#Time to friendly fire the shit out of everyone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesvnandthemooon · 2 months ago

Text

𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: there’s some russian spoken here so i’ll put the translations into [little brackets] next to it

summary: nat cheated and you got a divorce. time jump of three years

warnings: smut (brief), alcohol, mentions of blood/injuries, house fire, child endangerment

word count: 17.2k (oops)

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Part 2: Secondhand Smoke

The drawer is open, its contents a mess. Old baby socks, screws, a teething toy. Natasha stares at it, trying to find what she's looking for. If she doesn't, you might kill her.

Behind her, Valerie runs down the hardwood stairs. She slips on her jacket and skids to the front door.

"Mama, we're going to be late!", she says impatiently. Lottie, sitting on the table with a donut in her hands, grins. "Hey, why'd she get a donut?"

"Because she wouldn't put her shoes on. Do you know where that permission slip for your field trip is?"

Valerie shakes her head. She steps over the backpack Natasha left on the floor to reach her shoes. "You can't find it?"

Natasha grunts and shuts the drawer, only to open the other one. More screws. A broken pipe wrench. A stack of documents she doesn't have a place for. She glances at the clock and realizes she's about to be late for the drop-off — again.

"Mommy's going to be mad", her older daughter helpfully informs her.

"Yes, bub, I know that", Natasha mutters. Lottie slides off the table, a sad little piece of donut in her hand, and tugs at her sleeve. "Hm?"

"Braid my hair, mama?"

She hesitates and looks at the clock again — 7.12. If they don't hurry, they will not only be late, but you'll get a text message from their schools as well. But Lottie blinks her big eyes and Natasha folds. As predicted in the hospital, she has your eyes, and she can't resist the sweet look on her daughter's face.

"C'mere", she mumbles, scooping Charlotte up and setting her down on the table. "Quick one, alright?"

Valerie groans and flops into the worn armchair. She stares at the ceiling, complete with wooden beams and a chandelier, and impatiently kicks her feet. Her shoes leave specks of dirt on the rug.

"Hurry", she drawls. Natasha curses quietly, her hands working on Lottie's hair.

"Shit", the younger girl parrots. She's been going through a phase lately. Whenever she learns a new word, she has to repeat it constantly until a new one catches her attention.

Much to Natasha's dismay, of course. She was forced to replace an entire list of curse words with kid-friendly alternatives.

"No, we don't say that."

"Why?", Charlotte asks. She's on the table, cross-legged, fingers sticky with sugar glaze. "Shit! Mama, shit!"

"You're not funny", Valerie mutters. She reaches for the remote and turns on the tv. Natasha gives her a hurried look.

"Wait, you can't-"

"I am funny!" Lottie turns her head. The braid slips from Natasha's fingers and comes undone. "Meanie!"

Ten minutes later. Natasha's sweaty, Charlotte's braid turned into space buns, Valerie's in a mood. The car ride consists of Elsa songs and two girls fighting over who gets to pick the music. Everyone's on edge.

Natasha can't help but think that this never happened when you were still married. A fleeting thought, but it stings. Once upon a time, she had her life together. Now, she's barely keeping it from falling apart. If it weren't for caffeine and duct tape, it'd all crumble.

She parks in front of the elementary school first and shoos Valerie out of the car. Right as she's about to walk away, Natasha rips open the door and hurries after her.

"Your permission slip!"

"You found it?"

"Under the car seat", she mumbles, turning Valerie around and putting the piece of paper against her back. She quickly signs it. "Here you go, bub. Have a nice day at school, yeah?"

She shrugs and grabs the permission slip. Natasha stands there, rubbing her forehead and watching her go, before she remembers that she still needs to drive Lottie and then make her way to work.

She turns around and gets into the car. The Elsa songs keep playing, Lottie keeps singing along, and Natasha is teetering on the edge between gratefulness and panic.

. . .

"You're late."

"I know. I'm sorry."

You're in the kitchen, scrubbing a pot with a sponge and holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. It's Sunday afternoon, which means it's time for Natasha to drop the kids off at your place for the week. You decided on shared custody together, because how could you not?

She cheated on you, but that doesn't mean she she's a bad mom. She loves the girls as much as you do. She shows up for the small and the big things. She's present, and even though communication still isn't her strongest suit, she's trying.

You're still holding a bit of a grudge, though, and you're far from letting her forget it. Natasha understands that sentiment completely, which somehow feels like the worse option.

You adjust your shoulder and put the sponge aside. Someone screams in the background, then you hear the maniacal cackling of your younger child.

"What's going on?", you ask, slightly worried. Natasha's house is not quite as toddler-proof as you'd like it to be. You’ve seen it via FaceTime — dumbbells and tools everywhere, a huge fireplace, some arts n' crafts table for Lottie she got started on.

At least the backyard is big, with plenty of space for the girls to play. It's the main reason why Natasha bought the cabin sitting on the edge of a forest, and she took full advantage of it. Within a single summer, she built an entire playground, complete with a sandpit and a merry-go-round.

"Nothing- no, don't jump off that! Charlotte!"

You sigh and dry your hands, then exchange your shoulder for your hand. You open the fridge and grab the lettuce you bought the day before.

"Can you please make sure our daughter doesn't break her neck?"

"Sorry, babe. She's good, she just found one of my energy liquid gels."

In the background, you hear a high-pitched voice ask if it's mommy on the phone. You smile faintly and lean against the counter.

"You gotta hurry", you say, one arm crossed over your chest. "I made baked ziti, Vee's favorite. It'll go cold."

"Yep, yeah, in a minute." Natasha digs through something, and you hear bags rustle. "Goddammit, where'd you put your left shoe?"

"You lost her shoe? Which one, the Stride Rite?"

"Uh..."

Someone falls. You hear the thud, muffled but clear, and frown. Then, someone starts to cry. Natasha drops another curse word.

At this point, it doesn't faze you anymore. Charlotte is as energetic and reckless as Valerie was at her age, and you're used to the countless bruises and scraped somethings she brings home every week.

"Go help her", you sigh.

"We'll be there in a minute."

They, in fact, aren't there in a minute. It takes them forty minutes and a near-mental breakdown. But they make it, and Natasha pulls up in front of the house you once shared.

It's still the same. White picket fence, a red front door and window frames, the shoes next to the doormat. The grass has been freshly mowed, and the air smells like flowers and late summer nights spent on the porch together.

Natasha scoops Charlotte out of her car seat and carries her on her hip. The girl is barefoot and only dressed in one of Natasha's oversized shirts, which functions as a dress for her. Valerie's already a few steps ahead, so she opens the gate.

You step out the door and smile. "You made it!"

"Mommy!", Lottie shrieks. She starts kicking her feet until she's back on the ground, then she starts running.

"Hey, mom."

"Hey", Natasha adds, her hands in her pockets.

She takes a moment to look at you. Nothing about you is particularly outstanding, at least not right now — it's a Sunday afternoon, so you're in a white shirt and sweatpants. Your hair is up, your face bare, your eyes crinkling at the corners when you smile at the girls.

Then, you look up. Her heart flips. She's always been a little too weak for you.

