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bluesidez · 9 months ago

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Can I request a Miguel O'Hara x Curvy reader where they both get intoxicated from sex pollen ??

[Sticky-Icky]

lab taster: @waterinthefire 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Curvy!Reader

summary: He's a lot less irritating when he puts his mouth to better use.

content warning: a PWP but you guys know me (there's a little plot), this is so 18+ that it's crazy so MDNI, sex pollen (or more like Miguel is playing around and doesn't know wtf he's doing), unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾) manhandling, temperature play if you squint, standing 69, facefucking, creampies, wrong use of webs, biting, breeding, spitting, squirting, cunnilingus, fellatio, fluff if you squint...I think that's it. my god.

word count: 4.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Listening to Sticky by Ravyn Lenae inspired part of this. Also watching several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, Hell’s Kitchen, and Law & Order: SVU in the bg kept me sane. And one more rewatch of ATSV.

My duty as a fanfic writer is fulfilled as I give you this mandatory trope. 🫡

When you first started working at Spider HQ, you were amazed by the fact that one man was able to create all of this.

It was astounding, beyond what the gray tones of Nueva York could ever present to you.

Now, you think back to your glittering eyes during the first year working here and laugh.

Working for Miguel O’Hara was like squeezing a watermelon through a straw. He was impossible.

Nothing you did was ever satisfactory for him. Something could always be fixed. Sometimes, you wonder why he still kept you employed here.

Currently, he was turning his nose up at a salve you were working on for spiders whose healing time wasn’t nearly as quick as others.

“Run a new test. This batch is no good.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The formula could be better, it’s too thick, and why does it smell like that?”

The scent was similar to one you wore often and a lot of the spider-people that swung by the pharmacy seemed to like it.

“Uh, jade tea.”

The pinch in Miguel’s eyebrows deepened as he sniffed the air.

“Switch it to something else.”

You huffed, already tired of this conversation, “Well, what smell do you suggest?”

“Anything but this.”

“How about lavender, then? Perhaps peppermint.”

“And now, you’re being childish,” Miguel put the tin down before placing his hands on his hips. “You know there’s spider-people who can’t smell too much of that.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He plopped a giant file on your desk, “Deal with that later. I need you to work on something else. For some reason, villains across dimensions are obtaining access to a substance similar to rapture. Every time there’s a mission, the spider-person of that dimension has been left affected. I need something to subside the effects until we can get them back here.”

“Ok, well do you have the substance with you?”

“No. But I’ll get you something soon. For now, I have a year’s worth of research on rapture. It should be of some use.”

You took the rubber band off of the manilla folder, something so old school for this era of tech.

You saw a line of formulas that started to make your head spin.

“Are there a lot of people affected right now?”

“Only a few. They’ve used the leftover solution I made a long time ago. It’s only going to work for so long,”

“Good. I need to sleep on this.”

Miguel’s head knocked back an inch, “Are you refusing work? The state of the heroes of different universes relies on this research. It’s not some science project-“

“I understand completely, Miguel, but I’m off the clock.”

He stopped and checked his watch, the red six o’clock burning back on him.

“I only work the hours you pay me, Spidey,” you reach to pat his arm and regret it when his stern face doesn’t move.

“Not interested in paid overtime?”

You bit your cheek to stop the laugh from coming out.

“That’s nice and all, but I’ve got plans.”

“Like what?”

“Like resting, sleeping, not touching lab work with a you-sized pole. All of these are things you aren’t familiar with. Plus, I have a date.”

A pause went through the room as you started to gather your things.

“Since when do you date?”

You push your chair under your desk harder than you mean to, “Since when do you care?”

“I,” he follows to the elevator, “care about my employees.”

“Sure, Miguel.”

If it weren’t for your tired state, you would think he looks a little sad at your statement.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

The doors start to close as you nod your head, Miguel’s gaze stuck just above your head.

Weird. Just like his frequent stops to your lab.

The feeling doesn’t leave your gut even as you’re smiling in your date’s face.

One minute, you’re laughing at a story about some amateur skateboarders Downtown, and the next, an electric billboard is being covered in tiny nano-spiders across the street.

“So the guy just takes one step on the board and then he’s flying. A straight line across the park.”

“That’s,” the spiders start to crawl into different lines. Then a logo forms, displaying the spider on Miguel’s suit next to an exclamation point. “So hilarious.”

Your date chuckles then follows your gaze, the silence too long, “Is there something wrong?”

The nano-spiders flipped around, the regular billboard showing like normal. You squint.

“No, I thought I saw something. Must have been my imagination.”

“You did say you were a little tired from work. Should we raincheck? We can always catch a movie another time.”

You wanted to say no, you’d been looking forward to tonight.

The billboard flickered to a little picture of Lyla with “SOS” above her head.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. Sorry about this.”

The way he doesn’t sweat you practically ditching him makes your heart pang. You’re already dreading another night exhausted and alone. Your date seemed promising.

You wave at him from your taxi, the route leading back to Spider HQ feeling like torture. You unclasp your purse and check your gizmo.

40 missed messages.

It’s not until you’re walking into the regular lobby that you turn it on.

“What is so important that you waste Margo’s time to interrupt my time?”

Lyla pops in your peripheral, hands up and wary, “I’m only doing what boss asks! Don’t get mad at me.”

“Lyla, why am I back here right now?”

“Well, Miguel has gotten himself in some particular trouble.”

You punch the elevator button, “Get to the point, please.”

“He went into your lab to try and start the solution he talked about earlier. After his first accident, he’s never had any luck with lab work, so uh. He’s kind of made a mess.”

The elevator moves and you look at Lyla, “What kind of mess?”

The doors open and you can smell it before you see it.

It’s poignant, like perfume soaked roses and patchouli. The scent hits you hard enough to make you grip the metal opening as you come out.

“What exactly did he do?” you breathe out.

Your limbs start to shake, nerves drumming from the inside out. A weight feels like it landed on your core, your stomach twitching as you continued to take in whatever had transpired.

“Something about DNA splicing and plants. I can trace his movements back if you’d like, but I’m also currently trying to figure out how to reverse it.”

“Great.”

You swing open the door to a disheveled Miguel. He’s sweating profusely as he tries to clean up your lab desk.

Before you can even begin to yell he’s fussing, “Lyla, I told you not to call her!”

“But you obviously don’t know what you’re doing.”

He bites his lip as he tries not to look at you, fingers trembling as he starts to store materials back into their drawers.

“Thought you had a date.”

“And I thought I told you stay away from my station,” you feel like a baby deer walking over to him.

When you get closer he sucks in his breath like you cut him, stopping in his tracks.

“I don’t think you should be near me,” he grunts. His eyes are dark, lips swollen with the way he’s biting them.

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you.”

You round the corner of the desk, the image of you two almost comical. Miguel moves to the edge of the desk, chest moving faster, while you chase after him trying to get a hand on his forehead.

He felt extremely cold compared to the numbness of your palm, despite how flushed he looked. His eyes close as your hand slides from his head to his neck, muscles there tensing.

“Please. Don’t,” he whispers.

“Who else is coming here to save you?” you ask, frustrated. “What did you do anyway?”

He doesn’t answer as he peers at you. Your heart is beating faster and you can’t tell if it’s because of the air or because of the way he looks like he’s about to climb you.

Every move you made felt like sharp pricks in your skin, the tight material of your dress digging into your hips. It felt like the ends of burning flames and you wanted it off. Your breaths were picking up and you couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on other than Miguel being your cooling solution.

“Miguel,” you sounded like you ran a marathon when all you did was step into his space.

“It’s the shocking formula that I screwed up. That’s why everything feels-“

“Like I need you,” you interrupt. “Like I want you on top of me.”

The insides of your thighs were fighting against themselves to stay together, the urge to let your legs fall around him strong.

“That’s just the chemicals talking. W-we can get somewhere safe and separated.”

You grab the back of his neck and pull yourself even closer, his hands gripping the table like a lifeline as he groans.

“So you don’t want me?” you press against him, caging a knee around him right next to his hand. “You don’t think about me?”

You can almost feel his heartbeat matching yours as you pull yourself up.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t wonder how I feel when you come into my lab snooping around? How I feel when you come in here barking orders?”

Your face is in his neck and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you take a deep breath. He smells like coffee and fabric softener, but there’s an underlying wave of musk. Of something so unbelievably him and you want to keep that scent close forever.

“I imagine you’re annoyed. But a job is a job.”

“But you still come in here asking for things you know someone else can do,” your panties are soaked, and from the way his nose flares, you know he knows. “Why?”

His teeth grit as you start to grind on him, the feeling giving you an inch of relief that only makes you want more.

“I, I don’t- It’s because I,” the counter began to crack under his hands. His muscles were pulled taut. “Dios, ayúdame.”

Maybe you were wrong, and your hazy mind only brought thoughts from the subconscious one.

“Fine. I get that you don’t like me but could you at least give me some type of relief?” you were whining in his ears at this point, a complete 180 of how you left him earlier today. With every grind of your hips, you left noises in his skin, desperate.

The desk made a terrible sound as Miguel finally lets go and grabs around your waist. Your breath is slammed out of you as your back hits the wall, Miguel’s hand holding your head to stop it from crashing into the wall too.

Your throat makes a gargled sound as Miguel licks down your jaw, his talons ripping into your dress. His tongue swipes into your mouth, breaths rapid as he finally gets a taste.

“I do like you. More than I should,” his words were passed right into you. “You and your smart mouth.”

“Then stop talking and do something about it.”

A yank in your hair stops your complaints, Miguel kissing down your side. Every press of his lips left a chilly flutter. Your hips are moving frantically, patience wearing thin. Right as you’re about to say something again, he flips you, the layers of your dress falling as he rips into your panties.

The blood rushes to your head as he takes a bite into your thigh, sucking as your legs fall to his shoulders.

You moan his name, hands gripping at his thighs. His kisses led to your lips, swollen and dripping. From your clit to your entrance, he groaned as he covered you, drinking like you were water in the middle of the night.

You felt like you were going to slip, but Miguel’s arms were looped around your legs, not letting go. His suit was in your way, your mouth salivating as his crotch stared back at you. Your fingers could only dig as far as his suit allows and you have half a mind to call Lyla to disengage it.

“Please,” you sigh as you rub his bulge with your cheek. “I need it so bad.”

“Cállate,” he hums, face delving deeper into you. The sound of him licking up every drop echos off the cool walls and the light of his suit dims away letting you see what you’ve been waiting for.

His length hits your chin, precum spilling down and you’ve never been more excited for a man to go commando. You open your mouth and let your breath hit him as you take a swipe down to his balls.

Miguel’s grunts and shifts his hips back. His tip swerves around your face as he tries to find your mouth without unlatching his jaw from your sex. You help out with the last bit of sanity you have, and once you wrap your lips around him, his hips snap hard onto you.

All you can feel is Miguel entering you from top to bottom, his hands keeping you stationed in your position. There’s no room to do anything as he’s devouring you and taking your breath away at the same time. Two of his fingers sink into you, and you jerk from the difference between his skin and his tongue.

Miguel nibbles at the hood of your clit, urging you to be still. Whenever his fingers leave you, his pelvis fills your senses. Your throat gags around him, spit building to keep up with his thrusts.

“So good,” he hums. His pace picks up and the tears in your eyes fall to the floor. “Made for me. Only me.”

Your fingers wrap around his thighs and squeeze tight, your vision fading as you try to take in pockets of air. The shake in your legs and the broken moans that escaped your lips only ignited him.

“Bebé,” his hips stutter. He’s sloppy as he drools over the entrance, voice loud. “Bebé, you’re so, ngh.”

He cums down your throat, balls twitching against your face. You close your eyes and try to swallow everything, jaw aching. Miguel groans your name as he slides his dick out to the tip, a few spurts still landing on your lips. You cough, position making everything go north.

The taste of him was delicious, but you needed more of him elsewhere. Your mouth was as drenched as your cunt and yet you still felt empty.

When Miguel flips you back upright, you’re ready to pounce on him again. The state of you both is alarming. Your breasts have completely fallen out of your dress, that black thing barely holding on by its zipper. Miguel’s suit is phasing in and out in the most obscene places. There’s slick up to his eyebrows and his cum is all over your cheeks.

He grabs your jaw and runs his tongue over your face, cleaning up his mess. You let him live in his own bubble before that burning in your core came back.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your whispers of “more” come to light. You’re clawing at him like a cat begging him to do something, anything, to make this feeling go away.

“Miguel,” you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your skin. “Miguel, it hurts. Fix it, Miggy, please.”

You guide his hands down your body and place them on your ass. His touch sates you for only a moment, but your body reacts as if he needs to be deep in your bones. He spreads your ass and groans as the sound of how eager you are for him follows.

“You’re not ready,” are the words that make you even more frustrated. Your hands pushing and pulling at him, ready to try and put him where you want him to go.

He clicks his teeth and flexes his wrists. His webs tie your wrists together, neon red strings leaving a buzz on your skin. He yanks your dress off and you stumble with the motions.

The clinical room doesn’t aid the building heat you feel, but Miguel turning you around and pressing you into the wall as he cuts the rest of your panties off does.

He squats and grabs two hands full of you.

He spits onto your hole, mesmerized as he watches it slide to your entrance. “Qué hermosa,” he whispers.

You bend, whimpering as your folds cover his nose, clenching and grinding.

“God,” you sigh. Something this small was going to bring you to the edge so quickly. “D-don’t stop.”

“Greedy,” Miguel says as if he’s not moving the fat of your ass to nudge his face into you. The arch in your back deepens as he continues and your whines get higher.

He smacks your right cheek, sound echoing off the metal tables, and you shout his name as you coat his tongue.

Tranquility clears your mind for a second, one where the flowery scent in the air is less strong.

The peace leaves just as fast as it came when Miguel gets rid of his suit and stands behind you in all of his glory.

His eyes followed from your dewey face to the curve of your hips to bitten thighs to feet with one heel still on.

“He didn’t deserve to see this,” he says.

“W-what?”

Miguel ignores you and pulls your wrists up straight, a confused noise leaving you. He wraps another web around your ankles and huffs. He sets your arms under your chest, your hands in front of you like a prayer.

When he picks you up by your waist, his dick lines up with your ass.

He groans as he grinds, watching himself disappear and reappear.

You try to move with him, “No, not there. Inside.”

“You’re always so distracting,” he growls. He slides his length between your thick thighs and you nearly scream as his hips hit your ass, his tip just barely passing over your clit. “Can never think straight when I see you.”

He rubbed over the bite he left on your shoulder, “So pretty. My pretty baby.”

His low voice right in your ears only made you wetter. He was holding you like you were his toy, fucking the inside of your thighs with ease.

Miguel could cry watching your ass bounce on his stomach. Your legs were soft and warm and he just couldn’t stop.

“Want you so bad. Need to fuck you again and again and again,” he said as your thighs quivered around him.

“Please, Miguel. Make me yours,” your voice crowded the sound of his grunts as he held you up and pounded away.

Those were the magic words to get him to lean back with a firm grip on you and release all over the wall. It was everywhere, from your legs to the wall to the ceiling.

He set you to the floor with shaky arms, and you started to sob.

All of this and you still wanted more. If this was making you feel this insane, you can only imagine the small relief Miguel was feeling after being exposed for longer.

