You do not hurt, he does not maim you like he has feared, you draw closer to his body and show him kindness and comfort.

There was no going back now, you couldn’t reject him now. Not when you’re shifting your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. The sky outside could be falling and you’d still be here, barefoot in your living room, tip toed to reach him. His hand leaves yours to cup your jaw, fingers flexed into skin like he could sink claws in.

Your hot. It’s a heat that blooms inside out and you find your hand twisting in hair and the other drawing his hips closer. Perhaps your actions shouldn’t come like this after he explained how tortured he is, but he does not stop you. In fact, it’s Bucky that nips at your lip, drawing you away in shock.

“You bit me.” You state, shocked.

“Sorry.” He says deeply.

Licking your lower lip, you shake your head. “No, it’s fine.”

That had to be it, that connection he felt, it’s because you could handle insanity.

Huffing against his lips, you breathe, open mouthed into his. “Is the serum a real thing?” You question before his tongue slips to yours.

Without a word, he’s gripping your sides and pulling you up, feet dangle before your thighs trap his waist, just one arm holding you there.

Okay. Serum’s real.

It’s hot mouths on each other until you tell him to take you to your bedroom.

“Listen to me.” He says as he sits you on the bed. “Don’t give me this just because you think it’s what I want.”

Immediately you shake your head. “No, no, I want this.”

He strokes your hair. “Think this through, there’s no going back after this, okay? You’ll be tied to me, you’ll be guilty by association, if you have me this once, I’ll want to keep coming back.”

Your heart hammers inside your chest, knees press together and your lips hang apart.

“You won’t have to keep coming back if you stay.” You say, reaching out to grip the top of his jeans. “I want it all.”

Psychotic, absolutely psychotic for speaking the words you speak and mean it so deeply. How could you say such things and still look like an angel? And how could you make him feel the way he does when you do nothing at all?

Bucky’s drunk, he’s gone, he doesn’t even know if it’s him or yet another alter ego that is enjoying all of this. But he’s undressing you and feeling every single valley and curve and soft spot. His lips are everywhere, pressed to your bare skin as you trust him with the most vulnerable parts of yourself. He’s kind to you, bringing you to a point where he knows you’re going to be relaxed enough for it. It’s his fingers that draw it out, they’re warming you up, causing your head to tilt back in ecstasy.

It courses in his blood, the rush he gets from watching you twitch and moan.

There’s stars that dance across your vision, they linger and burn, especially when you start to come down from the high you haven’t felt in awhile and he’s kissing your chest while lined up to your entrance.

“You can tell me no.” He offers one last time, but you shake your head fiercely.

“I want it.” You say, hand in his hair. “Do you?”

Does he? What a silly question for you to ask. He wants your everything, he wants to lay his claim and make you belong to with him. He wants to know you inside and out, wants to feel the way you’ll shudder and cry when he pushes you off the precipice.

“Yes.” He whispers, heavy eye contact as he stares down at you. “I want this. I want you.”

Your free hand comes to gently clutch the dog tags that hang from his neck, and you’re slightly breathless as you drag him down to your lips.

“You have me, you have me.”

Those pesky wires in his brain? The ones that are half connected? Well, they’re short circuiting. Maybe the wrong ones connect, because the level of possession he feels now isn’t one he thinks is normal. As the asset, he wasn’t allowed to possess anything, he was the possession…and before? Before the war and the snowy day in Austria and everything, he was sure he didn’t feel this way.

This is new, this is entirely because of you.

One hand braced at your head, the other grips the underside of your knee, keeping it far from the other and he pushes into you, maybe too fast.

The gasp that escapes your lungs is sharp and long, your eyes squeeze shut and he mirrors your drawn brows.

“I know, I know.” He comforts. “Breathe. There you go, just like that, my girl.”

His girl.

Toes are curled into the sheets. Maybe it’s because you haven’t done this in a while, or maybe because he’s so…big. You hide in his neck, chest heaving, fingers gripping his hair in hopes of relieving the pressure.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, trying to get you to look at him.

“I just- ah, I need a second. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things.” He grunts in your ear. “We could stay like this for an hour, if that’s what you need.”

With the slight adjustment of your hips under him, you breathe out. “I-I’m okay, please, do something.”