"Hi", you say, crouching and hugging Charlotte as you redirect your attention. "You're barefoot, honey."

Natasha lingers by the gate, hands in her pockets and feet unmoving. She's still staring, still soaking in, and she's also zoning out. Even if just for a short moment in time, you're soft. Unguarded. You rub Lottie's arms, ask her if she's hungry, scoop her up and kiss her cheek.

You look at Natasha and tilt your head. It feels like there's miles between you.

"So", you start, adjusting your hold on the little girl, "we're going to have dinner."

"Oh, right." She nods and takes a step back. "Sunday afternoon? You'll drop them off?"

"Of course."

Natasha nods and turns around. Her phone starts ringing, so she fishes it out of her pocket and glances at the screen. She hesitates, then makes sure she's in the car before answering. You close the door behind you.

Valerie helps you set the table. Lottie is less productive — she's sitting on the floor with a coloring book —, but at least her humming is cute.

Between scooping baked ziti onto plates and pouring juice into glasses, you've been wondering who was behind that phone call Natasha got. It's a dumb thing to think about. It was probably her sister, or her mom. Clint also calls sometimes. Maybe he invited her to barbecue, as he sometimes does.

In the end, you're wrong. You're really wrong.

"Mommy, mama kissed a lady."

You freeze. Valerie's head whips around.

"Lottie!", she hisses.

"What? She did!"

"Yes, but-"

You lift your hand to interject. It's not your place to be jealous (you are); it's not your place to talk to the kids about this (you will); it's not your place to confront Natasha (oh, you have to). Yet, you can't help it.

She's not yours anymore, but when you were married to the one person who you actually loved, it feels like you'll always own a little piece of them. No matter what she did, it feels like she's still yours, in a way. Whether that's actually the case or not is debatable.

"Who was she?", you ask, trying to sound calm. But the way you keep wiping loose strands of hair out of your face is anything but.

"A lady", Lottie says. She's too enthusiastic for her own good. "She's pretty. She has a purple dress, mommy."

"Uh-huh", you say. Valerie looks like she's about to lose her mind. You raise your eyebrows at her. "You don't have to protect her from me, you know."

"I'm not!", she protests. "But I don't want you to get mad at mama."

"No, mama doesn't want me to get mad at her", you argue. You grab your phone and tap the phone icon. Valerie starts bouncing in her chair. "Just a quick call."

"Please!", she groans. "Don't fight again."

"Shush."

You walk into the living room, your phone against your ear. You barely hear how Valerie whispers something to Lottie about her ruining everything. For a split second, it's enough to make you rethink this.

Of course, Charlotte doesn't remember that day. She doesn't remember the yelling, the packed suitcases, how you kicked Natasha out. But Valerie does, and she's terrified of it happening again. She can't risk it — things are more or less peaceful right now. You haven't had a real fight in ages. This, however, might change everything.

Natasha picks up. She sounds almost relieved. "Hey."

"Who is she?"

A long pause. You swear you can hear her heart beat faster, louder. "What?"

"The woman", you say, coming to a halt next to the staircase. "The one you brought home. The one who met my kids without my permission!"

Natasha starts stammering. There it goes, her usual confidence. Goodbye, self-assurance and pride. You've always had a way of dismantling her like a children's toy.

"She, uh...her name's Irina."

"I told Lottie not to tell you!", Valerie yells from the dining room. You ignore her.

"And you let her come over?"

"It's not like I had a choice!", she says defensively. "She just wanted to pop by. She-"

"Does she know you have kids?"

"Who do you think I am??"

You barely manage to stop yourself from hissing the words that lay on the tip of your tongue. Throwing the fact that she cheated on you back at her would, despite everything, be a little too harsh. Plus, little ears are listening. All of this is bad enough already.

"Natasha, all I need is for you to tell me next time", you say, sounding curt. No room for softness, even if you still feel it between you. "I don't care that you're dating someone. But when it involves our children, that's when it becomes a problem."

She lets out a halfhearted noise. For some reason, she's stuck on you apparently not caring about her dating other people. It shouldn't bother her, but it does. Do you really not care?

She knows she'd care if you started dating. She'd lose her mind.

"Fine", she agrees. "But like I said, I didn't-"

"Well, you still let her kiss you in front of them."

"We were outside! They were probably peeping", Natasha says. "I'll tell her not to do that anymore."

"Yes", you mutter. "Good. Fine."

"Yeah."

You exhale slowly and glance toward the kitchen. Valerie's head is poking out the doorway, her face nervous. You give her a tight-lipped smile.

"Are you fighting?", she whispers.

"No, bub", you sigh. "Listen, Nat, we'll go have dinner now."

"Sure, yeah."

You give a noncommittal hum, then hang up.

You told Natasha you don't care. You told her that it's fine she's dating someone, because it should be. You're the one who rejected her when she tried to patch things up a couple months ago. You're the one who keeps avoiding her. You had every right to do that, and you have every right to keep reminding her of what she did.

It's simple — Natasha cheated. There are no excuses, no explanations, nothing that could justify what she did. She hurt you, which means that she should be in for a lifetime of being hurt by you as well. If only it wasn't for your kids. They're the reason why you try to remain friends with her, which doesn't always work.

The breakup was painful. Looking at her is, as well. Sometimes, you make Yelena pick up the kids or drop them off just so you don't have to see her. But there's secondhand smoke, still affecting you, and thought the support beams are burnt, they're still standing.

Still keeping it all upright.

. . .

Thick smoke curls out of open windows, tinted a dangerous black. Flames dance and flicker behind glass. Sirens blare and neighbors watch.

The fire engine comes to a halt, and Natasha immediately jumps out. The rest of the crew follows, all of them dressed in fireproof gear. Radios crackle and people yell — she's not sure who's yelling, but someone is.

They run toward the house, passing a distressed father who's trying to keep his wife from storming back into the house. Natasha knows what that means, and it only raises the stakes.

"Fire showing second floor, alpha side", the lieutenant yells. "Possible entrapment. Let's go defensive. Romanoff, search and rescue. Barton, fire attack. Rodriguez..."

None of this is new to her. She's seen it all before, and it's as familiar as breathing, but it's still scary. Adrenaline floods her, her heart beats faster. She's thinking on autopilot. Every move is practiced, from the way she breaks down the door to her crawling on the floor.

Smoke rises, after all. She has her BA mask on, but she still needs to stay as close to the ground as possible. It's hot inside, the heat even reaching her through the thick layers of gear she's wearing, and it's pitch-black. Her gloved hand sweeps across the floor, searching for bodies.

"There's a kid upstairs!", the lieutenant yells through the comms. "Up the stairs, first door to the left!"

She feels sweat drip down her lower back as she makes her way up the stairs. She doesn't get far, though — her path is blocked by a roaring fire.

"Fire located", she says, out of breath. "It's blocking the second floor, the kid's trapped. Need a ladder to the bravo side."

"Come outside."

The fire engine has already pulled up to the side of the house when Natasha gets there. She grabs an axe and starts climbing, her heart thudding and her baby hairs sticking to her temples.