“C’mere,” he pulls you to the bare floor and cuts the webs. You immediately try to climb him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He was painfully hard for someone who came twice now.

Your cries of “inside” slur together, tears running down your face. Miguel was no better, fangs dripping with venom and the hairs on skin raised.

The two of you tussle as Miguel tries to keep your hips to stay stationary. You kept jerking in order to get some sort of friction but he was baring his teeth to get you to quit.

You dip your nails into his shoulders and arms while he drags a talon down your sternum to snap your bra off.

A clatter of your stiletto sounds off across the room as he pinches your thigh, “Easy, beautiful. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fucking hurry,” you whine.

He shushes as he plunges inside of you, the noise you both make as loud as a choir.

Your eyes roll back as Miguel presses, bending your body in half.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel leans to whisper onto your lips.

Tight is the first thing that comes to mind and heat is the next.

He moves his hips up and slams back down, your ass shifting from the pressure.

“Miguel!”

“That’s it. Talk to me.” All of that chatter earlier and now you can barely get out a word.

“H-harder,” your hands don’t know where to go. They’re grabbing Miguel, they’re falling next to your head, they’re grabbing at your breasts as Miguel jerks your body.

Miguel goes to open your jaw, lips pulling on your tongue to suck. It’s tender and sensual compared to the way his balls are slapping against you. There’s a ring of white on his shaft getting thicker and thicker as he continues.

“Pretty thing,” he says as he lets your tongue go, a string of saliva falling to your neck. “Watched you on the cameras. Always.”

That stirs something in you, a spark in your chest as you see stars.

“Did you want to do this to me when you watched me?” you manage out.

“Yes.”

“I can put on a show for you next time.”

“Yes.”

“You can come in here. ‘N fuck me over the counter.”

“Sí, sí, baby,” his hands push your knees next to your head and he ruts against you. His thighs were straining as he took and took.

A yell pulls itself from your core, that burning feeling getting a crash of cold water. The dam bursts and you’re running all over Miguel, essence leaving every time he inches out and back in.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, eyes glazed over.

You nod your head, clenching and pulsing around him.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he shudders against you. You suck him in, gaining a deep moan from him, “Así, bebé. Take it.”

It’s like you can finally think as his cum overflows, your heart rate finally slowing.

He stares at you as you both come back to reality. Your body is limp, the weight of Miguel making itself known.

“Holy shit,” you wiggle and he catches the hint. He lifts a bit and pulls out. The swirl of you two falls out of you in waves. “What. The fuck.”

“God,” Miguel mumbles. “No shocking way we just did that.”

“You can’t say that when the evidence is leaking out of me.”

Miguel groans as he watches you, your face pouty and your hole glistening. It was intoxicating.

His dick twitches, coming to life again the longer he watches.

“‘M sorry in advance,” he says as he pulls you into his lap.

“Just take care of it, O’Hara.”

The two of you sat in the middle of the floor, breathing hard. Pieces of consciousness were starting to come back.

“You looked stunning tonight,” Miguel said. He looked at your shredded dress on the floor. “I’m glad he won’t see you in that dress anymore.”

The snort that leaves your nose turns into a full-blown laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You just took my soul ten times over and you’re worried about a guy I just met less than a week ago. I fear I’m ruined for anyone else.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “Good.”

“You still should take me on a date. You’ve got a lot to explain.”

Flashes of him confessing to his habit of watching you from afar come back, “O-of course.”

“And you owe me a new dress.”

“On it.”

Lyla pops up next to you both, a blindfold over her shades, “Is it safe to talk to you guys now?”

Miguel checks his gizmo, “I think we’re good for about forty minutes. The effects are starting to wear off.”

“Excellent!” She throws the fabric to the side, “Oh my god, this room is a mess.”

You look at the array of substances over the room and grimace. The entire hall will have to be on lockdown.

“Well, I managed to vent out the solution. You two should be ok soon.”

You lean on Miguel’s chest and close your eyes, happy to hear good news.

“Kind of sad that this is what it took for you to confess, Miguel,” she comments.

“Lyla!”

You laugh again, “Some confession.”

“That’s enough,” Miguel scowls.

Your giggles die down as you pull yourself onto Miguel’s thigh, bubbles in your chest molding into moans as you start to grind over his thigh.

“I’m starting to think you guys are just bluffing,” Lyla gags before she disappears. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“I think,” you nuzzle into his neck, “this’ll be the last time. I’m tired.”

“If not, we can take it to my house.”

The world blurs again as you and Miguel connect under the white lights.

Take a shot every time I say breath or breathe 😭. Anywho, as always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

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tfalpha88 · 22 days ago

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New reality part 1

In the high-tech laboratories of the Duval pharmaceutical group, excitement was in the air. After months of research, Philippe, a talented young scientist, had just developed a first prototype of a drug designed to enhance athletic performance. Curious about the results, the CEO himself, Mr. Duval, came down to discuss it with him.

- Well, Philippe, how is that famous sample coming along? Are the initial results living up to our expectations?”

- Yes, Mr. Duval. The formula looks very promising. Preliminary tests show a significant improvement in endurance and muscle strength. So far, no major side effects have been observed.”

- Excellent work. Keep going. This product could truly revolutionize our industry… and our market share.”

In the quiet of the lab, Philippe continued his trials. Focused, he carefully analyzed the red solution he had just synthesized. The goal was clear: to stabilize the formula and create a solid version, easier to use and more effective. But for now, the product remained too unstable. Philippe stayed cautious: he still didn’t know what side effects might occur.

While handling the sample, Philippe accidentally dropped it. The flask shattered on the table. Within seconds, the liquid reacted violently with the air, turning into a thick cloud of red smoke. Panicked, Philippe stumbled backward, horrified by what was unfolding before him.

Within seconds, the entire laboratory was engulfed in a dense red fog. The air became heavy, saturated with a strange scent — a mix of locker room sweat and gym odor. Philippe, frozen in panic, tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Suddenly, a violent pain struck Philippe’s stomach, as though his intestines were being crushed from the inside. The acrid, nauseating smell grew unbearable. Clutching his abdomen, he had no idea what was happening to him.

The pain became unbearable. Bent double, Philippe suddenly felt a thick red smoke burst from his mouth. In a panic, he couldn’t grasp what was happening. Memories came flooding back: a childhood marked by loneliness, teased by classmates for his shyness, distant parents who didn’t understand him. A brilliant student, he had found refuge in his studies, eventually being recruited by the Duval pharmaceutical group. But in his personal life, Philippe had remained a loner — few friends, one short-lived relationship… Even now, he never quite knew how to connect with others.

The memories kept shifting… something was changing. New images began replacing the old ones: yes, he had been a lonely child, but during adolescence, he had chosen to turn that loneliness into strength. He had started bodybuilding, seeking acceptance — from others and from himself. He could no longer stand the sight of his weak, frail body in the mirror. Though no longer top of his class, he had graduated and been recruited by Duval.

As these new memories rewrote his story, a new reality took hold: his body was transforming, muscles growing, his shape evolving. Philippe, confused, could no longer tell what was real and what was not.

Philippe’s memories — and reality — kept shifting. He now remembered always having been intelligent and popular. Arrogant and vain, he had embraced bodybuilding to sculpt the perfect physique — one he admired in other men, as women had never interested him.

His grades, though average despite his high IQ, had never mattered much next to his passion for sport. He had pursued a career in research to develop products that would push the body’s limits. The Duval group had hired him not for his grades, but for his charisma and ambition.

As these memories took root, his body kept changing: his muscles swelled, every fiber reshaped, reinforcing this new version of himself. Philippe could no longer tell what was real and what was imagined.

Philippe’s reality kept rewriting itself. He had never been particularly bright — academics were never for him. Sport was his world. Arrogant, self-absorbed, he had built a dream body, overflowing with testosterone. Proud of his sexuality, he was 100% gay and obsessed with the perfect, muscular male form.

One day, determined to create his own line of energy drinks for athletes, he had ended up in the Duval group’s laboratories. Now, as his body continued to transform, his clothes changed too, morphing into tight gym wear — the perfect reflection of who he truly was.

The transformation was complete. Now, it was as if the old Philippe had never existed. Only this new reality remained: a confident man, proud of his sculpted physique. He loved showing off his muscles — every pose a display of power and masculinity.

To be continued…

#male transformation #personality change #reality change #tf gay #bodybuilder #growth

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sturniolohouse · 7 months ago

Text

Camera Shy - M.S.

reader and matt go to a 3D ultrasound appointment to get a glimpse of their future daughter, who is seemingly camera shy.

“This is freaking me out,” Matt mutters, his face pale as he stares at the 3D image on the screen. His fingers drum nervously on his thigh that is bouncing up and down.

"I know. It’s a little alien-like, huh," I say, watching the screen like a hawk, but all I can see are what look like limbs in the swirly mix of brown and tan on the screen.

“Is that an arm or a leg?” He gawks at the screen, his blue eyes wide with a mix of awe and unease.

“That was an arm, although she does have very long legs,” the tech speaks up, her tone amused but light as she presses more buttons on the panel.

I chortle, shaking my head. “Explains why she kicks me in the ribs constantly.”

“I’m just going to apply a little more pressure here to get a better angle of baby’s face. She’s sort of nestled into your side here,” the tech says, shifting the wand and pressing it deeper into my skin.

“She really doesn’t want to cooperate today, does she?” I say, half-joking, though a part of me feels a pang of disappointment.

“Stubborn already,” Matt remarks, glancing at me with a small smirk. “Definitely takes after you.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot him a playful glare. “If anyone’s stubborn, it’s you. You do the same thing when I try to wake you up, grump,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, playing dumb, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The tech chuckles, clearly amused by our banter, “Why don’t you try moving her a bit? Press your hand onto this side and gently nudge her. See if that does the trick,”

I place my hand where she instructed, pressing in a few times, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. I watch for any sign of movement, but she stays put, stubbornly nestled against my side. I sigh deeply, but do it again, a bit harder this time when the tech encourages me that I can't hurt her. I feel her stir before I see it on the screen.

“Oh, oh, alright. Are you gonna show us your face, little one?” I ask softly and Matt moves in closer to get a better look.

For a brief second she shifts position, giving us a teasing glimpse of her tiny profile. But just as quickly as she moved, her little hands shoot up to cover her face again, curling tightly into fists.

Matt groans playfully, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s like she knows,”

“Oh wow, she’s definitely got a personality. Got her hands balled up in front of her face and everything.” She chuckles softly, and I sigh, glancing at Matt.

“Well, now we can say she definitely gets that from you,” I tease, tilting my head toward him. “Guess she won’t be a morning person either.”

Matt shoots me a side-eyed glare, his cheeks already tinged pink from the nerves that always seem to take over during these appointments.

“I’m kidding,” I go to poke his cheek but he grabs my hand, gently pushing it away from his face and instead encases it in his warm hand.

“Do you want to turn on your side, hun? Might make her change positions,” The tech offers another solution and I wave a hand at her and shrug.

“That’s okay, she clearly doesn’t want to be bothered. We’ll try again next week.” I sigh, trying not to think about how she might be too big by then to get a good imaging. I'll be 32 weeks.

“I…might have an idea,” Matt speaks up hesitantly and I turn to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s your idea?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him though the corner of my mouth quirks up.

“Alright, don’t yell at me. It’s all I can think of,” he begins, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

“If you do something stupid–”

“I’m not!” he insists, but his giggles give him away.

I watch him with a mix of skepticism and amusement. “You’re totally about to do something stupid.”

Matt grins mischievously, typing away at his phone, “Trust me,” he says, giggling as he pulls up a music app. “This is guaranteed to work.”

Before I can protest further, the room fills with the unmistakable bass drop of Sicko Mode. The tech freezes for a second, glancing between the two of us–clearly entertained, while I stare at Matt in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” I say in absolute shock. “You’re seriously playing Travis Scott for her right now?”

“You’ve told me she does somersaults when music is on, Sicko Mode is the only way,” He reasons with nervous laughter.

I turn to the tech and ask her if I’m having a stroke, to which she shakes her head as she watches this scene unfold, trying her best to stifle her laughter.

“Will you at least turn it down,” I snap but can’t help but laugh as he shushes me and brings the speaker closer to my stomach.

And I’ll be damned... She moves. The screen flickers as her tiny fists shift, moving to rest beneath her dimpled chin, her face perfectly in frame.

“You’re actually kidding me—”

“I told you!” Matt exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair, his grin so wide it’s infectious.

I press my hand over my mouth, a mix of laughter and disbelief bubbling up. “I can’t believe she actually moved for Sicko Mode.”

Her tiny features are clear now, her face peaceful and perfect. My heart tightens.

The tech is laughing now, shaking her head as she looks at the screen. “I have to say, this is a first for me. But hey, whatever works,” She says as she starts snapping pictures.

We all tune out the music for a moment and watch the screen, finally soaking in the face we've been dying to see for months. I feel a lump rise in my throat and I almost tear up as I take in the faint resemblance of Matt in her little features–the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips–but my thoughts are interrupted.

“She looks exactly like you, kid.” Matt says suddenly, his voice soft and full of awe.

I blink, turning to him. “What?”

“Look at her,” he insists, pointing at the screen. “That round little face, that's your nose…look, at that little pout. C’mon that’s you,” He's smiling ear to ear.

I laugh quietly, brushing at my eyes. “I don’t know about that. I see you in her. You make that same face,” I sniffle.

Matt squeezes my hand, his grin and his eyes softening into something more tender. “Nah. She’s all you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes stay locked on the screen.

I turn back to the image on the monitor, my throat tight as I take in every detail of our perfect girl.

“Maybe she’s a little bit of both of us,” I whisper.

I glance back at Matt, who’s still playing Travis Scott aloud, “Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head, though I can’t stop smiling. “Can't believe the only way she came out of hiding was because of Sicko Mode. You must be so proud.”

“Are you kidding me? Proudest moment of my life,” he replies, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

I snort, shaking my head, pressing my lips together and trying to keep a straight face. “You’re so annoying,” I say, though my laughter gives me away.

“And yet,” Matt starts, leaning closer to me, his voice dropping into that familiar teasing tone, “you love me for it.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah,”

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #dad!matt #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo blurb #dad!matt blurb #sturniolohouse #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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its-avalon-08 · 17 days ago

Text

🏁 pairing : Daniel Riccardo x Verstappen!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: he was the honey badger with a grin that could silence storms, and she was max verstappen’s little sister—always there, always watching, never saying too much. they’d spent years orbiting each other, but after singapore'24 when daniel quietly stepped away from formula 1, everything shattered. now she’s left wondering if he was ever just a friend or the great love she let slip through her fingers without ever saying a word.

themes : fluff, flirting, angst, over protective brother, anxiety, emotional, slight smut in a few chapters, overshadowing, loneliness

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter 2: the paths we take

Early 2025

Y/N in Monaco

The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her keyboard echoed through the clean, open-plan workspace of TerraData Solutions—a green tech company pioneering systems for sustainable city modeling. Y/N sat with a straight back, her dual monitors glowing with charts, CO2 metrics, and client data dashboards. (guys sorry I dont know alot of technical terms so this is what came up when I googled tech terms) Her calendar was packed, her inbox relentlessly full, and her deadlines always inching closer. H

But she preferred it that way. Busy meant she didn’t have time to think. To feel. She drowned herself in her new life, a life without a certain curly haired Australian. It had been months since that night in Singapore.