Your normally soft voice has gained an octave, it’s bordering a whine, pinched and breathless and oh so desperate. And just like that, he slowly drags out and back in and it’s the best feeling he has ever known, better than the relief that comes after the electric shock stops.

He’s courteous, he’s gentle and slow and it’s soothing to the burn between your legs, all the way up until you get comfortable and needy for more.

Holding his jaw, you kiss him deeper, with no concern for how messy it is.

“More, please.” You say into his open mouth.

“So polite.” He teases, moving a hand up to your hip.

You choke on your inhale as he quickens his pace, driving into you in such a vulgar way, you’re threatening to arch off the mattress. But he holds you down and you take it, you take it as well as he knew you would, with nails digging into his back.

“Oh- like this. Ah, James, it’s so good.” You say, slack jawed and whiney.

You sound perfect, because you sound like this just for him. He has to grunt with a face of contortion.

“It’s because you take it so well, such a good girl.”

You blush violently at the moan that you let out, and from the way you flutter around him, he has a feeling you like the name you don’t get called often.

He might not 100% remember doing things like this, but he figures it out perfectly, encouraging you to tell him what you want and how you want it. But you’re so shy. He’s practically buried in your cervix, and you’re acting shy.

He laughs at you.

“You’re too sweet.” Is what he comments before making it his mission to figure out what it is exactly that you want.

That unserious and unspoken thought that you had to be a little crazy in order for you to be so perfect, it might just be true. Because Bucky sits back on his knees and grabs your hips, pulling them up to match the way he thrusts deeply into you, and you love it.

You love it so much, you curse and he gains a look of surprise.

His angel girl is writhing and cursing.

“Fuck, I think you’re in my stomach.” You laugh, you laugh. He’s fucking you in a way soft lovers would cringe at, and you’re laughing with pleasure.

You’re perfect.

Bucky doesn’t even know if he’s fully conscious anymore, he has to be, right? It’s not guaranteed with the haze in his head and the film over his eyes and the voice that whispers over and over.

Take, take, take. It says.

брать, брать, брать.

It sounds good in both languages.

Almost as good as the sound of you practically shouting praise. Maybe it’s intense for the first time, but nothing about this relationship was going to be subtle and calm.

You don’t want it to be.

That knot forms in your stomach, it shoots heat everywhere, your heart beats so loud you’re convinced he can hear it. Your back will ache from the way it’s arched, but it all feels too good to be a concern.

“I’m getting close.” You cry, legs shaking around him, hand over your mouth.

He leans back over you and takes the hand away, caging it to the pillow, under his.

“I want to hear you. I want to hear the noise you make when you come for me.” He tells you, hot breath mixing with yours.

You nod, wide eyes, aimed to please.

Bucky’s fingers curl with yours and that’s how he keeps your hand while the your other is damaging the skin of his back. He is no stranger to pain, and the fact you don’t mean to inflict it has his lips on your throat. His teeth graze the skin, like he’s the wolf ready to rip it apart. When he does bite the skin and you jolt at the feeling, you can only assume it’s a tic that he comes with.

His tongue presses to ease any discomfort, and hips are heavy into yours as he drives you to the point of breaking apart.

It’s high pitched and sob like, how you cry and tense against him. That hand squeezes his to ground yourself, and your head tips back, pressed into the pillow, and you lose it.

He watches in amazement and that voice is so pleased.

Mine, mine, mine.

It all pushes him overboard.

He does his best to work you through it, then he’s pulling out too fast and fisting himself to finish the job, painting across your stomach and he can’t look away.

You mourn the loss of contact, but far too overwhelmed to do anything about it. You look at him with blurry eyes, hot tears have leaked into your hair and he’s looking at the way his spend lays across your skin.

Then, deep blue eyes flick back up to yours and he’s….proud.

“You with me?” He asks in a husky tone.

You nod with a heavy head.

That’s when he finally lets go of your hand, moving to rub your cheek before he grips your jaw. Not tight, nothing to hurt you, but he grips it and your swollen lips part.

“It’s you and me now. You’re mine, do you understand?”

You shouldn’t love the sound of that but you do. So you nod, eyes heavy, skin aflame. He wipes tears, kissing you sweet and like he’s following orders, he cleans you up wordlessly.

Later, he’ll watch you sleep because you can’t fight it anymore, and he’ll know that feeling in his chest has settled. He’s a ghost with a home now, he’ll stay because you invited him in.

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