In a field like hers, staying professional is important. You can't let your own feelings get in the way. But sometimes, that's impossible. All she can think about are Valerie and Lottie. Unlike this child, they're safe and sound, and somehow that makes everything hit harder.

The cries she hears are unbearable. They're not coming from the kid, no — it's their mom. Standing in the backyard, her husband barely keeping her from running straight into the flames. She doesn't blame her. She'd do the same.

Natasha grabs the axe and swings it. Glass shatters and thick smoke billows out. Fire's licking at the door that leads into the child's bedroom, but thankfully, the room isn't in flames yet.

She climbs in through the window and gets on the ground again, hand sweeping. She knows what kids do in situations like this one. She's a mother, of course she knows. She's also had to do this before.

The boy, maybe four years old, is hiding inside the closet. Tears have dried on his cheeks, but he's not crying anymore. It's hard to cry when you're unconscious. Natasha curses and gently picks him up, then she hurries back to the window.

"Child located", she says, clutching the boy like a little bundle of blankets. "Exiting now. Need a medic."

Getting down the stairs is, ironically, the hardest part. Her legs are shaking, her feet keep slipping, but her grip on the child is tight and secure. The second they're back on solid, safe ground, she drops down. Her eyes are red and teary, sweat is dripping, she feels like she's about to collapse.

Medics surround her and start to treat the kid. She only allows them give her oxygen once he's let out a cough and opened his eyes. The fire has been put out as well, and Barton sinks into the grass next to her. He nudges her side.

"You look beat."

"I am", she says, gulping water from a bottle she was handed. She's taken off her gear and is now sitting there in a soaked tank top and pants. The wind feels soothing against her skin, which is still way too warm from the fire. "Fuck."

"You're shaking."

"Yeah."

"It's hard when there's kids involved, huh?"

She nods, picking at the grass and still chugging water. She doesn't say anything. She can't. She's already close to sobbing. The boy was too close to not making it.

"I need to call the girls", she finally mumbles, running a hand through her damp hair. "Just to check on them."

"They're with Y/N?"

"Yeah." Natasha gets up and wipes her hands on her pants. "I think they're at some puppet show."

"The one that freaked you out?"

"Still getting nightmares. But the kids love it."

He nods, and she walks to the fire engine. Once she's found her phone underneath one of the seats, she sits down and dials your number. It takes seconds for you to pick up.

"Hi, mama!"

It's Lottie. Natasha nearly bursts into tears. But the kids get anxious when she cries, so she blinks a few times and inhales deeply to keep herself under control.

"Hey", she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. "How are you guys?"

"Good! We saw puppets."

"Mhm? The scary ones?"

"They're not scary!"

She hears Lottie chew on something. Popcorn, probably. It's what the girls usually eat at those puppet shows. She also hears you, talking to Valerie and making sure Lottie doesn't run off.

Suddenly, she wishes she could be there with you, puppets be damned. Steal popcorn from the kids, kiss you in the dark, get fast food on the way home. It's not her life anymore, though. And the worst part is that it's her fault.

"So you had fun?", Natasha asks. She's leaning against the wall, legs stretched out. Outside, the crew is slowly returning to the fire engine.

"Yes! I want a puppet."

"You do, huh? I'll get you one for Christmas, how's that sound?"

"Mama, you're silly", she says, giggling. "Santa brings the presents!"

Of course. Even the imaginary bearded man from the North Pole, the guy who sits in malls and wears a fatsuit, outranks her.

"You're right, bub", she agrees. "Hey, how's mommy?"

"Mommy's good", Charlotte says, voice tiny and chipper. The second she says that, she hears you pause in the background. Valerie doesn't say anything, either. "She bought us popcorn."

"Yeah? Did you have lunch before?"

"No."

"That's a lie", you call, sounding muffled. "We had stir fry."

Natasha smiles to herself, but quickly puts on a neutral face when her colleagues enter the vehicle. She turns toward the wall a little, trying to shield the fragile bubble the phone call put her in.

"Mommy makes the best stir fry", she says. Men and women talk, change out of singed gear, intrude without being aware of it. She glances at them, then tries to focus on what her daughter's saying. "What was that, bub?"

"We miss you!"

She swallows and blinks. Her eyes are burning, but this time, it's not from the fire and the smoke. She rubs them to keep the tears at bay. She's surrounded by the crew, after all. They tend to not hold back on the teasing.

When she doesn't respond for a couple seconds, you gently take the phone from Lottie. Your voice cuts through the silence, kids' chatter in the background, and that makes everything worse.

"Hey", you say softly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine", she mutters. "Don't worry."

"You're at work?"

"Mhm." Natasha nods and flicks a blade of grass off her leg. "There was a house fire. It's all good now, though."

"Oh."

Something rustles, then beeps. Natasha recognizes it as the sound of your car being unlocked.

"Going back home?"

"No", you say, struggling to get Lottie into her car seat. "Wait, let me buckle you up- we're going to the library. Vee needs to pick up a book for her oral report."

"What's it on?"

You pause. "It's a surprise."

Natasha lets out a quiet laugh and nods, rubbing her forehead. The crew sits down, and the fire engine starts to drive away and back to the station.

"Well, I can't wait to find out."

"You'll love it. Want the kids to call you around bedtime?"

"Yes, that'd be..." She trails off and nods. "Please."

"Of course. Take care of yourself, yes?"

"You too."

You hang up with a click. Natasha stares at the screen for a moment, then a message from Irina pops up. She turns her phone off and tucks it into the waistband of her pants.

. . .

When you met Natasha, there was one thing you realized immediately. It didn't take long — she'd barely stormed into your apartment, fully dressed in her firefighter gear, and you knew already.

The woman in front of you was a flirt. She was putting out fires, yes, and she looked good doing it, but she was also flirting. Constantly, shamelessly, like it was as much of a routine as putting on her boots before work.

For some reason, you liked it. You were charmed by it. You knew you couldn't be the exception, that she probably flirted with just about every woman she ran into, but you didn't care.

Smoke had filled the kitchen. You were standing to the side, only in slippers and an oversized shirt, and coughed as she extinguished the fire. Her colleague stood to the side, assisting her and trying to get you out the door.

"Too much smoke", he said. "You'll damage your lungs."

"Fine, sorry."

A few minutes later, they both stepped out. Natasha took off her helmet and let her eyes sweep across you, from head to toe.

"You were making dessert?"

"Crème brûlée", you replied, hands tucked behind your back as you leaned against the wall.

She hummed, smirking faintly. There was the tiniest soot-smudge on her jaw.

"I'd advise against keeping cotton towels in the kitchen. They catch fire pretty fast", she informed you. She paused, looking at you again. "Though some things are worth the heat."

Pink color dusted your cheeks. You rolled your eyes and nudged her out the door, but now, there were two things you knew about her. She's a flirt, and she'd flirt with you again. Eventually.

You ended up being right about both. You went to the fire station a couple days later to thank them and drop off cookies (which you managed to bake without setting off another fire alarm).

Natasha was there, too. Smirking, teasing, a black undershirt displaying her casually muscular form. Her hands were calloused in that blue collar-way, her hair in a low bun. She accepted the plate and took a quick bite.