Months since Daniel looked her in the eyes and tore down everything she’d believed about him—with one cruel, furious flick of his words. And not once—not for a second—had she looked back.

She had never unfollowed him on Instagram. That would be obvious. Too harsh. Too real. But she never watched his stories. Never clicked on his name. Never let the algorithm win. His posts would pop up, all showing the crazy things he had been up to, but not once did she click that little red heart.

His contact was still in her phone, hidden deep in a folder labeled "old numbers", but even the idea of clicking it made her chest clench.

She poured herself into work—data presentations for city councils, testing their waste management model in Copenhagen, keynote prep for the GreenTech Forward summit in Zurich. Y/N Verstappen was moving forward. Professionally. Quietly. Without him. She didn't need him.

Still, on nights when the streetlights flickered outside her flat window and the hum of city life faded, she would sit on her couch and scroll through Instagram—thumb hovering just for a second too long over a mutual friend’s photo. If Daniel was tagged, she scrolled faster.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

That was her only rule. That was the only way to survive.

Meanwhile Daniel in Sydney

The air up here was cold and thin. It sliced right through him—cleaner than any adrenaline rush from the grid ever had.

Daniel stood on the edge of a bungee platform suspended above a canyon, arms outstretched as the wind whipped at his navy blue hoodie. A GoPro was strapped to his chest, capturing every moment for his memory vlog.

He jumped. And for a moment, he felt everything and nothing all at once. The honey badger's classic laugh echoed through the serene space, making everyone who heard it smile. He was happy. He was truly happy.

It wasn’t that he hated life after Formula One. It had its perks: freedom, sleep, food without a calorie tracker so he could eat all the cheeseburgers he wanted , and thrill-seeking adventures he couldn’t even think about while under contract.

Skydiving in Dubai. Wingsuiting in Norway. Dirt biking through remote Australian deserts. Surfing monstrous waves in Maui.

He was living. At least, that’s what the world thought.

But when the rush wore off and the cameras stopped rolling, Daniel found himself doing something far less thrilling.

Checking her Instagram. It wasn't like he missed her (he did but he was in so much denial).

Late at night, after his friends fell asleep. Quiet moments in airport lounges. Even once, standing in the middle of a Patagonia glacier.

Search: @ynverstappen (Still following you)

Her grid was filled with aesthetic posts—clips of her presenting climate models, photos from Berlin with her coworkers, one grainy carousel from a boat day that made his stomach twist. Not a single post he could like without looking desperate. And God, she still followed him back.

Daniel never sent a text. Never left a DM. Never clicked that call button. But he always looked. And hated himself for it.

Y/N: She stared at a presentation slide titled “Sustainable Living by 2030”, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her colleagues praised her for her talent and skill. She smiled and laughed along with them.

Daniel: He was laughing at his family's farmhouse as his friends and him drove dirt bikes. He was having the time of his life.

Y/N: In Zurich, she delivered her keynote flawlessly. A standing ovation. She thanked the crowd, smiled politely, and quietly slipped away into the dressing room… where she sat alone for fifteen minutes and stared at the floor. She was thriving but why did she feel empty?

Daniel: At 2:17 a.m. in his Queenstown lodge, he watched her newest reel—some shot of her sipping matcha in Amsterdam, laughing at something off-camera. He hovered over the heart. Didn’t press it. Just locked his phone and stared at the ceiling.

Two people. Worlds apart. One walking forward as if nothing broke her. The other pretending he hadn’t been the one to break her in the first place.

And neither of them knew how to find the way back.

fast forward to first race of 2025 in Melbourne

The streets of Melbourne were warm and golden, casting a glow over the quiet laneway cafés that had already begun to fill up with fans and team personnel for the start of the 2025 Formula One season.

The weekend buzzed with energy, the streets adorned with posters of this year's contenders—Oscar Piastri's face on every other billboard, alongside Antonelli, Bearman, and the newest rookies.

Y/N Verstappen, dressed in a white linen shirt and loose denim shorts, was trying to enjoy a peaceful morning before the chaos of the Grand Prix began. She wasn’t working, just here with family—technically on vacation, her heart fluttering ever so often in fear of running into a certain someone since they were on his home turf.

“P, slow down!” she called, laughing softly as the little girl skipped ahead. Max’s stepdaughter, now five and braver than ever, was practically a blur of curls and excitement as she darted into the café ahead of Y/N. She had a babyccino obsession and a habit of naming pigeons she saw on the sidewalks.

“Penelope!” Y/N said again, more firm this time, just as the little girl let out a delighted screech while rushing towards someone's tanned figure.

“DANNYYYY!”

Y/N froze. Her head snapped up.

And there he was.

Daniel Ricciardo, in the flesh, in a loose white t-shirt with a cherry cola graphic and shorts, holding a takeaway coffee and blinking in pure surprise as a small human missile launched herself at his legs.

“P?!” Daniel exclaimed, beaming as he bent down to scoop her up in one fluid motion, laughing. “What the heck are you doing here, little monster?!”

He spun her around, making her giggle wildly, his voice coated with warmth—the same warmth that once made Y/N’s stomach flutter. Now it made her freeze.

She took a breath. Straightened her shoulders. And walked forward.

Daniel's grin almost left his face as his eyes found hers.

Y/N.

His heart did something stupid in his chest. But her expression didn’t change. Cool. Calm. Unshaken.

“Hi,” she said with a small, polite smile. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

Daniel cleared his throat, still holding Penelope. “Yeah, I—uh, I’ve been in town a few days. Thought I’d spend time with my family, hang with some mates.”

“Right,” she said smoothly, her voice a glacier. “Of course. How very fun.” Her eyes were cold, her posture distant.

He felt the iciness instantly, and it was like someone had flipped a switch in his head. This was the first time he was seeing her since that night in Singapore.

And she was acting like they’d never even fought. Like he was just some distant friend she hadn’t caught up with in a while.

It freaked him out more than if she’d screamed at him. Her indifference stung him.

“Bubba, look!” Penelope giggled, still clinging to Daniel’s neck. “Danny’s here! He’s back!”

“Looks like it,” Y/N replied, smiling at Penelope but not even sparing Daniel another glance.

Penelope reached out, still half in Daniel’s arms, and grabbed Y/N’s wrist. “Come, sit with us! Please Danny!!!”

“Oh—uh…” Daniel hesitated, glancing at Y/N.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Why not?”

They sat at a small outdoor table, Penelope nestled between them like a tiny chaos agent sent by the gods of awkward reunions. Y/N sipped her iced latte. Daniel nursed his black coffee. Their knees brushed under the table once when Penelope kicked her legs.

“Where have you been, Danny?” Penelope asked, swinging her legs back and forth. “You weren’t in any of the races last time.”

“I’ve been… around,” he said, his eyes flicking to Y/N before quickly looking away. “Doing some cool stuff. Traveling. Trying not to break bones.”

Penelope gasped. “Did you break a bone?!”

“No,” he laughed, “but I almost did. Jumped off a cliff in Norway.”

Y/N didn’t react. Not even a raised eyebrow. Y/N was simply smiling at P and her happy face.

Penelope looked between them, frowning slightly. “Bubba are you okay? Why aren't you two talking?”

Daniel choked on his coffee.

Y/N tilted her head and smiled sweetly at the little girl. “Aw my darling. Daniel and I are perfectly fine.”

Daniel felt her words like a slap. They were fine? Fine? She was acting like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t shattered her trust, broken whatever fragile thing they had with that night in Singapore.

Penelope scrunched her nose. “You’re both being sooooo weird.”

“I think you’re just imagining things,” Y/N said, brushing a curl out of Penelope’s face. “Danny’s just nervous. Maybe he's just too excited to meet u you again.”

Daniel blinked. “Oh- I'm not nervous.”

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Relax, Daniel. No one’s asking you to stay.”

He swallowed hard. “Didn’t say I wasn’t staying.”

“Didn’t say you were welcome, either,” she said under her breath, so softly Penelope wouldn’t hear—but Daniel did.

Penelope looked between them again, sighing. “Adults are so annoying.”

Daniel let out a tight laugh. “Tell me about it.”

A silence fell, awkward and dense. Daniel tapped his fingers on his cup. Y/N checked her phone. Penelope licked the foam off her babyccino mustache.

Y/N stood abruptly. “Alright, little bean. Let’s get going. Max will be wondering where we are.”

Penelope pouted. “Can’t Danny come?”

Y/N paused, then looked at Daniel—expression unreadable.

“Maybe some other time schat,” she said simply, and turned, holding Penelope’s hand.

Daniel watched her walk away, a cold wind suddenly much stronger than the Melbourne breeze slicing through him. He hadn’t expected her to cry. Or shout. But this?This careful, polished indifference?

It terrified him. And he couldn’t stop watching her go.

taglist : @cheer-bear-go-vroom , @britenysbitch @yllomhej @stuffyownswrld @princessria127 @easy4 @gluecksbaerchieee @percysaidnever @sltwins @sainz0fthetimes @landofotographyy @hashcakes @mskate105 @formula1girly81 @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @marijas-stuff @mayax2o07

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natsaffection · 11 months ago

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heyyy so i have this idea and i think no one can write it like you so yeah.

forced marriage between Natasha and reader in the present time. they both don't like each other because of this situation yk but with time they come around each other.

i know this is a really classic one but I've been thinking about this for a long time and sending a request to you seemed like a good idea considering your beautiful writing. but of course it's okay if you don't want to write it! hope you're having a good day!!! (or night idk😭😭) 💗

I see you. | N.R

Warnings: Forced Marriage for a Mission, a lot of arguments, Drinking, mentioned of sex while beeing drunk (both)

Word count: 6,7k

A/n: I hope it makes sense. I thought for a long time about how best to implement this scenario and found this solution to be the most plausible..(The beginning takes place before the invasion of Loki)

Natasha sat stiffly, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, fixed on the man sitting across from her. Nick leaned back in his chair, his one good eye studying her with an intensity that matched her own. “So, what’s this about, Fury?” Natasha’s voice was as cold as the steel walls surrounding them in the underground briefing room of the Avengers headquarters. She had been urgently summoned, pulled out of a mission briefing that had been weeks in the making, and the weight of this interruption hung heavy in the air.

Fury exhaled slowly, his fingers drumming on the edge of the sleek metal table. The silence stretched just long enough that Natasha’s patience nearly snapped. “It’s about alliances.” he finally said, his tone measured, as if he was still deciding how much to reveal. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we had our alliances sorted out. Stark has the tech, Banner is working on the gamma projects, and I’m ready to handle the intel with Rogers. What’s missing?”

Fury’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward, his hands tightly clasped together as if preparing for what he was about to say. “What’s missing is political stability. The kind that can’t be bought with technology or power. We need trust, and that’s in short supply these days.”

“Trust?” Natasha scoffed. “From whom? What aren’t you telling me?” He met her gaze, unwavering. “There’s a situation with Y/n.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. The name struck a nerve. You were no stranger in her world. Known for your diplomatic skills and sharp intellect, you were a key figure in international negotiations, often brokering deals that kept the world from chaos. You weren’t just a diplomat, you were a force, wielding influence in ways even Natasha respected. But that didn’t explain why you were the subject of this mysterious meeting.

“And what does that have to do with us?” Natasha asked, her voice low and laced with suspicion. Fury’s next words fell like a hammer. “You’re going to marry her.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. Natasha stared at Fury, waiting for the punchline to a joke that never came. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, Romanoff." Fury replied, his tone unyielding. “This marriage is the only way to secure the alliance we need. Your influence can grant us access to certain..resources and information that we desperately need. This goes beyond SHIELD, it’s about global security.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you think a forced marriage is magically going to solve all these problems?”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy.” Fury admitted. “But this isn’t about love or personal happiness. It’s about necessity. We need a visible, undeniable alliance, something that other nations and organizations can see and recognize as a commitment. A marriage between you and Y/L/N would achieve that.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She was a soldier, a spy, a warrior..she had never allowed anyone to dictate the terms of her life, let alone something as personal as marriage. The very idea was repugnant to her, and yet..Fury’s expression told her this wasn’t just an idea, it was an order. The stakes were high, as they always were in her line of work, but this felt different. This felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

“And what makes you think she’ll agree to this?” Natasha asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t ready to show more emotion than necessary. “She’s already agreed.” Fury said, and Natasha felt the ground shift beneath her feet. “She understands how important this alliance is. She’s as reluctant as you are, but she knows what’s at stake.”

Natasha let that sink in for a moment. She didn’t know you well, but she knew of you, respected you even. You were someone who didn’t back down easily, who saw through lies and acted on your convictions. If you had agreed, then the situation was worse than Natasha had thought.

“And if I refuse?” she asked, though she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it. Fury’s expression hardened. “You won’t refuse. You’re too smart for that, Natasha. You know what’s at stake. You’ve always done what was necessary.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, her mind racing. She didn’t want this, she didn’t want to be tied down by something as archaic as marriage, especially not to someone she barely knew. But Fury was right. She had always done what was necessary, no matter the cost. And this, it seemed, was just another mission, one that would require all her skills to navigate.

“Fine..” she said finally, her voice clipped. “I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to play the happy housewife.” Fury almost smiled, but it was a cold, thin smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Natasha’s mind raced as she left the cold, sterile briefing room. Fury’s words echoed in her ears, a reminder that her life was no longer entirely her own. As she walked through the corridors of the SHIELD headquarters, her footsteps echoed ominously, each step bringing her closer to a fate she hadn’t chosen.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Fury again:

Meeting with Y/N in conference room in five minutes. Be there.

No time to think, no time to prepare. Typical. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before heading to the designated room. Natasha arrived at the conference room a few minutes early. The room was empty, the lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the table. It felt oddly impersonal, a stark contrast to the gravity of what was about to be discussed. She stood by the window, staring out at the headquarters’ grounds, trying to gather her thoughts.

The door opened behind her, and Natasha turned as you entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored suit, exuding the same sovereign confidence that had made you a respected figure in the diplomatic world. But there was something else in your eyes. A hint of irritation, maybe even anger. Clearly, you weren’t any happier about this situation than she was.

“Natasha.” you greeted her with a curt nod, your voice cool and distant. “Y/n.” Natasha replied just as coolly. She crossed her arms and leaned against the windowsill, her eyes narrowing as she studied the person in front of her. “So, I guess we’re getting married.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Looks that way. Not that either of us had a choice.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that? If you and your people hadn’t been so secretive, we might not be in this mess.” Your face hardened, a flicker of anger crossing your features. “Oh, please. Don’t act like SHIELD is any better. You’re all about secrets and manipulation. This marriage is just another one of your little games.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed further. “You think I want this? To be tied to someone I barely know, just to fulfill a political agenda? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Kid myself?” You scoffed and took a step closer, your voice rising. “Do you think it’s any easier for me? Being forced to marry the Black Widow, of all people? I know your reputation, Natasha. You’re a manipulator, a killer. This is the last thing I wanted.” Natasha’s jaw clenched, her anger boiling up. “And what about you? You’re no saint either, Y/n. You’ve played your games, made your deals behind closed doors, pulled strings to get what you want. Don’t pretend you’re any better.”

Anger flashed in your eyes. “At least I don’t hide behind a mask of false righteousness. I do what needs to be done for the greater good, just like you. But don’t mistake necessity for desire. I have no interest in playing house with someone who doesn’t even know what trust means.”

Natasha felt a sharp sting of anger mixed with something else, something she didn’t want to name. “Trust? That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve built your career on deception. And now you expect me to believe you’re the victim here?” You stepped closer, your voice low and sharp. “I don’t care what you believe. We’re both victims of this situation, but if you think I’m just going to roll over for you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Natasha’s anger flared again, her voice turning icy. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not here to make you happy. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. We’ll play the part when necessary, but other than that, stay out of my way.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other, only inches apart, the tension crackling between them like a live wire. Finally, Natasha turned away, breaking the tense silence. She moved to the table and sat down, forcing herself to focus. “Let’s talk logistics. The sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we can get it over with.”

You took a deep breath, regaining your composure, and sat down across from her. “Agreed. But don’t expect me to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Natasha shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I have an apartment in Brooklyn. It’s secure, and there’s enough space for both of us without stepping on each other’s toes. We can start moving your things tomorrow.” Your eyes narrowed. “Brooklyn? How convenient for you. Always need to have the home-field advantage, don’t you?”

Natasha offered a crooked smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m practical. It’s close to headquarters, and it’s safe. Unless you have a better suggestion?” Your lips pressed into a thin line, clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to argue further. “Fine. But don’t expect me to play the obedient spouse. I need my space, my own office, my own schedule.”

“Fine.” Natasha responded sharply. “I don’t want you around me all the time anyway. We’ll do what’s necessary to make this look real, public appearances, a few shared events, then back to our own lives.” You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed. “And what about the media? They’re going to follow us everywhere, looking for any crack in the facade.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll handle it. Stick to the script, and we won’t have any problems. There’s no need to make this more complicated than it needs to be.” You remained unconvinced. “You’re acting like this is so simple. But we both know there’s nothing simple about this.”

Natasha’s eyes hardened. “We don’t have a choice, Y/n. We do this because we have to, not because we want to.” Your jaw clenched, your voice turning icy. “Believe me, Natasha, the last thing I want is for this to work. But I’ll do what needs to be done. Just don’t expect anything more from me.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of your mutual dislike hanging heavy in the air. This was going to be a nightmare..

In this silent moment, an agent came in with a pile of paper stuff. He sensed the tension immediately and just put it on the table and quickly left the room.

Thebtable was now filled with details on how your upcoming marriage would be presented to the world. It was an intricately crafted plan, covering everything from the official story of how you met to the timeline of your relationship and your behavior in public. Every detail had been meticulously planned by SHIELD’s PR team to ensure that the marriage appeared genuine.

You flipped through the pages with a grim expression, your fingers gripping the edges of the paper as if you wanted to tear them apart. “This is ridiculous..” you muttered, not bothering to hide your frustration. “They expect us to memorize a script? Like we’re actors playing a part?”

Natasha, sitting across from you, “That’s exactly what we are.” she said coolly. “This isn’t a real marriage, remember? We’re playing a role for the public.”

You shot her a sharp look. “I’m well aware. But this..” you gestured contemptuously at the file “is insulting. ‘Shared interest in global politics and mutual respect for each other’s abilities’? Really?” You read the lines aloud, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re acting like we’re two diplomats who fell in love over a discussion on trade agreements.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you prefer they invent a fairy tale romance? At least this version is believable. It’s not like we have a real story to fall back on.”

You slammed the file shut with a loud bang that echoed in the small room. “We wouldn’t need to make anything up if we weren’t being forced into this situation.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “No one’s forcing you to stay. If you have a better solution, by all means, let me know.”

You sighed in frustration, rubbing your temples. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t one! Fury made sure of that.” Natasha watched you silently for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Then we make the best of it. We memorize the script, play the show, and get it over with.”

You looked up at her, your eyes flashing with anger. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re used to lying, aren’t you? Playing different roles, lying to people’s faces. But this..this isn’t just another mission, Natasha. This is our lives.”

Natasha's eyes hardened at the accusation. "You think I don't know that? You think I enjoy being paraded around like a puppet? I've spent my entire life fighting for control over my own decisions, and now I'm being told who I have to marry. So don't act like you're the only one angry about this." Your lips pressed into a thin line, your anger momentarily softened by a flicker of understanding. "Then why are you so calm? Why aren't you angrier?"

Natasha exhaled slowly, working to keep her emotions in check. "Because anger won't change anything. We're stuck in this, whether we like it or not. The sooner we accept that, the sooner we can figure out how to deal with it." You stared at her for a long moment, your expression softening just a little. "So we learn the script, smile for the cameras, and pretend we don’t hate each other?"

Natasha leaned forward slightly, her voice low and controlled. "Yes, we pretend we don't hate each other. But we have to make it believable. People will be watching us closely, if they sense something is off, the whole show falls apart. That means we need to know each other, at least enough to sell the act."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident on your face. "And how do you suggest we do that? Some getting-to-know-you games? Maybe ‘Two Truths and a Lie’?" Natasha gave a humorless smile. "We start with the basics. We go through the script and fill in the gaps with real information. What's your favorite food? What do you do in your spare time? What’s your biggest pet peeve? Things that couples know about each other."

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, clearly not thrilled with the idea. "Fine. But don't expect me to share my deepest secrets."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She opened the file again and flipped to a page titled *Personal Details*. "It says here that you enjoy hiking and reading. Is that accurate, or did they make it up?" You rolled your eyes. "It's true. I like hiking when I have the time, and I read a lot, mostly history and politics, but they don't need to know that in detail."

Natasha nodded, making a mental note. "Good. We can work with that. Mine says I'm into physical fitness and strategy games." She paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. "Is there anything else we should add?" You looked at her thoughtfully before replying. "You like ballet, right? I read that somewhere." Natasha blinked, surprised by this observation. "Yes, that's true. Not many people know that."

"Well, it’s part of who you are.." you said, your tone less confrontational now. "We could use that." Natasha nodded, slightly impressed by this small concession. "Good. We'll add it to the list." You continued to go through the script, exchanging brief, factual information about yourselves, preferences, dislikes and childhood memories that could be used to support your fake story. But every answer was tinged with tension, each of you holding something back, building walls around yourselves.

After nearly an hour of discussion, you closed the file with a sigh and rubbed the back of your neck. "This is going to be a disaster." Natasha leaned back and crossed her arms. "Not if we're careful. We stick to the plan, stay on script, and give them no reason to doubt us."

You met her gaze, your expression weary but determined. "I just don't know how long we can keep this up. People will expect us to act like we actually care."

"We don't have to care." Natasha said, her voice cold and distant. "We just have to pretend we do." You shook your head, frustration evident in your voice. "And what happens if we slip up? If one of us says something off-script? We can't be perfect all the time."

"We won't slip up." Natasha said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're both professionals. We've been in situations far more stressful than this. We'll manage." You stared at her for a moment, searching her face for a crack in her ironclad facade. "You really believe that, don't you? That we can just fake our way through this lie without any consequences?"

Natasha's gaze remained unchanged, unyielding. "I believe we don't have a choice." The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your situation pressing down on both of you. This wasn't just about memorizing lines or putting on a good show, it was about maintaining a facade that could crumble at any moment, exposing you both to public scrutiny and potential danger. Finally, you stood up, your movements stiff with unresolved tension. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" Natasha stood as well, her posture mirroring yours. "Yes. We will."

The days passed in a blurred whirl of public appearances, each one a carefully staged performance that only deepened the rift between you and Natasha. Every event, every gesture, every word was meticulously planned, yet the underlying tension between you was impossible to ignore. The first major event you attended as a married couple was a high-profile gala, the kind of glittering affair where the rich and powerful gathered under chandeliers to sip champagne and discuss global affairs. Natasha had attended similar events countless times before, but never under these circumstances.

You wore an elegant black evening gown that accentuated your every movement, while Natasha was dressed in a sharp suit. As you walked into the ballroom, her hand rested lightly on your back, a gesture meant to appear familiar, but to you, it felt like a shackle. "Ready to charm the masses?" she murmured with a sarcastic edge as you entered the room.

The night was a marathon of forced smiles and carefully calculated interactions. You moved through the crowd like seasoned professionals, your hand never leaving Natasha's back as you met with diplomats and high society, maintaining the facade of a loving couple. But beneath the surface, Natasha could feel your simmering anger, mirroring her own. At one point in the evening, as you were cornered by a particularly nosy journalist, Natasha's patience was put to the test. The journalist smiled broadly and inquisitively as she fired off questions about your supposed whirlwind romance.

"How did you two meet?" the journalist asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Natasha suppressed an eye roll, but her voice remained smooth and warm as she responded. "We met at a diplomatic conference. We were both there on separate missions, but we kept running into each other. Things developed from there."

You seamlessly picked up the conversation, though your smile was a bit too stiff. "It didn’t take long for us to realize how much we had in common. After that, everything just fell into place naturally." The journalist seemed satisfied with the answer but continued to probe. "And when did you know it was love?"

You hesitated, your smile faltering for a split second before you recovered. "It wasn't just one moment. It was a lot of little things that made us realize we couldn’t imagine our lives without each other." Natasha forced herself to smile at you, her fingers lightly brushing your arm in a gesture meant to appear affectionate. "Yes, it was all those little moments that made it clear."

As the journalist moved on, Natasha could feel the tension in your posture, your hand pressing a little more firmly against her back, as if you were reminding her of your shared discomfort. "That was close.." you muttered as you both retreated to a quieter corner of the room. "We handled it." Natasha replied curtly, her voice barely above a whisper. "That’s what we do."

The rest of the night proceeded in much the same way, the two of you moving through the room, presenting the perfect image of a loving couple. But every touch, every smile, every word was carefully calculated, and by the time you finally left the gala, Natasha felt as if she were about to snap from the strain.

The ride back to your shared apartment was suffocatingly silent. The driver, a SHIELD agent, wisely kept his eyes on the road, leaving you both to your thoughts. When you arrived 'home', you immediately went to the kitchen to pour yourself a stiff drink. Natasha followed you, already on edge, her patience worn thin by the constant charade.

You turned to her, your expression hard. "You're really good at this, you know that? At pretending. It’s almost like it’s second nature to you." Natasha tensed as she heard the accusation in your words. "I had to be good at it. It's my job."

You let out a humorless laugh. "Your job. Right. I guess that's what happens when you're trained to be a spy from childhood. You learn to play whatever role is required." The words hit a sore spot, and Natasha's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, Y/n. You don't know what you're talking about."

You took a step closer, your voice dropping to a near growl. "Don't I? You’ve spent your whole life being prepared for this, haven’t you? To lie, to manipulate, to make people believe whatever you want them to. This whole marriage..this whole act..probably means nothing to you."

Natasha felt her anger flare, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy lying about every aspect of my life, pretending to be someone I’m not?" You didn’t back down, your eyes burning with frustration. "But you're damn good at it, aren’t you? Must be all those years in that room. They made you the perfect little actress."

That was the breaking point for Natasha. Her eyes flashed with anger as she stepped forward and closed the distance between you. "You have no idea what the Red Room did to me. What it took from me. So don’t you dare try to twist that into some kind of compliment!" You stood your ground, your own anger flaring in response. "I’m not giving you a compliment, Natasha. I’m saying it’s terrifying how easily you slip into these roles. How convincing you are at pretending to care."

Natasha's breathing quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. "You think I want to be convincing, huh? You think I want to be good at this? I’ve spent my entire life fighting to break free of what the Red Room made me, and now I’m stuck in another damn role..and it’s with you."

Your jaw tightened, your anger now tinged with something that looked like guilt. "Maybe it’s not just a role for you. Maybe you don’t even know who you are when you’re not on a mission." The words cut deep, and for a moment, Natasha didn’t know how to respond. But the anger was too strong, too raw to let go. "You don’t know anything about me. Nothing about what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to do to survive."

You both stood there, staring each other down, the air between you crackling with fury and unspoken pain. Natasha's chest heaved with the force of her emotions, her mind a whirlwind of anger and hurt that she could barely keep in check. You set your glass down with a sharp clink, your face tight with suppressed frustration. "You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you. But it sure as hell feels like you’re more comfortable in this lie than I am."

Natasha turned away, her hands trembling with the effort to contain her rage. "Go to bed, Y/n." You didn’t respond, simply turning on your heel and leaving the room, your footsteps echoing through the apartment. Natasha waited until she heard the door to your shared bedroom close before she finally let out a shaky breath. She was too good at pretending, far too good. And that was the problem. Because despite all her skills, all the years of training and missions, this felt different. It felt personal in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and your words had struck a nerve deep within her.

As Natasha stood alone in the kitchen, she couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen through her facade in a way no one else ever had. The truth was, this marriage, this charade, was wearing her down in ways she hadn’t expected. And the more time she spent around you, the harder it became to maintain the mask she had worn for so long. She wanted to dismiss your words as just another argument, another clash of wills between two people who were forced into a situation neither wanted. But the truth was, you had hit on something she didn’t want to admit, even to herself. With a heavy sigh, she finally turned off the lights and headed to bed, her mind still racing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up, but she knew one thing for certain. Whatever this was between the two of you, it was far from over.

The days that followed were intense, with both Natasha and you deeply immersed in your respective missions. Despite the tension between you, you had found a certain rhythm, maintaining your cover as a married couple while focusing on the tasks at hand. Your partnership was more functional than personal, efficient, strategic, and devoid of unnecessary emotional entanglements.

But that all changed when Loki appeared.

When chaos erupted in New York, the two of you were thrown right into the conflict, working side by side with the newly formed Avengers. The stakes were higher than ever, and there was no room for mistakes. You fought shoulder to shoulder, defeating Chitauri soldiers and securing key positions as you tried to save the city from destruction.

It was during one of those intense moments, after Natasha's confrontation with Loki, that everything changed. Loki had made it a point to bring up Natasha's past, the "red" in her ledger, the sins she had committed, the people she had hurt. He taunted her with names and events that Natasha had long tried to forget, using her guilt as a weapon to break her. The words were meant to destroy her, to make her doubt her worth, and they hit harder than any physical blow. But Natasha, the eternal professional, pressed on, using her pain as fuel to outmaneuver Loki and secure the information they needed. But the damage was done. The conversation with Loki had revealed more about Natasha’s past than she ever wanted anyone, especially you, to know.

After the battle, when the Avengers had won and the immediate threat had passed, Natasha returned to the SHIELD Helicarrier. The city was still in chaos, but the focus had shifted to recovery and rebuilding. Natasha was exhausted, both physically and mentally, the weight of Loki's words hanging over her like a dark cloud.

You had always had a keen sense for people, always quick to pick up on the smallest changes in mood or behavior. It was one of the reasons you were so good at your job. But now that sharp intuition was focused on Natasha, and it made her feel exposed in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

After debriefing with Fury, Natasha retreated to the quiet of your shared apartment, hoping to find a moment of peace. She had barely sat down on the edge of the bed when she heard the door open behind her.