"No fire today?"

"Maybe next week."

Natasha, chewing, tilted her head. "Sounds like you want me to come back for seconds."

You suppressed a smile. The lieutenant was watching, after all.

"Careful", you said. "Don't want you to get in trouble."

"Might be too late for that", she mumbled, letting her eyes rake up and down your body once more.

No oversized shirt and slippers today — instead, you got into a short dress and dolled yourself up a little. Natasha appreciated it as much as she did the domestic little outfit you wore the other day.

Something warm stirred inside her. Before you knew it, you started meeting her for coffee. A quick 'I'm not seeing anyone right now' got tossed into conversations here and there.

You took her home one day, offered to make lunch for her. The third thing you figured out was that she loved fire jokes. She made them constantly, especially when you were handling something hot in the kitchen.

You had lunch together that day. You slid into her lap because she tugged you there, but you stayed because you didn't want to move. You feed her a forkful of food and managed to be the one who dusts her cheeks pink.

It was stir fry. To this day, it's her favorite dish.

Even when the plates were empty, she didn't leave. You sipped on a wine bottle together, talked, kissed once you were tipsy enough to have the courage to.

The night ended with Natasha in your bed and you on top of her. That joke she'd made a couple weeks ago — her being in trouble, thanks to you — turned out to be true. You were straddling her, hands on her shoulders, and she knew was falling way too quickly.

Natasha didn't do this. Not really. She flirted, she had sex, she blocked numbers. She excused all of that with her abysmal work schedule, her 24 hour shifts, the dangers that came with it. How would a relationship fit into her life when she barely managed to keep it together already?

She didn't expect you to come along, though. She didn't expect to fall in love. She did, anyway.

Suddenly, keeping her life together was the easiest thing she ever had to do. Because after every shift, she was able to look at the text messages you sent. She was able to come over, just like that, without having to announce herself. And you'd have a meal ready for her, even if she didn't warn you beforehand.

Natasha proposed a year later. At that point, you were basically living together.

It all felt easy, safe. You got married in a small vineyard (your idea), bought a house (her idea). Not even three years after you got married, you gave birth to your first daughter.

When Natasha gets called to that same apartment that started everything — the crème brûlée, the stir fry, the proposal between bedsheets and rose petals — she feels sick to her stomach. She goes home afterwards, tired and aching all over, and opens the door only to find Irina in the living room.

"Hey", she says. Natasha nods and drops her bag. "Sorry I didn't call. But you said there's an extra key under the doormat, so-"

"Yeah, it's fine." Natasha walks into the kitchen. It matches the rest of her cabin — counters made of walnut wood, complete with granite countertops. Steel appliances, chipped mugs, a protein shrine with powder, bars and beef jerky. She grabs a shaker and scoops powder into it.

Irina joins her. She feels her arms around her stomach.

"Someone rang the doorbell earlier."

Natasha pauses mid-water pour. "When?"

"I don't know. 2 o'clock, maybe?"

She curses and puts the shaker aside, then reaches for her phone. Surely, new messages have popped up.

Y/N: Vee is coming over later, so you can help her with her oral report — 11.42am

Y/N: don't know if you'll be home, a quick answer would be nice you know — 12.05pm

Y/N: you could've told me you wouldn't be home. — 2.38pm

The oral report. One on firefighters, inspired by none other than Natasha herself. She sobbed when Valerie told her over FaceTime a couple days ago.

"Why didn't you answer the door?", Natasha asks, already typing out apology after apology. Send her over, please, my phone was on mute, I completely forgot — and Irina is just standing there, peeking over her shoulder.

"I wasn't sure whether I'm supposed to."

"You weren't supposed to take the key either, yet you did." Natasha bites the inside of her cheek. She left the key under the doormat for Valerie specifically, so she could enter whenever she felt the need to.

That plan didn't work out, though. Why did she have to tell Irina about the stupid key?

Irina leans against the counter, arms crossed. "It was your kid?"

"Yes, it was my daughter." She lets out a frustrated noise. You've received her messages, but aren't looking at them. "She was supposed to come over today."

"You forgot?"

There it is. Natasha puts her phone aside and grabs the shaker, shaking its contents until the protein powder and water have formed a silky, foaming liquid. She takes a sip and walks into the living room.

"I was stressed", she defends herself. "Had a grease fire. It was the apartment where..." She pauses, then shakes her head and sits down. Irina raises her eyebrows.

"Where...?"

"Doesn't matter." Natasha kicks off her boots and leans back. She turns on the tv, zaps through the channels, then turns it back off. Outside, it's getting dark. It's around dinner time, so you probably wouldn't appreciate a phone call right now.

Irina sits down next to her. Her body curls into Natasha's, warm and distracting. If she screwed up everything else, she might at least get some sex out of today.

Delicate fingers trail down her forearm, to the little beaded leather armband around her wrist. Valerie made it for her when she was five, and she only takes it off when she's working.

It's enough to pull her back into reality. Natasha gets up, leaving Irina alone and rejected on the couch.

"I have to call my kids", she says, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door.

She dials your number. You don't pick up.

On Sunday, Yelena drops off the kids instead of you. Apparently, you don't want to see her right now. Rightfully so, her sister says, and Natasha almost slaps her for it. But you'll get over it, like always.

No. You won't. She won't hear from you for a while, either.

. . .

"Please, mommy."

"No, honey. I'm sorry."

Lottie whines and bounces on the spot. She looks cute in her green dress, with her hair curled and the non toxic nail polish on her fingers. It is a special occasion, after all — it's her grandmother's birthday.

One you won't be going to, because Natasha will be there as well. It's been weeks of nothing. No phone calls, no texts, no dropping off the kids yourself. She's done a bunch of stupid shit in all those years that you've known her, but her forgetting Valerie like that may have taken the cake.

Valerie's not mad at her anymore, not at all. But, again, you're good at holding grudges.

"Mommy", your younger daughter whines. "I don't want to go alone."

"You're not alone." You put her on the table so you can put on the ballet flats you got her. "Your sister is going, too. And mama will be there. It's babushka's birthday."

"Lottie, stop crying", Valerie says. She sits down on the striped rug and puts on her own ballet flats. "There will be cake. You like cake."

"Exactly", you affirm. "You can bring me a slice, hm?"

"No", she says, covering her face with her hands. You get up and kiss her fingers, which are resting right on her forehead. "Don't wanna go."

You sigh, then scoop her up. You can't force her to do anything, but she'll probably change her mind once she sees her grandma, so you carry her to the car. Once everyone's buckled in and ready, you drive.

Melina's house is an hour away, but it takes you almost two thanks to a cranky toddler and her annoyed older sister. You wipe the seat with a wet wipe — Lottie, who got an apple juice pack as a sort of consolation, squished it so hard it exploded. Thanks to some miracle, nothing got on the girls' clothes, but it's all over the middle seat.

You scoop Charlotte out of the car set and dare to set her down. She immediately starts crying and stomping her feet, so you cave and pick her up again. Seems like the terrible two's sometimes last a bit longer.