“Natasha?” Your voice was soft, cautious, as you entered the room. Natasha didn’t turn around, but she could feel your probing gaze on her.

“What is it, Y/n?” Natasha’s tone was curt. She was too tired for this conversation, too drained to face another confrontation. You hesitated, the silence between you stretched out. “I..wanted to talk to you.” Natasha closed her eyes, bracing herself for another argument. “About what?”

“About Loki.” you said, your voice carefully measured. "We need to talk about what he said." Natasha’s muscles tensed, her back straightening as she tried to suppress the rising wave of fear in her chest. “I’m fine, Y/n. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That’s the point, Natasha.” you continued, taking a few steps closer. “I am worried. I know I’ve pushed you before, teased you about your past, but I didn’t..I didn’t realize it was something so serious.” Natasha’s jaw tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever. “I’ve already told you, my past is none of your concern.”

“But it is, Natasha!” Your voice was firmer now, the frustration evident. “We’re supposed to be partners, and I feel like I don’t know you at all.” Natasha finally turned to face you, her eyes narrowing as she stood. “You don’t know me, Y/n. And that’s how it’s supposed to be. I didn’t ask for your sympathy, and I don’t need your pity.”

Your expression hardened, but there was a flicker of pain in your eyes. “This isn’t about pity, and you know it. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what?” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “That I’ve done things I’m not proud of? That my past is full of blood and darkness you can’t even imagine?” You flinched at the sharpness in her voice, but you didn’t back down. “You’re right. I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I’m trying to apologize, Natasha. For pushing you, for not realizing.”

Natasha stared at you, her anger battling with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. “Why? So you can feel better? So you can feel like you’ve done the right thing?” Your eyes flashed with frustration. “No, damn it! I’m doing this because I care about you. Because, despite everything, I don’t want to keep fighting against you! Its draining..”

For a moment, you stood facing each other, the air between you charged with tension. Natasha felt her defenses beginning to crumble, the walls she had built around herself starting to give way under the weight of your words. Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging as the fight drained out of her. “You want to know the truth?"

Natasha sat down on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on her knees as if she needed to hold herself together. “The Red Room..it destroyed me. It took everything I was and made something else out of it. Something that had no choice, no control.” You sat down beside her, but you kept your distance, respecting the space she needed. “You didn’t have a choice, Natasha. You were a child.”

“That doesn’t change what I did ” Natasha said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. “I killed people. Innocent people. And I..I enjoyed it, Y/n. Back then, I enjoyed it because that’s what they made me.” You reached out, placing your hand gently over hers, but you said nothing. You knew this was a moment where words couldn’t do much.

Her voice was soft and laced with pain. “The things I’ve done..the people I’ve hurt..you can’t just brush that aside. The Red Room wasn’t just training, it was torture, it was conditioning, it was turning little girls into weapons. I did terrible things because I was programmed to. Because I didn’t know any better.” She paused, as the memories came flooding back with painful clarity. “And even after I got out, even after I tried to make up for it, the past still haunts me. Loki knew exactly where to strike, exactly how to remind me of the monster I once was.”

You listened in silence, your heart aching at the pain in Natasha’s voice. “You’re not a monster, Natasha.” She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “That’s easy for you to say. But you didn’t see what I did. You didn’t live it.”

“No, I didn’t. But I’ve seen who you are now. I’ve seen how hard you fight to do the right thing, how much you sacrifice. That’s not the work of a monster. That’s someone trying to make things right.” Natasha turned to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But what if it’s not enough? What if it doesn’t matter what I do, and I can never atone for what I’ve done?”

You took her hands in yours. “You don’t have to do it alone, Natasha. You don’t have to carry this burden by yourself. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha looked down at your hands, the warmth of your touch grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. For so long, she had believed that her past was something she had to face alone, that no one could understand the shadow that had shaped her. But in this moment, with you by her side, she realized that maybe, just maybe she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. “For pushing you away.” You squeezed her hands gently. “I’m sorry too. For not seeing how much you were hurting.” You sat there for a long moment in silence, the weight of the past finally beginning to lift, replaced by something new..something fragile, but real. It wasn’t love, not yet, but it was trust, and for now, that was enough.

The days after your late-night conversation were different, marked by an unspoken understanding that hadn’t been there before. Natasha and you continued with your missions, and the world was still recovering from the chaos of Loki’s attack, but something between you had shifted. Where there had once been tension and unspoken resentment, there was now a cautious, growing trust.

You moved around each other more easily, your conversations were less strained, your silences less heavy. The sharp edges of your interactions had softened, replaced by a tentative camaraderie that surprised you both. You weren’t friends yet, and certainly not lovers, but you were no longer just colleagues forced into a marriage of convenience. You were partners..genuine partners.

One evening, after a particularly exhausting mission, you returned to the Helicarrier and noticed the weariness weighing on Natasha. Her shoulders were slumped, and her usually sharp eyes were dulled with fatigue. But there was also something else, a lightness that hadn’t been there before, as if the burden she carried was now a little less heavy. “You look like you could use a break.” you said, your voice light but laced with concern. Natasha glanced at you, a small, tired smile playing on her lips. “You’re not wrong. This week has been hell.”

“More than usual.” you agreed. “How about we grab a drink? No talk about missions, just..a chance to unwind.” Natasha hesitated for a moment, her instinct to decline warring with the realization that maybe, just this once, she didn’t have to handle everything on her own. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

You headed to one of the quieter lounges on the Helicarrier, a small, dimly lit room where off-duty agents could relax. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it was private enough to talk without the weight of your roles hanging over you. You ordered a couple of drinks, and the two of you sat down at a small table near the window, through which the vast, dark night could be seen. For a while, you drank in silence, the easy silence between you a far cry from the tense moments of the past.

“You know..” you began after a while, swirling your drink in your glass, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About carrying this burden alone.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze steady but curious. “Yeah?”

“I’ve just..been thinking about how we’re supposed to be partners in this, but we’ve been so focused on keeping our walls up that we forgot what that really means." you said thoughtfully. “It’s not just about watching each other’s backs in a fight. It’s about being there for each other when things get tough, when the past tries to drag you down.”

Natasha nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I’m not used to that, you know. Letting someone in.”

“I figured..” you said with a small smile. “But you let me in, at least a little. And I want you to know that it meant something. It made me realize that maybe I haven’t been as fair to you as I could have been.” Natasha’s expression softened, a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability in her eyes. “You don’t need to apologize, Y/n. We were both just doing our jobs.”

“I know.” you replied. “But still, I’m sorry. For pushing you, for not seeing how much you’ve been through. I was so caught up in the mission and the cover that I didn’t take the time to really see you.” Natasha took a sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease the tension in her shoulders. “You see me now.” she said quietly. “And that’s more than I’ve let anyone do in a long time.”

You sat in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the atmosphere between you relaxed and open. Natasha realized that it was a relief not to have to be constantly on guard, not to have to keep everyone at a distance. “You know.." you said after a while, your tone lighter, “I’ve been thinking that when all this mess is over, we should take a break. Do something normal. I hear married couples go on vacations.” Natasha chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “I’m not sure we pass as a normal married couple.”

“Who said anything about normal?” you grinned. “We could do something out of the ordinary. Like..I don’t know, skydiving or rock climbing. Something that gets the adrenaline pumping without the life-and-death stakes.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “So you want us to jump out of a plane..for fun?”

You shrugged, a mischievous smile on your lips. “Why not? After everything we’ve been through, it might be nice to do something that gets the heart racing without our lives depending on it.” Natasha considered it for a moment, then smiled, a real smile, not the practiced one she used in public. “You know what? That actually doesn’t sound so bad.”

You clinked your glasses together, and as the evening wore on, you talked about everything and nothing. Trivial things like favorite foods and music, and deeper topics like your dreams and fears. The walls between you continued to crumble, and by the time you finally returned to your apartment, there was a new understanding between you. “Thank you, Y/n. For tonight.” You smiled back, your voice warm. “Anytime, Natasha. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah.” Natasha replied, the words feeling truer than ever before. “We are.” As you parted ways for the night, Natasha felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just the drink or the fact that she had survived another day, it was the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. That for the first time in years, she had someone she could trust.

The following weeks were different. Natasha and you continued to work together, your partnership now stronger as the initial tension had eased. You were still far from being a typical married couple, but the foundation of trust you had begun to build made all the difference. One day, after a particularly successful mission, Fury called you both into his office. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a hint of something, perhaps approval in his gaze.

“You two have done good work.” Fury said, his voice even. “The mission was a success, and your cover held under pressure. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this partnership would work, but you’ve exceeded expectations.”

Natasha glanced at you briefly, and you shared a small, knowing smile. “Thank you, sir.” Natasha replied. Fury nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharpening. “That said, I’m not sure how much longer we can maintain the appearance of this marriage.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Fury sighed, a rare sign of weariness passing over his face. “The situation has stabilized for now, but I have a feeling more trouble is on the horizon. You two have done your job well, but I’m giving you the option to dissolve the marriage if you think it’s the right move.”

Natasha felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite identify, regret? Uncertainty? She looked at you, searching your face for a clue as to what you were thinking. You met her gaze, your expression thoughtful. “I think..we should talk about it. See where we both stand.”

Natasha nodded slowly, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her chest. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.” Fury watched you both for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Take your time." With that, he dismissed you, and you left the office in silence, the weight of the decision heavy on your minds.

As you walked through the corridors, Natasha felt a sense of unease rising in her stomach. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected to feel anything at the thought of ending the marriage. But now, the idea left a strange emptiness inside her. “So..” you said quietly as you reached your quarters, “what do you want to do?”

Natasha took a deep breath, turning to face you. “I don’t know." she admitted. “This started as a mission, as a cover. But now..I don’t know.” You nodded, your expression understanding. “I get it. It’s complicated.”

Natasha hesitated, then reached out and took your hand in hers. “But I know one thing. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose what we’ve built. I don’t want to lose this..partnership.”

You stood there for a long moment, holding each other’s gaze, the air between you charged with unspoken possibilities. Finally, you smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat. "I have a good Idea where we can talk further.."

The lounge was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of conversations on the other side of the room. Natasha and you had had a few drinks again, the alcohol warming your bodies and loosening your tongues. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing easily between you in a way it hadn’t before. The heaviness of your earlier tensions had lifted, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate atmosphere.

Natasha took another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down her throat. She looked at you, watching as you swirled the last bit of your whiskey in your glass, your eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. Your words slightly slurred, “I never thought we’d end up here. Not like this.”

Natasha laughed, her own voice tinged with the effects of the alcohol. “Yeah, me neither. This whole thing… was unexpected.” You leaned back in your chair, your gaze fixed on Natasha. “But..I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad we’re talking like this.” Natasha felt a warmth spread through her, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Me too.” she admitted, her voice softening. “It’s nice…not feeling alone.”

You smiled, a crooked, slightly drunken smile that made Natasha’s heart skip a beat as she felt a surge of emotions she wasn’t entirely ready to name. “You’re not alone, Natasha. Not anymore.” There was a charged moment between you, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of your shared experiences. The alcohol had lowered your defenses, leaving you both more vulnerable and open than you had been in a long time.

Natasha set her glass down, her fingers lightly brushing against yours on the table. The touch was electric, sending a shiver of awareness through her. She looked up and met your gaze, and in your eyes, she saw the same spark of attraction that she felt. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension between you growing more intense with each passing second. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned across the table, and your lips met Natasha’s in a gentle, hesitant kiss.

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding as she responded to the kiss, her lips moving against yours in a way that felt both familiar and completely new. The kiss was tentative at first, an exploration of boundaries, but it quickly deepened as the need for each other became overwhelming.

Without breaking the kiss, you stood and pulled Natasha up with you. Your hands found each other’s bodies, exploring, touching, as you made your way out of the lounge and down the corridor to a quarter. Your kisses grew hotter, more desperate, as you neared the room. You fumbled with the keycard, finally managing to open the door, and the two of you tumbled inside, your bodies pressed tightly together. As you finally made it to the bed, the rest of the world seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, entwined with one another, your kisses hungry, your touches urgent. The alcohol had stripped away your inhibitions, leaving only the raw desire for each other.

The night passed in a blur of passionate moments and whispered names, your bodies intertwined as you lost yourselves completely in each other. The connection between you deepened with every touch, every kiss, until there was no distance left between you, no more walls to keep you apart. When you finally fell asleep, your bodies were still entwined, your breaths mingling as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep. The alcohol had done its job, lowering your defenses and bringing you together in a way neither of you had expected.

The first thing Natasha felt as she slowly woke up was the dull pounding in her head. She groaned softly, turning over and pulling the blanket tighter around herself, trying to block out the morning light seeping through the curtains. But as she moved, she realized something was off, something warm and solid was lying beside her. She froze, her senses suddenly sharp despite the hangover. Slowly, she opened one eye and was immediately met with the sight of you lying next to her, your face turned toward her, still fast asleep.

Natasha’s breath hitched as the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. The drinks, the laughter, the conversation that had unexpectedly turned personal..and then how you had ended up here, wrapped in each other’s arms. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to piece everything together. You had both been drunk, very drunk but that didn’t explain everything. How had you gone from reluctant partners in a forced marriage to this point? What had driven you to cross a line she hadn’t even realized you were approaching?

“shit." Natasha muttered quietly, careful not to disturb you as she tried to extricate herself from the sheets. But as she moved, you stirred beside her, your eyes slowly fluttering open. For a moment, you both simply stared at each other, your expressions mirroring the shock and confusion that Natasha was feeling. “Morning.” you finally said, your voice rough and uncertain.

“Morning.” Natasha echoed, her voice just as hesitant. There was a long, awkward silence as you both tried to process the situation. Natasha could see the same questions in your eyes that were running through her own mind: How had this happened? What did it mean? And where do you go from here?

“I..uh..did we…?” you began, clearly struggling to find the right words. Natasha’s cheeks flushed slightly as she nodded. “Yeah. I think we did.”

You rubbed your hand over your face, slowly sitting up as you tried to shake off the remnants of sleep and alcohol. “Okay, so…how did we end up here?” Natasha bit her lip, trying to recall the details. “We were talking..had a lot to drink. And then..I don’t know. One thing led to another, I guess.” She managed a small, ironic smile. “But at least we don’t have to invent any lies if someone asks us about our sex life now.”

You chuckled at her comment, and the tension in the room eased slightly. “True. It’s almost like we’ve fully embraced our roles now. Now that she's finished.” Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I guess we’re just overachievers.”

The laughter died down, and once again, the reality of your situation set in. Things had gotten personal in a way neither of you had anticipated. “So…what do we do now?” you asked, your tone more serious this time.

Natasha sighed, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around herself. “I don’t know. We could just pretend nothing happened, but… that feels like we’d be lying to ourselves.”

“Yeah, and we’ve done enough pretending to last a lifetime.” you agreed, your expression thoughtful. “But we also can’t ignore the fact that this all started as a mission. A mission where we were supposed to pretend to be in love, even though we didn’t really like each other.” Natasha nodded, the weight of that truth pressing down on her. “Right. And now we’ve crossed a line, and I don’t think we can just go back.”

You frowned, deep in thought. “But do we need to go back? I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and… I don’t know. Maybe this was just..inevitable?” Natasha looked at you, searching your face for any hint of what you were really feeling. “Maybe. But now it’s complicated. We can’t just act like everything is the same as before.”

Your smile, “Hey, at least we’re dedicated to the mission, right?” Natasha laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. “Right. We’ve more than fulfilled our duties.”

You both laughed, the tension between you beginning to dissipate. The humor was a relief, a way to ease the confusion and discomfort that came with waking up in each other’s bed after what was supposed to be just another night of playing your roles. But as the laughter faded, the reality of your situation remained. You couldn’t just laugh your way out of this, you had to figure out what it meant for you.

“So…what do we do now?” you asked again, your tone more serious this time. Natasha sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to organize her thoughts. “We figure it out. No more lies, no more excuses. We take it one step at a time.” You nodded, your expression softening. “I can do that. One step at a time.”

Natasha felt a strange sense of relief at your words. This was new territory for both of you, but at least you didn’t have to navigate it alone. You had each other, and while it was still a complicated mess, it was something you could rely on. As you both got out of bed and began to dress, the weight of your new reality settled over you. This wasn’t going to be easy, but you were in it together, and for now, that was enough.

“Hey, Natasha?” you said as you pulled your shirt over your head. “Yeah?”

You paused for a moment, your expression thoughtful. “I know this isn’t what either of us expected, but..I’m glad we’re here." Natasha smiled, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. “Me too, Y/n. Me too.”

As you left the room and stepped back into the world, you did so with a new understanding of each other. You had started as reluctant partners, forced together by a mission, but now…now there was something more. Something worth exploring, even if it was still messy and confusing. The mission had brought you together, but it was your shared experiences and growing bond that would keep you together. And as you walked side by side, ready to face whatever came next, you both knew that this was only the beginning of something new.

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

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porterdavis · 7 hours ago

Text

Turn science loose

MIT’s groundbreaking window panel, a passive, zero-power device, extracts drinkable water from desert air, offering a revolutionary solution for water-scarce regions.

Resembling a sleek black pane, it uses a hydrogel matrix with an origami-inspired design, embedded with glycerol and hygroscopic salts, to capture moisture at night and release it as vapor under sunlight.

In tests in arid Death Valley, a single panel produced over 160 milliliters of clean water daily—enough for a small family with just a few panels.

Unlike earlier designs, this system neutralizes salts, ensuring the water is safe to drink without filtration. Lightweight, affordable, and scalable, it requires no electricity, pipes, or pumps, making it ideal for off-grid communities, remote villages, or disaster zones.

With over 2 billion people facing water scarcity, MIT’s collaboration with humanitarian groups for a 2026 rollout could transform access to clean water globally.

- Mechanical Engineering World

#water #bottledwater #springwater #mineralwater #naturalspringwater #alkalinewater #SustainableTech #CleanWater #MITResearch #EcoSolutions #tech #technews

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monkebearness · 5 months ago

Text

More Than a Chance Encounter

Ji Suhyeon (tripleS JiYeon) x Male Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, romance

Word count: 9.2k

a/n: no smut yet, the first one really took a while to finish XD. however, a new one is in the works. for now, I hope you like this, if you are into this genre, at least.

The holiday season in one of the biggest malls in Seoul has made it crowded, as the year comes to a close in a couple of months. It still isn't as urgent and traditional like they do in America, but it's still a lot for Korea’s standards. Despite labels and posters of cheaper prices being stacked on a plethora of products, most of the supermarket is filled with the loud hum of the air conditioner as well as the movements of automaton couriers rushing in and out of the place. Nowadays, most people tend to visit to get some not so fresh nor natural, but nevertheless refreshing wind and spend time with their loved ones through various forms of recreation, entertainment, and the last reason: purchasing necessities for their families and friends. Necessities that are also known as gifts and groceries.

“How do I even use this..?” he whispers to himself, pressing all the buttons he can on the screen of the kiosk, only to end up in the same error popping up with an irritating sound that irritates even the folks behind him.

Self-checkouts at supermarkets are no longer the future because now, they’re the norm, here in the present. And yet a lot of customers are still stuck to the past, but reasonably so. Certain machines are not as simple as one would think, since these models are still new to the public, some of whom aren’t tech-savvy. This man in a suit just happens to fall into this case of generational dilemma. It’s a miracle he doesn’t even freak out yet.

“Ahjussi!” a voice roars from the end of the line. “We don’t have all night. Hurry up.”

But some would still take the advantage to shop in person during the holidays since, in most cases, it’s simply faster for people who visit after school or work. And as more and more users shop online, face-to-face customers take the advantage to buy in person just the same, especially when the couriers are taking a little longer than they want.

“Look, I’m trying to figure this thing out,” he mumbles as loud as he can. The longer he’s standing there with no solutions, the more he can feel the moisture accumulating on his scalp and realize how his fingers start to shiver under pressure. “I, um, I don’t think this thing is working. Does someone know how to fix this?”

“Maybe you broke it, old man,” another voice yells. “You should’ve just ordered online, so we didn’t have to deal with your mess!”

He can only sigh at the mockeries fired at him, but his patience remains high. Thankfully, karma finds its way to the heckler at the back, as the guard approaches and warns the pair to stop their impolite behavior. With the voice finally simmering down, the man in the suit is making some progress with the kiosk, but his ears catch footsteps getting louder and louder by the second. Clenching his fists in unease, he braces for whoever else may give him an earful.

“If I may, ahjussi…” He hears another voice from behind, now a calmer and feminine one. For some reason, his levels of anxiety begin to drop. “Let me help you with that.”

About six centimeters shorter than him, the woman’s ethereal appearance and attentive presence stuns him, prompting the man to step aside and let her deal with his problem. Despite being the very person behind him in the whole line, he didn't even notice her, since all his mind was focusing on was sorting out the kiosk by himself until he himself would have inevitably broken down due to the hecklers constantly mocking him. What surprises him is that she’s not in a uniform, yet she's able to fix his problem within half a minute, making him wonder whether or not she’s somehow from the staff.

“It’s not your fault,” she mumbles while he watches her from the side. “These kiosks are new. All you need to do is select the settings, change the method and—there! All your items are now totaled.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s really good to know. Kamsahamnida, Miss.”

She bows in response, while he hurries transferring his groceries into his shopping bag. Afterwards, the man would have gone on with his own business, but this encounter was different for him, aside from the fact that he rarely asked or received anyone’s help until the machine broke. His own machismo isn’t gonna let him be without trying to offer his assistance to the woman when she also finished her checkout a couple of minutes later. He sees her walk in his direction. “I’m sorry if I’m being a bother again, but let me help you with that too. If it’s fine with you.”

“Oh… Kamsahamnida.” Despite being taken aback by his action, she bows to him before leading the way throughout the market’s exit, where they are welcomed by the full moon in the sky. He carries three stuffed eco bags—two on the left and one on the right—while the woman carries a lighter one. She would often take a few glances at him out of concern, though he tries to reassure her with a few nods and a meager smile. A thought on her mind pushes her to help him by calling an auto-cart inside, but they’re already far from the store.

He can’t help but take a few peeks inside her bag as they stroll along the lane. While he isn’t able to see the items clearly, curiosity has already gotten the best of him. “You got a lot of stuff there. Do you mind if I ask what the occasion is? Christmas is still a couple of weeks away.”

“They’re for a family gathering.”

“Oh, mine too! I mean, it’s not unexpected, but I believe folks rarely buy stuff this early before Christmas. Let alone in person.”

“That’s true, but I’d rather not risk having delayed deliveries, considering the digital traffic… Or you know, missing some important ingredients for your recipes.”

“That’s a fair point,” he slowly nods.

“And you…” She takes a longer gaze at his eco bag. “You don’t have as much… Though it still looks heavy. Probably heavier than mine. I could’ve called an auto-cart back inside.”

“No, it’s fine,” he keeps insisting with a chuckle. “Gwenchana, seriously. I’ve carried heavier loads of paperwork than these in the past couple of years.”

“Arasseoyo, Mister Muscle,” the woman shoots back. Her raised eyebrow expresses intrigue and amusement, even if she can tell that he’s just trying to impress her to a degree, and realizing it makes her let out a chortle as they walk to the bus terminal.

He tries to continue the conversation, or at least keep babbling on from the top of his mind as they finally arrive at the lane. The only thing is—they just missed the last bus. The next ride won’t arrive for a while, unless they walk to another stop. But considering their distance to the nearest one—as well as their goods being quite a handful, neither of them seems to have the intention of doing just that.

A topic finally pops up in his mind, still driven by his curiosity about her minutes earlier. “Do you remember when those counters were still filled with cashiers? It must’ve been a kind of culture shock, finding out that we’re gonna have to check out our own groceries all by ourselves, unless we order online.”

“Yeah, I remember it clearly,” she admits with a more or less indifferent tone. “It hasn't been that long since they finally got rid of the last batch…” But the more her words come out, he senses jadedness and discouragement in her voice, despite saying a lot. “It sucks to see them leave, but what are you gonna do?” She sighs, much to his worry, even if he doesn’t know what her problem is about. “The company’s too afraid of falling behind.”

His mind compels him to do something, hoping to cheer her or lighten up the mood. “You must’ve frequented here often to know all of that… You even know how to fix a kiosk and you’re also worried about the cashiers. Are you the manager of the store?”

She keeps herself from scoffing at his genuine amazement, and the fact that he’s still basically glazing her for her mere act of assistance. “Um, no. Not as a manager, but I used to work here… As a cashier.”

“Oh…” Fuck is the first word that darts through his brain, followed by shit and crap. Immediate guilt and regret strike through his heart, believing that he’s offended her with his words. Why didn’t I think of it before? “I didn’t mean to phrase it like that. Joesonghamnida.”

“Oh, no, no!” she waves her hands in a slight panic while he starts to bow to her. “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t offended, and I understand your point, but I still work here. It’s just not my shift tonight.”

“You’re still working here?” he wonders, confused yet just as curious about the wave of conflicting info he has learned. “But I thought the cashiers had been discharged in this supermarket since last year… That’s why I thought you’d be a manager or something.”

“Most of us were,” she nods. “But some of us were lucky enough to stay here and were reassigned to other roles. I’m just a kiosk specialist now—which is just a much fancier way of saying that I’m a technician.”

They both chuckle at her remark. “I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he considers. “I think you have more experience than some folks in corpo nowadays. I think it’s always a plus when you learn things hands-on.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she slowly nods. “Though, I don’t believe I know more than those with desk jobs. But, I do think we have as much experience when working with people.”

“Now that you’ve brought it up, people aren’t as many here compared to back then. It’s always been more convenient to shop online in the past decade. I just really think it is a bummer that a lot of workers have to be fired because our means of living have become easier now, no thanks to those bots.”

“It’s true, but I wouldn’t entirely see everything as negative,” she retorts. “As much as you’re right, there’s new jobs out there. Ones where we can start using our brains and bodies more often. Act more like a human for once, you know?”

He sees her somber smile as they lock eyes. The smile doesn’t appear to be forced, but rather wistful. Perhaps he’s been complimenting her way too much, and it’s starting to come off as annoying. Maybe she’s going through something or has been through a lot, but that’s not in his right to know, since they’ve only met. “Based on that, I’m guessing you don’t love your job. I don’t know how else to say it, since I’m just a stranger… But I hope you hang in there.”

She tilts her head while her lips pout. “Love? Hate? Hmm… I haven’t used those words to describe my jobs. Not in a while... I just know how to adapt and get used to whatever job or gig I can get by. But now that you mentioned it, I do love gaining more and more experience, just as I hate dealing with cranky customers, like that heckler from earlier.”

“But, umm,” she adds, feeling a glimmer of sincerity with what he just said. “Thanks for saying that. As a ‘fellow stranger’ myself, I appreciate it. I hope you hang in there, too.”

Amidst the winter breeze, the woman brings out a scarf from her bag and wraps it around her neck, before rubbing her hands and blowing into it. Her gestures give him an idea, which may or may not work, but that’s the least of his worries. He still feels a sense of debt and gratitude for her after she helped him out earlier—no matter how trivial it is. Perhaps due to the fact that she just happens to be beautiful and polite, maybe there is something else that he’s feeling, but he brushes it off. He doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable more than the frightening possibility that she already is, being with him.

“Hey, uhh… I think the next bus won’t be here for a while,” he brings up. “Would you mind if we grab a cup of coffee or tea first? Anything you’d like, really. It’s my treat.”

The woman is touched by his sudden suggestion, yet her lingering sense of pride is making her feel hesitant to accept it. “Oh, that's too much. You don’t have to…”

“It’s the least I can do, since you helped me out at the counter,” he avows. “I would’ve given you my stamp coupon from a café I often visit, but I’ve used all of it. That is… If you’re not in the rush right now. I’m just suggesting, cause it’s getting colder out here and we might need a place to warm up for a bit.”

She laughs at his honest statement, not caring whether he’s joking or telling the truth. His somewhat awkward yet honest deliveries have fascinated her for a while now. If it was like any other stranger, she would’ve left or ticked them off moments ago, but she doesn't feel too tense around him. It's in a way, refreshing. Besides, it is up to her if she will regret meeting him at a later time or not. She’s a grown woman, and if he even does anything funny, there are people everywhere. For now, she doesn’t feel like she wants to ditch him. At least, he has yet to give her a fair reason. “It’s fine, but since you’re the one offering, perhaps a cup of hot chocolate will do for me, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, that’s perfect!” a hint of enthusiasm arises in his voice, astonished that she even went along with his improvised suggestion. “Where would you like to order?”

“Hmm… I think you should lead the way,” a smile forms on the woman’s face while placing an index finger on her chin, insinuating her anticipation. “Seems to me like you’re the café connoisseur.”

The man chortles at her compliment. “I just know quality drinks, that's for sure.”

“Though I do prefer if we go somewhere closer to here,” she requests. “Just in case we catch the next bus arriving.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he hums. “I think I know just the place.”

He raises the three eco bags off the pavement with his care, although the woman assists him into carrying them properly. However, before she can follow his footsteps, she feels a buzzing in her pocket. Her eyes widened at the message she just received seconds ago.

“Joesonghamnida!” she suddenly bows to him in a fast sequence, her voice mirroring her rushed pace. “I got an urgent thing to do back home. But if you want, we can have coffee some other time.”

He didn’t expect her to say those latter words, but it gives him a sense of hope. That she didn’t misunderstood his intentions. But in a fit of internal panic, rummages his hands inside his messenger bag to find something. Within seconds, he pulls out a wrinkled small card at the same time the woman hails the nearest taxi cab on sight.

“Of course, of course… It’s okay! Here's my call card,” he hands it over. “Just call me up through that number and, umm, we can meet up wherever you like.”

The woman keeps the card inside her eco bag just in time as the cab stops in front of the sidewalk. Opening the backseat door for her, the man helps her get two of her shopping bags in the middle of the seat. Once everything has been sorted out, she turns to look at him—both in relief and guilt—and bows to him once more. “Kamsahamnida, ahjussi... And, uhh, Merry Christmas.”

After she heads inside the vehicle, he sees the taxi leave the mall grounds, heading into a lane of the greater concrete sea and finding a spot among the fellow school of headlights.