Valerie is in a much better mood. She sees Melina's backyard — the wide patch of grass, the yellow shed, the huge tree with the tire swing — and immediately starts running. It's a sunny day, the sky's clear and the air smells like shashlik.

"Babushka! [grandma]", she yells, running straight into her grandmother's arms. She's embraced into a tight hug. "S dnem rozhdeniya! [happy birthday]"

"Hello, my darling!" She kisses the top of her head and then pulls away to inspect her outfit. "Ah, red dress. Looks pretty!"

"Thanks!" Valerie smiles brightly. She seems to remember something, so she runs back to your side. "Mom, where's her present?"

"Oh, right here." You turn around and open the trunk of your car. You grab the gift bag, which is almost too heavy, and hand it to Valerie. Off she goes again.

You look at Charlotte, who has her face buried against her neck. You rub her side, try to coax her into looking at you, but to no avail. You've given up already and are walking toward Melina when, suddenly, she lifts her head and perks up.

"Mama!", she screams happily.

You freeze — no way —, then turn around. Yes way. Lottie's right, Natasha showed up. And she's not alone.

You're not too familiar with the blonde who's getting out of the car, but you can easily guess who she is — Irina. Dressed in a tight skirt and a blouse, her lips red and no dark circles under her eyes. Probably childless.

You adjust your hold on Lottie and try not to look too irritated. Melina, on the other hand, isn't trying.

"Who's that?", she asks promptly and straightens up.

Valerie turns around and grimaces slightly. You've raised her to be polite and kind, but in that moment, you can't blame her. You wish you were able to throw your own morals out of the window as well.

"You brought her?", Valerie says. She sounds so disbelieving it's almost funny. Instead, you rub her back with one hand and keep cradling Charlotte with the other.

Natasha looks stressed. She offers a tight-lipped smile as Irina kisses her on the cheek, and seeing that is enough for Lottie to lose the happy attitude again. The girl starts sobbing, because how dare her mom show up with a near-stranger?

"It's okay", you mumble, glancing at your ex-wife again. She lets Irina kiss her on the mouth, then the blonde turns away and waves at everyone in the backyard.

"Bye", she says, already making her way back to the driver's seat. The car engine roars and Irina drives off, thankfully.

Natasha lingers by the gate, and even though you're pissed, you can't help but look at her. She's always had a talent for looking her most irresistible when she absolutely shouldn't. Turnout pants, suspenders hanging off her hips, her beloved black tank top. Not at all birthday-conforming, but it's not like she cares.

Melina walks up to her. If there's one thing you know about your ex-mother in law, is that she's not going to be pleased with her daughter's decision to bring along a stranger. A stranger she wouldn't even introduce, for obvious reasons.

"Chto eto bylo? [what was that]", she asks, grabbing her daughter's shoulder and steering her further into the backyard. Lottie blinks away tears, then reaches her arms out for her mama again.

"Nichto [nothing]", Natasha says, glancing at the girl in your arms. She nods at you. "May I?"

Melina, shaking her head, answers for you. She steps in front of her. "What, 'nothing'? That wasn't nothing! Now don't play innocent. You don't bring stranger to my house, Natasha."

"She's not a stranger."

"She is to us."

Valerie crosses her arms and stares at the ground. Green grass, covered in wildflowers. You run your hand over her head.

"Listen", Natasha says, stepping around her mom to reach you and the girls, "she insisted on driving me. Said I never have enough time for her. I just didn't want it to end in a pointless fight. Hey, bub."

"Hey, mom", Valerie mutters. Natasha cups her face and tilts it up. "Hm?"

"I know I screwed up", she says apologetically, then kisses her forehead. "Your dress is beautiful, dochen'ka. [little daughter]"

"Thanks."

Lottie makes grabby hands, so you set her down. Without so much as even an ounce of hesitation, she tumbles into Natasha's arms. A few kisses, smiles, and she's back to being a mama's girl.

Then, Natasha looks at you. You raise your eyebrows, jaw set. She doesn't say anything.

Neither do you. You turn around and walk to the little porch. You enter Melina's house, which is somehow always cool and smells like tea and herbs. It's empty inside, no one to be seen, so you make your way into the kitchen and lean against the counters.

The fridge in front of you is covered in all kinds of memorabilia and keepsakes. An ultrasound of Valerie, a handprint of Charlotte. Family pictures, held up by little magnets. Another magnet, a souvenir one from Greece — you spent your first vacation as a family of three there.

You rub your eyes and turn around. Borscht is boiling on the stove, a bowl of pelmeni sits next to it. She made appetizers as well, which mostly consist of vegetables like radishes and cucumbers.

You grab one of the dirty bowls in the sink and start scrubbing it. Anything to distract your mind is welcome right now. Soap bubbles pop under your fingers, suds cover your hands. It smells like citrus.

Footsteps appear behind you. Someone leans in, blows warm air against your neck. You shut your eyes — when Natasha apologizes, this is her way of showing it. It's what comes before the words.

"Don't."

"I'm sorry." She nudges your hair aside, then places a kiss on the back of your neck. "I didn't know you'd be here. I wouldn't have let her."

You stand there, frozen, the feeling of her lips lingering hotly on your skin. You dry your hands, then turn around. She's standing so close she's got you caged in against the sink.

"You're going to pretend everything's alright?", you ask, crossing your arms. Natasha sighs. "Listen, you crossed a line. Multiple, actually. So don't act like, like..." You gesture desperately, then let your hand drop against your arm again.

"Like?"

"Like you're still allowed to do this." You swallow, trying your hardest not to look at the fridge again. "You showed up with her."

"She left", she says, putting her hands on your waist. Once a flirt, always a flirt.

"You're with her", you retort. It takes everything in you to push her hands away.

After all this time, they still feel comforting. Safe. They shouldn't be, but they are. She'd still start wars for you, and that may be the worst part. Those wars wouldn't be worth fighting.

"So?", she replies. "You're the mother of my children. Nothing will ever change that. Besides, things aren’t that serious."

"Oh, right." You laugh bitterly and shake your head. "If only that meant something. You cheated, anyway."

Natasha falls silent. Your words hit where it hurts most. She stands there, studying you in that inoffensive way she's got down to a tee. Despite her physique being the peak example of someone who's able to lift tree trunks double her weight off the ground, you've never seen someone resemble a hurt puppy more accurately.

"Nat", you plead.

"No, you're right."

"You know it's true. You've moved on."

"Mommy?"

You both turn your heads. Lottie's in the doorway, her mouth and hands stained red from the wild strawberries Melina always feeds the kids. You reach out your hand and she pads closer to grab it.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"I'm sticky", she says, holding up her other hand.

Natasha hums and scoops her up, then helps her reach the tap. You watch them, silently, your mind running in circles. For a moment, you see what things could've looked like if they'd been different. If everything had worked out.

Once Charlotte's hands are clean and dry, she zooms back outside to play with her cousins. You look at Natasha. She avoids your eyes and instead turns off the stove.

"Melina told me to get the borscht", she mumbles. "Can you help with the bowls?"

"Yeah, sure. Sour cream?"

You open the cupboard and grab every bowl you can find. Blue-rimmed, with little pink roses on them. Natasha hums and looks into the fridge, then pulls out two smetana cups.

It's silent. No one's speaking anymore. All you hear is the quiet clinking of silverware and the hum of the old fridge.

You almost bump into each other when you're leaving the kitchen. Natasha pauses and looks at you, contemplating. You tilt your head.

"You used to bite your lip when you're mad at me", she says. "It was easier when I knew what you're thinking. I miss it."

You falter, so much so that you almost drop the tall stack of bowls you're holding. She's flirting. Probably. Or she's using this to (cruelly) remind you that not only your marriage ended — but also the access you used to have to each other.

You used to be entangled. Without having to talk, you knew what the other was thinking. You remember an instance where she brought home comfort takeout without even knowing you'd been sobbing over Valerie outgrowing a onesie all morning. You remember her building dozens of seemingly useless things — a birdhouse, another bench (but make it kid sized), a whole pergola. She thought that it'd help.

You used to complain. Now, you look at your empty garage and miss the stacks of wood she used to have on hand.

"Yeah", you say, struggling to speak. "I know."

Natasha stops in the middle of the hallway. It's pure instinct for you to do the same.

"I miss you", she adds. You stare at her, desperately holding the bowls. "I think you know that. Just had to tell you."

"I mean..." You trail off. "Yeah. I guess I do."

There's a window at the end of the hallway. Small, insignificant, not even big enough to let much fresh air into the space. But it's slightly ajar anyway, just enough for Valerie to hear your mumbled words.

. . .

"Happy birthday!"

"S dnem rozhdeniya!"

Melina raises her eyebrows, but you can tell she's enjoying the attention. She blows out the candles, eyes closed, then immediately gets up and starts cutting it into slices.

"Wait", Natasha says, grabbing the paper plates. "It's your birthday, for god's sake. Let me help."

Yelena stretches out in her lawn chair and yawns. She arrived an hour late, but she made up for it by bringing a puppy. She thinks she made up for it — in reality, only her and a handful of kids enjoy the hyperactive dog that's now chasing Lottie through the backyard.

She giggles loudly, then trips over nothing and falls into the grass face first. The puppy climbs onto her back and licks her red curls.

"No, no!" She giggles, then lets out a frustrated noise. "Mommy!"

"That's me", you mumble and stand up.

As soon as you've left, Valerie turns to Yelena. She's been carrying this little secret around for way too long now. She's itching to get it out.

"Aunt Lena", she whispers. Yelena raises her eyebrows and leans in.

"Is this a conspiracy?", she whispers back.

"No." Valerie shakes her head. "I heard mommy and mama talk. In the hallway. I think they still love each other."

Yelena freezes, her eyes locked onto the child's. Being Natasha's sister, she's usually the first to find out about stuff. She sometimes handles drop off's, whenever you're not in the mood to look at your ex-wife. But you and Natasha still loving each other? That's news.

"You mean, love-love?"

"Mama said she misses her", she adds. You return to the table, Lottie sitting on your hip, and Valerie puts a finger over her mouth. "Shh."

You sit down, oblivious, and thank Natasha when she hands you a slice of honey cake. Valerie gives Yelena a pointed look. She suppresses a grin and puts her hand over her niece's eyes.

As evening approaches, it gets colder outside. Charlotte falls asleep on your chest, Natasha scoots closer with her lawn chair. She drapes a blanket over you, and Valerie rams her elbow into Yelena's side. The blonde nearly chokes on her water.

"Blyat-"

"The kids", Natasha warns her. Yelena shoots her a glare. "What's your problem?"

Yelena grunts and sinks into her chair. You are my problem, she thinks, bitterly crossing her ankles. You and your ex-wife are. Just figure shit out.

You won't figure it out. Not for a while. But Natasha wraps her arm around your shoulders and you lean into it. Melina and Valerie both watch, one stunned and the other trying to hide the hope that's flaring up in her.

You ignore the others. You look at Natasha, who's warm and familiar despite everything that's happened, and feel her thumb rub circles against your shoulder. She hums, either not aware of what she's doing or overly confident in it.

"It's getting dark", you remark, voice hushed. She nods. "I should get the kids home. It's a one hour drive."

"Let me drive you", she whispers. You hesitate. "You said it yourself. It's dark, you're probably tired. It'll make it easier for you."

Valerie tugs at your hand. She heard every word, despite you trying to be quiet and discreet. You squeeze her hand, but don't look at her.

"I don't know, Nat."

"Come on", she says. "I don't like the idea of you and the kids being on the road this late. Let me drive you."

You hesitate again. But it's completely dark by the time you decide to leave, so you have no choice but to agree. You know you're in good hands with Natasha, so what's the harm in letting her drive you?

Valerie is half-asleep but thrilled. She tugs Natasha to the car and, despite knowing exactly how to do it, makes her buckle her in. You handle Lottie, who almost wakes up. Through some kind of miracle, she stays asleep.

You get into the passenger seat and wave at Melina and Yelena. The puppy in her arms yaps and tries to break free from her arms, but he doesn't succeed. The car drives off, and suddenly, it's just you and your sleepy kids in the back.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think it's always been like this. You, Natasha, the girls. Valerie watching like a hawk, despite her eyes being sleep-heavy. Music low and windows down just enough to let in some night air. A stuffed tiger in the middle seat, dangling from Lottie's limp hand.

There's no need for words, but there also isn't space for it. Anything you'd possibly talk about is not fit for Valerie's ears. She's still awake, so you need to be careful.

You glance at the time, which is displayed on a little screen. 9.21pm. Way past her bedtime.

"Honey", you say, looking at your daughter through the rear view mirror, "don't you want to sleep a little? Rest your eyes? It's a long drive."

"No", she says, shaking her head. "I'm not tired, mom."

"Your mom's right", Natasha says. "Take a little nap, hm?"

"No", she says stubbornly. She squeezes the hem of her dress. "I like it when it's the four of us. I don't want to sleep now."

You and Natasha glance at each other. It's quick, silent, but it's everything you need in that moment. She'd reach over and hold your hand, but again, there's a little hawk sitting in the back.

"Yeah", she says, voice softer. "I like it, too."

You don't know what to say. You can't afford to start missing this life that you never got to have, so you turn your head away from her. The fields and houses outside the window pass by in a blur.

. . .

Each of you balances a sleeping kid into the house.

Halfway through the drive, Valerie fell asleep as well. Neither of them woke up, even when Natasha pulled your car into the driveway, so you now have to deal with the unnecessarily difficult task of relocating children without waking them.

You slowly make your way up the stairs, Natasha following close behind. Lottie's limp in your arms, her mouth slightly agape. Asleep like this, you see the features she got from Natasha. You exhale and focus on not accidentally falling down the steps.

You carry Charlotte into her bedroom and tuck her in. Bedsheets with a zoo animal pattern, her little tiger plushie still clutched in her hand. You kiss her forehead, adjust the nightlight next to her, then walk out the room and leave the door ajar.