“I don't know what just happened,” he whispers to himself, as he sees a pair of bigger headlights approaching from a distance. As it gets closer, more and more people, most of whom are also packed with tons of holiday goods in their arms, behind him start gathering in a line. “I just hope I didn't ruin her night.”

= = =

It's been a few weeks since New Year’s passed. He hasn’t received any calls from her, but he never realized it. After spending time with his family at home, he gets back to slaving away at work through meetings with the higher-ups and on-the-spot presentations. It is still the second week of January, yet everything becomes a blur when it comes to going through his routine. Things repeat in a cycle of the mundane. That has always been the case for him, until he receives a text from an unknown number during his lunch break.

[Unknown]: Annyeonghaseyo, ahjussi. Is this Young Sungwoo?

He shakes his head. His eyes can’t believe it, but the messages keep on being sent.

[Unknown]: I don’t know if you still remember me, but this is the lady from the supermarket.

I’m really sorry for leaving out of the sudden.

I had an emergency back at home.

Whenever you’re free, would you like to have that hot chocolate you promised?

Why is she still texting me? is the first instinctive question that pops up in his mind, followed by Is this a scam?, How is this possible?, The text sounds like her, but why is she apologizing when I’m the one who kept pestering her?, This cannot be happening, among many other thoughts clashing together as the unexpected situation leaves him in a state of analysis paralysis. That's until he takes another look at her last message. The hot chocolate. Of course! How can it not be her?

Assured by the texter's identity, he spends the remainder of his break, thinking of the words to text her back before getting back to his desk, perhaps with perhaps even more effort than most of his recent individual presentations at work since returning to work.

{{But I can adjust my schedule if you want to meet on those days.}}

[Unknown]: If you’re free today, then I was thinking later.

Since it’s Friday, you know?

Is that possible for you?

The café happens to be about eight minutes walk from his work, surprisingly enough. Entering inside, he sees her at one of the fifteen tables, almost half of which is seated with other customers. As their eyes meet, she waves at him.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” she greets him with a low respectful bow, which he reciprocates before taking the seat in front of her.

“I thought this would be a nice place for us to meet since I saw your company address.”

His mouth gapes, understanding her intention. “So that’s why this place is near our building! But, uhh… I hope I didn’t make you take a long ride.”

“It’s okay, ahjussi!” She raises her hand. “My place isn't that far from here either.”

“Please, don’t call me ahjussi,” he requests with a sheepish tone, raising his tone a little. “I’m not old. I just turned thirty.”

“Well, I’m not that old,” he adds in embarrassment. The man’s lowered voice makes her giggle. “Now that I’ve basically outed my age to almost everyone here, I guess I do count as an ahjussi… But I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all,” she reassures. “Our ages are not that far after all… I’m actually twenty-six.” She then leans into him a little closer, curious at his own misgivings. “And by the way, I don’t even think you look old. You look just about our age… Even if you are an ahjussi, I wouldn’t mind lessening formalities between us.”

“Thanks.” He takes a sip of his cup. “Those hecklers at the market must’ve gotten to me.”

“They do look like they’re on the younger side,” she considers. “Kids these days, huh?”

“That’s true… But I don’t know how exactly their parents raised them, so I don’t think it’s worth holding any grudges against them. A bad day can get anyone riled up.”

His answer intrigues her. It may sound like a little lecture, but his answers resonate with her. “That’s, umm... Quite mature of you. You ever dealt with people like those at work?”

“Pretty much,” he slowly nods with instinct. “It comes with the territory, but we’ve learned that there are much better ways of discipline than screaming at them. Our generation, I mean.”

“I agree.” Her head tilts while taking a glance at him with wonder. In her mind, there’s nothing witty or insightful left for her to add. But I don’t think that should excuse them for making a mistake. They gotta learn how to better themselves.” Except for one.

His face can’t help but form a smile. Now, he doesn’t have anything to add. “Well said.”

Despite them simply being strangers who have met up for drinks, this moment feels nice and calming for them, yet something is still missing. He slowly turns to her with caution. “I–uhh–I haven’t caught your name before.”

“Oh, right,” she mumbles, her eyes growing at his realization. “I told you my age, but not my name, haha. It’s Suhyeon. And by your call card, I can assume you’re Sungwoo?” Her eyes squint with suspicion in an attempt to tease him. “Unless that was your coworker’s name, which you used just to call me or something.”

He chortles at her remark, raising his hands for a second. “That is my name. No tricks.” Sungwoo keeps his right hand raised, signaling an attempt to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Suhyeon.”

“I know, I’m just messing,” she shoots back, right before reciprocating his handshake with a welcoming smile. “And it’s nice meeting you, too, Young Sungwoo-ssi.”

Hoping to initiate their conversation this time, she tries to recall a few details from him since their previous encounter, as well as his card. “Wait, so you are from corpo right? I can’t believe you said I have more experience than the likes of you.”

He lets out a snicker. The fact that she even remembers that surprises him. “My opinion still stands. Some of my colleagues could be freeloaders whenever there’s team projects.”

She sighs just imagining some of his hardships. “That must be a chore to deal with.”

“It is at times, but like what you said, you just get used to it.” The silence is now his cue; it’s his turn to try and get to know a little more about his companion. “So, Suhyeon-ssi, what else do you do for a living, aside from being a kiosk specialist at the mall… since I remember you saying that you’re working from job to job.”

“Well, that was the case.” Her smile grows wider. “I stopped working at the mall about two weeks ago when a friend of mine recommended me to a new and more stable one.”

He puts down his now half empty cup on the table. “What’s your main job these days?”

“Starting from next week, I’m gonna be a company driver,” she informs him. “My friend works there, but I got hired through their interview and test drives.”

“I gotta say, you're quite amazing, Suhyeon-ssi. What can you not do?”

“You’ve been flattering me non-stop, Sungwoo-ssi,” she shakes her head with a snicker, before her hand instinctively reaches to the napkin box and wipes some of the stain off his sleeve. “You didn’t even notice that stain.” She looks up to see his lips, also stained with coffee foam. “And your lips—”

“Oh,” she stops just as the napkin touches his lips, realizing that her impulse has astounded him. “Joesonghaeyo.”

“No, it’s okay,” he tells her. “But I can handle it from here.” He takes the napkin from her hand, igniting a spark from her. “Thank you for noticing this. You got sharp eyes.”

“Must be a force of habit,” she quips, while avoiding eye contact with him. Her mind reflects on her unexpected, ceremonious gesture.

From that moment forward, the two would keep meeting on weekends for coffee and hot chocolate, finding the most mundane yet meaningful things to talk about inside the café. It doesn’t always happen, but when they both agree to meet up, they make the most of it. And whenever none are available, they start using their phones longer, whether through usual texts or calls, almost every weekend night. Through their sleepless hours, they get to know each other, exchanging fun facts about themselves & sharing jokes and memes. Even finding out about their favorite or least favorite things is enough to prolong their conversations from twelve midnight until two in the morning.

[Suhyeon]: Yah! Don’t just consider (╥﹏╥) I promise, you won’t regret it!

{{Sungwoo: Fine, I will try it out.}} {{Your ingredients on the hot pot were amazing, after all.}} {{My colleagues and I ended up gobbling them all down within an hour.}}

[Suhyeon]: You’re welcome! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

{{Sungwoo: And how about my recommendations? I gave you about a hundred dessert suggestions last time. I’m sure you would’ve tried some of them by now.}}

[Suhyeon]: Hmm… I’ll think about it. It was too many for me to remember a single one.

[Suhyeon]: Of course, I’m kidding! I did try that coffee toffee ice cream with my buddies. For a store-bought dessert, it's top-tier, that’s for sure. Cheap one too. You really love anything coffee-related, don’t you?

Sometimes, it takes a longer time for her to reply. He would think she’s introspective about something that’s trivial and mundane, or that he said something insensitive or offensive to her. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought questions like those up, but she always has an answer. Even if they sometimes come off as dismissive or evasive, Suhyeon’s insight resonates with him, to a past that even he rarely calls back to.

[Suhyeon]: Oh, you know… My friends and family. I’m sorry if that sounded cliche, but you get my point, right? Getting through college wasn’t easy for me. For pretty much anyone else, really.

[Suhyeon]: But that’s way back in the past. I’m quite content with what I got now. For the most part.

However, both of them are well aware that both or either of these pale in comparison to their meetings in person. Nothing beats the real thing, as a lot would say. Aside from coffee and chocolate, they would start ordering other drinks for once, sometimes even snacks they can munch on after work while they rant or share their thoughts. They found their own little ecosystem within the café’s area. Most talks would last for thirty to forty minutes, sometimes an hour—if not a few minutes longer, if they can’t help it.

Though, it never usually lasts more than that. Suhyeon whines that her parents have a less strict curfew for her even in her mid-twenties, which raises his eyebrow—though he never bothered to ask for any elaboration. She’d do the same thing for him, though there seems to be no problem with him answering her questions like he’s an open book.

“How about you then?” Because of Sungwoo’s amiable views and easy-going demeanor, Suhyeon eventually returns his curiosity by asking him about his occupation more than the call card he gave her about last December. “You must’ve been a marketing manager at your company at this point. You’ve read a lot of trends from the palm of your hand.”

“That’s flattering… But I am not there yet,” he confesses, wearing a simper on his face. “I don’t think I’ll even get there in a while. While being a no-name marketing specialist has its ups, you gotta deal with the rest of your team or even suck up to the older higher ups just to convince them that your idea is worth pushing through. I even don’t have any other time or the privilege to spend on outside work, at least besides these hours.”

“Hmm… You’re not alone. My friends are way out of my league… One’s a gourmet chef. The other’s banker. The other two even got promoted to higher positions just recently!” she lets out a deep sigh. “Until now, I still question why they are still hanging out with me…. Why they’re even making time for me.”

He doesn’t know how else to feel but amazement. “They must be great friends. Just considering how highly you speak of them.”

“Oh, they are!” she exclaims with enthusiasm, only for it to dip down within seconds. “It’s just… Ugh. I don’t wanna admit it, but I feel like I’m just being a burden to them whenever I meet up with them outside.” She places each of her cheeks on her palms, slowly rubbing them up and down as she groans with lower spirits.

“Don’t think of it that way,” he insists. “You still have a lot ahead of you, and plus, you’re not alone. There is nothing burdensome about having close friends… They rely on you as much as you rely on them. Clearly, you all care for each other.”

His words slowly warms Suhyeon’s heart. “Seems like you have good friends yourself.”

“Had,” he retorts. “Most of my friends are just being slaves to our work like myself. Even some of them are staying at home, raising their children, like almost twenty-four seven.”

Her glassy eyes are filled with sympathy and consolation, making her turn her head away from him for a moment as she puffs. Sungwoo senses her vulnerable moment.

“Everyone has their reasons or excuses why they’re busy, I get that... Life just happens.”

What he said casts a gloom over her in the form of less pleasant memories resurfacing.

“Sungwoo-ssi,” she mutters, keeping her own voice from trembling. “I–uhh…”

“What is it, Suhyeon?”

“Nothing,” she clears her throat. “It’s just… What you said was really something. I hope your friends got to do whatever they wanted back then. Not everyone gets to reach their dreams the way they expected, you know?”

“That’s true, but even if that seems to be the case, life doesn't stop after your twenties. I mean, it shouldn’t!” he asserts as a hopeful smile forms on his face. “And that is coming from someone who just left that chapter.”

She turns to him, reading his face. “Sounds like you've had regrets in your twenties.”

“Well, I can't deny that…” He chuckles at her deduction, not out of mockery, but the fact she has read his expression too well. “But then again, don't we all have those at some point?”

The woman gulps at his rhetorical question, but her once facade of somber eyes flare up. Her left hand slowly squeezes her empty coffee cup until the rest of her fingers meet her thumb around it. Keeping his hands clasped under the table, Sungwoo’s peripherals can sense her pent-up emotions slowly breaking out through her actions, although he does not say anything about it. Despite his concern, he knows that she doesn’t have to open up if she’s not ready. Yet for Suhyeon, taking in his honest words cools her down—in a fashion that’s familiar to her. “Butterflies” would be a cliche of a word to describe it. She remembers all too well how she has used that word about someone else before, and how it ended up to where she is now. The good, the bad, and the ugly of it all.

“I’m sure you'll get to reach what dreams you want to do,” he looks at her with solace. “Even if you don't realize what they are just yet. I hope you don’t give up on it.”

She stares into the blank space, considering his words, even though most of her mind has always been discouraging her from imagining anything. Pipe dreams won't get us anywhere, she reminds herself. And why are you even here? This is the last place you should be. But turning to him once again, Suhyeon senses the last thing she’d expected to happen in a long time. Her heart slowly beating faster. You should stop meeting him. Looking down on the floor, the woman just realizes the moisture building up in her eyes.

As tears begin to pour down her face, Suhyeon looks at Sungwoo once again, seeing his hand holding a piece of napkin in front of her. While sniffling, she looks up to his face. He doesn’t say or ask anything, except for the words, “Are you alright?”

“I... uhh... I don't know... But thank you,” she mumbles. Taking the white cloth from his hand, she begins to feel a familiar rhythm within her. One that’s growing louder than the lo-fi music that’s playing on the speakers.

But amidst their moment of bliss, they watch a child entering the café door—standing with daze and confusion while everyone else also looks at her with curiosity, adoration, or concern. Sungwoo expects the nearby young cashier or anyone else to approach and calm her down, yet instead, a collected Suhyeon walks to the girl first with an amiable and sympathetic approach. He follows her, astonished at her initiative and attention, though his worry still lingers for her due to her own moment of vulnerability earlier.

“Hey, little girl,” she kneels on her level. “Are you alright? Why are you here alone?”

“I…” The girl’s voice cracks as she starts to break down in tears. “I don’t know where my eomma and appa are!”

“It’s okay, don’t cry,” she holds her closer, comforting the sobbing child with a slow pat and caress to her back. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her, arachi? What’s your name?”

“Ha…Eun,” she sniffles. “My name… Is Haeun… What… Should I… call you, eomonim?”

Suhyeon uses the napkin to wipe off her tears. “My name is Suhyeon,” she turns to him with a gaze of trust. “And this ahjussi’s name is Sungwoo. You’re gonna be staying with us for a while. We can get you anything you want while we look for your parents.”

Hearing it from her again, he oddly doesn’t mind the term this time. Maybe it’s just the context it’s used that bothered him before, but as it left her mouth, it sounds—normal. It sounds complimentary. “Hello, Haeun-ah,” he greets her. “Do you have anything we can use to help you find your parents? Do you memorize their phone numbers?”

“I don’t—*hic*—know, ahju—*hic*—ssi…” Haeun tries telling him through her hiccups.

Suhyeon notices the lanyard on Haeun’s neck, finding the girl’s ID. “Haeun-ah… Can I take a look at this for a second?”

The girl nods, allowing Suhyeon to inspect the back of the ID. Her guess proves her right. “It has a phone number,” she informs Sungwoo and everyone else in the café, filling up the once disquiet and tense café with optimism. “We can call your parents, Haeun-ah!”

Almost twenty minutes later, a couple storms inside the café with faces of fright and disquietude. “Haeun-ah!” they cry to her. Their unease dwindles down at the second they find their daughter sitting on the table beside Suhyeon and in front of Sungwoo, taking a sip of her own smaller cup of hot chocolate.