Natasha and you step into the hallway at the same time. You look at her, then quickly turn to go back downstairs. You're hoping she'll follow. That she won't stay upstairs, where it's way too close to your bedroom.

You're not sure what you'd do if she asked. If you'd say yes, if you'd allow yourself to bask in a fantasy that can only end in being hurt all over again. A fantasy, doomed to end eventually.

Thankfully, you hear her footsteps behind you. You walk into the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Natasha leans against the counter.

"They didn't wake up."

"No", you say, taking a sip. "They usually do."

"Yeah." She nods. "I know."

It's awkward, because you're both forcing yourselves to talk about something you don't want to talk about. But it's the safer option — always has been — so it's what you're going for.

You clear your throat and put the glass aside. Natasha watches you, contemplating, her arms crossed. Eyes meet, heads tilt, and she smiles faintly.

"Tired?"

"I'm fine", you say, pushing off the counter and walking into the living room. Natasha hesitates, then follows. "Didn't get much done today. Sorry about the mess."

"I found a bagel in my bookshelf last week", she says, helping you gather a couple toys and throw them into a laundry basket. "This is nothing."

You both reach for a baby doll. Your hands knock together. It's nothing but a brief touch, but you falter and look at her. You're crouched on the floor, so close you could kiss if only you leaned in a little.

You don't know if you should. Irina is lingering at the back of your mind, with that stupid skirt and the flawless, well rested-looking face. But Natasha's staring back at you, unmoving, and her eyes flicker to your lips.

That's when you quickly straighten up and grab the laundry basket. You hold it in front of you like a shield.

"It's late", you say, shifting awkwardly. "I'll call you a taxi, if you want. I don't know if there are any buses this late."

The disappointment is etched into her face, but so is a subtle sense of relief. Natasha is sure that her and Irina aren't that serious yet. There are no real labels (though, she did hear Irina refer to her as 'her girlfriend' before), and she doesn't want to put a label on it.

However, she cheated once already. She can't do it again, at least not if there's nothing more attached to it. Unless it promises her the future she thinks she's lost, she won't do it.

"Taxi's fine", she says, tucking her hands into the pockets of her pants. "You'll drop off the kids tomorrow?"

"Yeah." You nod, then remember something. Good thing you didn't forget thanks to the almost-kiss. "They're going to their cousin's birthday party next Saturday, if that's alright with you. It's a sleepover. I'll text you the address?"

"No, no." Natasha shakes her head. "Gracie, right? We've been there before."

"Mhm." You hum and lead her to the front door. "I got her a gift, all you'll have to do is make sure the girls bring it."

"Will do, captain."

You smile and lean against the doorway. The door is open, Natasha is standing on the porch. The wind is making loose strands of her hair flutter. Green eyes twinkle in the porch light, and a calloused hand squeezes your arm.

You recall hundreds of moments just like this one — late at night, Natasha coming home from a shift or leaving for one. Handing her a lunchbox, kissing her goodbye; or getting a 'I'm home'-kiss. Kisses that stopped, eventually. Nobody warned you that you'd have to go without them one day.

It's hard, not leaning in and trying to revive that little habit you had. Natasha has to keep herself from stepping over the threshold again. It wouldn't be fair, not to you or Irina. But there's a part of her that doesn't care whether it's fair to the blonde who can't be bothered to learn her daughters' names.

She doesn't know whether you'd want that kiss, so she finds a compromise. Her lips press against your cheek, quick and soft, and she pulls away. Your face burns up, you almost reach out, but she's already making her way to the gate.

"Taxi", you call, dumbfounded.

"I got it", she calls back. "Go inside. It's cold out."

"You don't have a jacket!"

Natasha taps her index finger against her lips, then she smirks and steps out of the front yard. She closes the gate, pulls out her phone, and gone she is.

You linger for two minutes. Pretending this is just another night — you waiting on the porch, dinner warming up on the stove, Natasha returning from a late shift — is the stupidest thing you could do in that moment, but you do it anyway.

The wind chime above you tinkles, and you look up. Another apology, back when she forgot to do something mundane. You stare at the shapes, all of them custom and dedicated to each member of what was once her family. A psi for you, a soccer ball for Valerie, a tiger for Charlotte. Natasha's, a fire helmet, dangles just a bit lower.

Despite everything, this is her family.

. . .

It's Natasha's idea that you go pick up the girls together. At first, you hesitate; it's not just that you'll be alone with her for a longer drive, but because this Sunday is hers. It's her time with the kids.

Your sister, however, texts you that Lottie's been whining and asking for you all morning. To help Natasha avoid having to deal with a cranky toddler, you agree.

She pulls up twenty minutes late. You're waiting by the front door already, dressed in a white shirt and short denim dungarees. Sunglasses are perched atop your head, and you immediately look up from your phone when you hear her.

"You're late!", you call, making a beeline for her pickup truck.

"Sorry", she says, leaning over the open the passenger door for you. "Look at you, all dolled up."

"Look at you, not even changing out of your pajamas."

Natasha grins. She's not too offended — she knows she looks anything but put-together, wearing shorts and an undershirt.

"It's warm out. Can't blame me."

You hum, agreeing, and sink into the seat. "A/C works again?"

"Fixed it last week", she says absently, turning down the volume of the radio a little. "Lottie helped me. She grabbed a wrench and added a nice dent to the door panel in the back."

You grimace apologetically. A song comes on, one you both can't stand as it brings back memories of alcohol, a party at the fire station, and vomiting into shrubs. When she kissed you on the hood of her truck and thought she could impress you with vodka shots. When she got drunk and told you she could see this being forever.

You reach out to change the station, then you stop in your tracks.

What you noticed is not worth mentioning, really. It should mean nothing. In that moment, it feels like a little stab.

"Don't like the 'new car' smell anymore?"

"What?" Natasha glances at the air freshener. "Oh, that. No, just thought I'd try this one."

"What was wrong with the other one?", you ask, sounding snippy.

For as long as you've known her, she used the 'new car' air freshener. Always. Whenever you'd stop at a gas station to buy a new one, she'd get that one. Obviously, it shouldn't be that important. For some reason, it is.

"Nothing's wrong with it", she says, glancing at you. "What's the issue?"

"Thought you'd at least be loyal to a fucking scent."

Natasha stammers. She glances at you from the corner of her eye a few times, her hand nervously tightening around the steering wheel. She's dumbfounded. She expected you to say a lot of things, but not that.

"It's- it's just a scent", she says weakly. "It doesn't have some deeper meaning."

"You're sure?", you hiss.

"Yes, I'm sure! God, you're going all therapist-mode again!"

You raise your eyebrows at her, and she winces slightly. That was the wrong thing to say. She regrets even thinking those words now.

"This has nothing to do with that! Ask any sane person, suddenly switching scents after years of having a favorite is not normal!"

"It's just a scent."

"It's not!"

"It is", she insists, suddenly grabbing the air freshener. You shut up and watch her tear it off, then she tosses it out the window.

Just like that, it's gone. You don't even hear it hit the ground. You stare at her, then shake your head and slump into the seat again. You hear her exhale, quietly but filled with so much frustration you swear she's about to have an aneurysm.