“Eomma, appa!” Haeun rejoices, running to them in the middle of the café as her parents wrap her in a warm embrace, prompting cheers from the staff and some customers. Sungwoo can only smile at their precious moment, though he sees Suhyeon letting out a sigh in relief—droplets of sweat start to drip out of her scalp. Yet it also fascinates him that her smile grows much wider.

“Kamsahamnida, Miss!” Haeun’s parents bow to them in a rapid succession, bowing as low as their heads can reach. “Kamsahamnida, Sir! I don’t know how we can repay you. Thank you so much for looking out for our daughter.”

“Gwenchanayo,” she reassures them, holding each of their arms in hopes that they stop bowing to them—which they eventually do. “Just keep looking out after your daughter.”

Another several minutes pass. The sun had already set and rush hour had just begun. Suhyeon and Sungwoo have exited the café, taking a stroll to the nearby bus stop. With no words leaving any of their mouths, they’re only hearing the horns of whining drivers along with their own footsteps. She’s quieter around him, ever since he saw her in tears. It’s the first time she hasn’t spoken to him on their way home.

“You know how to handle that pretty well,” he praises her. “Have you ever considered being a nursery or kindergarten teacher?”

Her eyes widen, realizing something that only she knows. “I have to go,” she tells him with a fast and weak pace, contrasting her enthusiasm earlier. “I’m really sorry about this, Sungwoo.”

“Oh… It’s fine!” He wants to ask why, but he stops himself. He doesn’t have the right. Besides, it’s not the first time she’s told and left out of the sudden, he nudges himself. Even if she doesn’t tell the reason... Even if she won’t tell him the reason the moment they text tonight, like nothing strange ever happened. “Take care… Suhyeon-ssi.”

= = =

Three weeks have passed. Things start to drift apart. Suhyeon stopped texting first after the first week, but Sungwoo didn’t stop. Both people have had sleepless nights, but they never meet. Not even text as often as they did. Due to the gradual fall in their digital and personal interaction, Sungwoo eventually stops taking initiative. As their respective lives go on, he does his best not to succumb to the temptation of texting her over and over, to the point she becomes uncomfortable like he’s often feared since they met.

Of course, it would be far from the last time he receives a text from her.

[Suhyeon]: Hey, Sungwoo-ssi. Can we meet?

No coffee or chocolate. No avocados or desserts. Just each other’s chilling presence and their own breaths warming up this winter afternoon. He notices her new look. It’s not a uniform, but it’s a little more formal than the previous attires he saw her in.

He simply wants to tell her that she’s beautiful, yet his more soured and stubborn self wants to ask her why it took her this long, even though he knows that her personal life has never been his business, nor should it be.

“It’s been a while,” he breaks the awkward silence with a sigh. “Is everything alright?”

“Things have…” Her eyes are darted on the ground, her hands clenching on her knees. “Gotten busier at work.”

He senses that something else is troubling her mind, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. He’s nothing but a friend, perhaps a mere close acquaintance to her. Someone who she can confide her most trivial problems to, and only that. But despite this meek and unassertive thought, he believes that—deep down—that may just be for the better.

“I don’t think I’ll be meeting you in a while,” she continued before he could’ve answered.

“It’s okay,” he said without a tone of complaint. “I understand that. No pressure.”

Such a response struck a nerve in her or punched through her gut. As if that’s not the answer she had hoped for from the man. “What if I don’t see you longer than that?”

“Then…” He wants her to explain why she’s asking him such a question, but he tries to remain reasonable, no thanks to his self-doubt. “I’ll understand if you can’t meet up.”

He feels like himself in the past. Spineless. Dishonest. Numb. Helpless. Coward. Yet another part of him keeps fighting on, despising those traits, not for his own sake, but for her. Since they started meeting up and talking, Sungwoo has known a lot about her, yet there’s still so much he doesn’t know. The same goes for Suhyeon, but he thinks she cares little about that. There is an invisible barrier between them that has been keeping them from going further than this. Whatever this is.

And now, after a few months of making a connection with this wonderful woman, his mind braces for the worst case scenario, just as his heart foresees his fears. Is this it?

Their eyes meet, reading a few glimpses through each other’s souls. Broken. Deprived. Lonely. Yearning. She looks down on his face, his lips now appearing much closer. Her heartbeats do not deceive her, deafening her fear. No words follow from their mouths, only each other’s breaths becoming clearer and louder with each second. Giving in to the whispers of her temptation, Suhyeon gets up from her seat and inches towards him.

Frozen in the moment, their lips touch. Sungwoo melts into the kiss, closing her eyes with her. Seconds pass, warmth turns into a burning sensation. Sweetness turns to hunger, one that neither of them have felt in forever. As the man reciprocates her gesture, the irresistible tingle she’s feeling urges her tongue to slide into his—

“Mianhaeyo,” she takes a few steps back away from him, appalled by her own impulse while catching up her breath. “I… I shouldn't have done that—”

Sungwoo remains frozen for a second, but not his heart. He leans himself closer into her this time, embracing her as the beat of their hearts sync with the rhythm of their second kiss. With their eyes closed once again, Suhyeon doesn’t fight back. Instead, she slowly wraps her arms around his nape in order to pull him closer until their chests collide.

It would be the last time the pair would’ve met…

If it wasn’t for Sungwoo’s stubbornness. Even if it costs whatever they had, he wants to know how she's been doing ever since. Even if she made the move, he either can’t help but blame himself as the reason why she stops reaching out to him after that meetup.

= = =

Another week has passed, and Sungwoo goes on with his usual life—yet, the presence of Suhyeon still lingers on his mind. From the bar to the PC bang, he tries to do everything he can to get the woman off his thoughts. Even online dating—as some of his coworkers suggested to him lately… So he does, and after his twenty-third swipe, he hits it off with someone, much to his own surprise. “You must be Hyewon… Or is it Belle?” he corrects himself immediately. “Your profile has two names. I don’t know what to call you.”

She chuckles at his hesitant question. “Any will do… And you are Sungwoo-ssi, if I am not mistaken?”

Things are taking off for them in the next half an hour. He compliments her appearance. She laughs at his jokes, whether they’re forced or not. They talk about their opinions on certain topics. He fails to read her signals. It’s a start, he admits with little confidence.

But on that same Saturday night, he receives a phone call from an unknown number. He can just ignore the call, let the other party leave a message after the beep, maybe he can hang out with Belle a little longer, see how things go. Unfortunately for himself and his date, he can’t help but be Sungwoo. As someone who has spent his life through his job, every call for him has become an obligation.

He answers it with some caution. “This is Young Sungwoo speaking. Who is this?”

But that voice. Her voice. It's something that he can never forget. “It’s me, Ji Suhyeon. This is my company’s number… I’m sorry if I surprised you. I’m just finishing my shift for the night, and…”

She stops. And despite the past few times they’ve talked on the phone, he can now sense her hesitation from the other side. “You can say it. I won’t mind.”

“Well, I just thought of you,” she completes her words. “Plus, I owe you an apology. In ways more than one.”

He can hear his own heart, making that familiar rhythm. Whenever he was with her.

“It’s okay, Suhyeon,” he stammers, but immediately clears his throat. “How are you?”

“Could be worse, to be honest…” A deep breath from her fills the dead air for a few seconds before Sungwoo can hear her voice again. “Are you free… This weekend?”

There it is. It’s his chance. Maybe his last one.

“You know I am,” he tries to play it cool with her, yet he quickly realizes how awkward he sounded. “I mean, of course... Same place?”

He can hear Suhyeon let out a light chuckle for a moment. “Maybe not at the café,” she suggests. “But somewhere else. If that’s fine with you.”

It’s about the nth time they said those words to each other. But hearing it from her once again is a breath of fresh air. “Elsewhere would be nice, too.”

Returning to the bar, his eyes scan most of the place, only to find that his date is no longer around. He receives a message.

[Belle:] Sorry for dipping early, but I got a thing. We can still hang out another time if you want.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t feel a sense of disappointment. Sure, he’s bummed out he fumbled the date with the first woman he met online in years, but he’s not too bummed out about it because of her. Instead, he couldn't feel any luckier because of this call.

= = =

It’s the fourth of May. Instead of the usual café, they decided to meet at the park outside. They take a seat next to each other on one of the benches, albeit keeping a wide distance. He’s on the left corner, with her on the right. Amidst the silence of the background, they see each other in their springtime attire. Suhyeon is in a brighter dress and jeans, while Sungwoo is finally not wearing a suit for once; instead, he’s wearing a blue short sleeve. Whether or not today ends up being the last time they meet, both of them agree on one thing: it’s about time that they meet each other in the early morning for the first time.

“You look beautiful,” he scratches his head, finally listening to his heart instead of letting his own brain filter his thoughts until they sound more logical or interrupts himself with more filler words.

She looks down in embarrassment, hiding her reaction as she senses her cheeks slowly heating up. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “You look nice, too, Sungwoo-ssi.”

“Thanks… But can we talk about what happened last time—” he continues.

“I know,” Suhyeon interjects with a soft-spoken tone. She takes a deep breath, before looking up to face him. “But I have to tell you something first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he straightens his sitting posture while their eyes level. “What is it?”

The woman gulps involuntarily. “There’s another job I haven't told you about… And it’s not that simple. It’s not that I don’t wanna meet you, Sungwoo, even if I'm busier... It’s just… I don’t know how to say this.”

“Take your time.” Sungwoo doesn’t know why she's suddenly talking about her job, yet he keeps listening, sensing her state of distress and hesitation. “Whatever that may be, and as long as you love it, I’m happy for you. I don’t think our… situation should get in the way of your…”

There it is again, she thinks. “Why shouldn’t it?”

“Because that’s your job,” he counters. “It’s your life… And besides, I can just adjust.”

“I don't think you can.” She can’t keep on lying and hiding like this. He has to know, even if it ruins things, ends things even. “Sungwoo-ssi. The thing is…”

“What is it? I’m sure it’s nothing bad—”

“I have a child, Sungwoo.”

She looks at him with a fortified expression, yet deep down, she feels the most nervous. Especially when his eyes widen after hearing those four words, her thoughts go all over the place, stricken with panic and despair. Not even air comes out from his mouth that moment, something that only intensifies Suhyeon’s unease as his silence lasts seconds.

“Did you just hear what I said?” she asks him up front, slightly raising her voice in an attempt to keep herself from crumbling from within. “I’m a single mother.”

“This job, this responsibility of mine isn’t easy,” she continues before he can make any response, clenching both her fists and finally pouring her heart out. “It never has been. Every year, you get into family gatherings. Not only do you help prepare them, but you buy gifts for your relatives, yet all you get from some of them are blames and lectures for what’s happened to you. And whenever you're with friends, you gotta put on a bolder face just to ask them to look out for the kid while you work your ass off in different jobs from morning ‘till afternoon—or whenever you're applying for one… But there's things I don't regret, at least with what I have now. And no matter how hard things get, I don’t regret keeping him. Raising him.”

At that moment, some things have become clearer to him. Their long and wholehearted talks about life and dreams. The unusual curfew and her leaving out of the sudden. Her encounter with the little girl. Her pent-up emotions finally cracking around him. Now, he realizes why she never told him more of her life, rooted out of the fear and distress that she will be rejected, lambasted, patronized, or looked down on, like everyone else in her life.

“And just like meeting you that night… It’s something that I don’t regret either,” she confesses. “Even if that was some silly chance encounter, it was one of the times I felt something new. So I called you that day to see where it goes, and here we are… But of course—a part of me still keeps telling me: Let it go. You’re a mother now. You don't deserve to have these feelings... You're just giving yourselves a hard time.”

Sungwoo looks at her face. His mind and heart tells her to hold her hand. Say anything. Do anything to comfort her, now that she’s told him the truth about the barrier that has been keeping them from going the distance for months.

Suhyeon’s heart starts to tighten with every beat, seeing his look of guilt and sorrow. It's not the first time she's seen it from someone. “If you don’t want to see me, after this… I'll understand, Sungwoo... I was the one who invited you into whatever-this-thing-is to begin with, didn’t I?”

“No,” he tells her without hesitation. “That doesn’t change what I think about you.”

“It should…” she mutters in defeat, shameful to even look him in the eye as she says it.

“What you said, it only proved what I already thought of you… You’re a wise, beautiful, hardworking, independent, and fearless woman,” he elaborates, allowing himself to be vulnerable with Suhyeon. “And for you to keep that part of your life for long—it must’ve been a pain. It’s something that I can’t imagine. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. About how you were really feeling. What you’re going through—”

“Don't,” she interjects with disdain, but not for him. It’s too late, Suhyeon thinks while her mouth remains shut. You’ve heard this before. Look at what happened to us. “I’m tired of people telling me that they're sorry. It's not your fault why I'm like this.”

“I know… I’m sorry because I wasn’t attentive enough. That I wasn’t courageous enough,” he adds. “But I am not sorry that it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth agape in shock. Staring through his soul, waves of emotions start to clash deep down in her heart—Awe. Doubt. Denial. Mistrust. Misunderstanding. Fear. Warmth. Comfort. Growth. Excitement. Hope. Joy. Acceptance—while a stream of conflicting thoughts flood her mind. This was bound to happen sooner or later. What’s the point of this? You never had a chance. He’s one of them. You’re a disgrace for ever being here. He'll just leave you. Go home with your son and your parents. There’s no point in hoping, Ji Suhyeon. “Sungwoo-ssi…”

“I like you, Suhyeon-ssi,” he finally affirms, with much stronger conviction in his voice. “I don’t know if it means anything to you, but that’s the truth… I don’t care what comes after this. But I just want you to know that there's no shame in what you are, and what you're going through… I'll always be here for you.”

Suhyeon’s inner thoughts and misgivings shut down. In turn, her heart starts to sing without shame, rejoicing and reaching ranges she hasn't felt in years, as it yearns for something more. His earnest gentleness. His soothing scent. His comforting touch. Unbeknownst to her, he feels just about the same.

She rushes to Sungwoo, laying her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He places his right hand on her head, caressing it. That warm comfort that she’s been longing for, it’s within her grasp. Tears of jubilation begin to drip from her face down to his shirt, as she breathes easier. “Gomawoyo, Sungwoo.”

Gently pulling away from their embrace, she leans back to look at him closely with a warm and grateful smile that mirrors his, letting out a chuckle of relief. “And I like you, too.”

A smile quickly forms on Sungwoo’s face, prompting him to give her a peck on the lips. As she giggles, Suhyeon prolongs the act with a longer, sweeter kiss of acceptance. From this day forward, their months of week to week encounters and meetups at the café end, as a new chapter of their lives awaits. It is unknown as it is promising, exciting as it is frightening. But at least they have each other to face it head-on. Together.

= = =

a/n: hello again! if you've reached the end, then you must've read a good chunk of it. it's not my proudest work, even if it's only my second one, tho I liked writing it for the most part. still, I wanna publish it, 'cause I don't want it to stay in my drafts lol. once again, the aforementioned next fic from earlier is already in progress. anyhoo, thanks for the read. I hope you have a great day!

#triples fluff #kpop fluff #kpop au #triples jiyeon #kpop angst #jiyeon fluff #male reader #male reader fluff #kpop romance

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