You cross your arms and shift in your seat. Natasha doesn't say anything. She keeps driving, the car passing by a gas station and some convenience store.

"That's not good for the environment, you know", you mutter, stubbornly refusing to look at her.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Y/N!"

"You saw that documentary!"

Natasha rolls her eyes, but doesn't reply. Of course she saw the documentary. You randomly sent it to her one morning, with a text attached to it — use metal straws. That was it. Nothing else.

She watched the documentary, of course. And of course she bought those stupid metal straws you told her about.

The silence lingers, heavy like the clouds hanging in the sky. They're dark and thick, and before you can even think about the incoming weather situation, it begins to rain.

Raindrops patter against the windshield and roof, constant and rhythmic and loud. You hope it won't be that bad — just a couple raindrops. A drizzle, maybe. Nothing so bad that it'll affect you.

It's not just a light drizzle, no. It starts bucketing down on you, rain pouring and the sky darkening. It begins thundering in the distance, then lightning strikes. Despite the air conditioning being on, you feel the air in the car get chillier.

"We'll be fine", Natasha mumbles when you glance at her. "Just a storm. I've driven during worse conditions."

It gets worse. On top of rain and thunder and lightning, the car makes a whining noise when it accelerates. The radio flickers, the headlights weaken, and you give her another worried glance.

"That's nothing", she says, but you don't miss the slight frown on her face.

"Nat, we're already running late!"

The car wheezes pathetically, then it slows down. Natasha curses and hits the steering wheel a couple times, but it's no use. It breaks down in the middle of the road, and she just barely manages to pull over.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Wait", she says, stressed, and gets out of the truck.

Within seconds of being outside in the rain, her clothes get soaked. She ignores the uncomfortable feeling of wet fabric sticking to her skin and pops open the hood. You stay where you are. She can get wet all she wants, but you're not moving. No way.

Something clatters, then you hear her curse. She stomps back to the driver's side and gets in.

"So?", you ask impatiently.

"The alternator's dead", she mutters, reaching for her phone. "I'll have to call AAA."

You stare at her, then exhale slowly. No need to start a fight — but your blood is boiling. All it took was one air refresher, and your day is ruined. Pair that with a storm and a truck that's broken down in the middle of the road, and it can't end well for Natasha.

"The kids are waiting!"

"And the truck broke down", she replies, pressing a button and holding the phone to her ear.

When she's done talking, she lowers it. The silence tells you everything you need to know. It'll be a long wait, possibly around an hour. That was the case a couple years ago, when you were on your way to your parents' place for the holidays.

"Idiot!", you hiss. "Did you know about this?"

"Well, it was acting up last week", she says, rubbing her face. "I thought I tightened the belt enough. It should've held."

"You thought? Nat, we're stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere! The kids are waiting!"

"I know that!"

"No, you don't!", you snap. Tears shoot into your eyes, and you're not fully sure why. "You can't do this anymore, Natasha! You can't pretend everything's alright and then be surprised when it all goes up in flames! Actually take care of shit for once! Be responsible!"

"I'm trying!", she retorts. She's a mess — water is dripping from her hair, her clothes are drenched (as is the car seat), and she's panicking. Another fight. Everything's been going somewhat well, and now you're about to get into another fight. "You think I wanted this to happen?"

This wasn't supposed to happen. Those are the words Natasha said on the phone three years ago, right before she told you she'd slept with Wendy. It's funny, how the human brain pushes some information aside and yet retains things you'd love to be able to forget.

You didn't forget, though. You stare at her, teary-eyed and furious, then open the car door and jump out. Natasha stares at you as you leave, the raindrops heavy on your skin. It takes her a second to register what's going on.

"Shit! Y/N, wait!" She accidentally hits her hand trying to open the door, then she storms out. "Wait, please!"

"Fuck you!"

"Y/N", she pleads. She's a firefighter, and she's faster. She reaches you within a matter of seconds. "Please."

You whip around. Loose strands of hair are sticking to your cheeks, and your eyes are red. She can't see the tears due to the rain, but she can't tell you're crying.

"Why'd you cheat?"

She blinks, her heart sinking. She never figured the 'why' out, either. There was never a reason, or an explanation, for what she did. It was cowardice, and idiocy, and selfishness all poured into what'd end up being the worst mistake of her life.

"Tell me!", you sob. "Come on! Don't just stand there!"

"Because I was an idiot", she says, finally able to speak again. She steps closer. "Because...I..."

You shake your head. The rain keeps pouring, and it thunders again. It's a furious sound, sizzling and crashing, and it sends lightning zipping across the sky.

"You don't even have an answer", you say. "Was it worth it? Destroying everything and not even knowing why?"

"It was a mistake, Y/N", she says, her voice breaking. "I told you."

"No." You laugh bitterly. "I hate that word. It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice. You chose to do it."

Natasha doesn't say anything because it's true. You're right, unfortunately, and it's painful to admit. Spilling juice, losing a key, forgetting about an appointment — those are all mistakes. They're forgivable, human. But cheating is not.

"I regret it every fucking day", she says quietly. Another step closer. "I miss you constantly. I don't just miss our family, but I miss you. I married you for a reason, Y/N. That day you almost burnt down your apartment for crème brûlée? I mark that date in my calendar every year, and I buy crème brûlée because god knows I'd end up burning down my kitchen as well, but I buy it because it's the reason why I got to marry you."

The crème brûlée. What started as a poor attempt at making a French dessert ended in you meeting and marrying this woman in front of you. Rain-soaked, stupid, but you love every tiny part about her. Even the ones that ended up hurting you.

Believing someone who cheated, however, is hard. Love doesn't change that.

"Bullshit", you whisper.

"It's not bullshit", she pleads. "I've loved you for over 12 years, and that's not something that's going to change. I love you."

"Natasha." You let out a soft sob. "You slept with someone else. That's final. Do you know how much it hurt me? It still hurts. Every day. God, Vee and Lottie both look like you, and sometimes it hurts to look at them!"

Natasha swallows. Tears fill her eyes, but she blinks them away. Emotionally avoidant — that's how you once described her as to Valerie. In hindsight, you shouldn't have. But you were tired and sick of her, and in that moment, you needed someone to vent to. Though there are certainly better options for that than your child.

That doesn't change the fact that you were right, though. Your ex-wife was never good at communicating. She doesn't like to show her feelings. Even now, tears are something she needs to suppress.

"I know", she mumbles. The storm is so loud you can barely hear her. "I'm sorry."

"I love you too", you say. Your voice shakes. "I don't think I can change that."

She blinks and nods. You shiver pitifully, and Natasha reaches out. You want to back away, but then her hands touch your arms, and you're pulled in. She feels warm against you despite the cold rain, and she feels solid.

Way too much of you relies on the woman who's holding you. Despite the divorce, and the fights, you can't imagine existing without her at this point. It's your biggest weakness.

You look up, jaw set. You shiver again. She smiles, eyes glassy with tears, and you tip your head back a little. She's taller than you, and what you're doing is instinct. It makes it easier for her to kiss you.

It's been years, and yet, the feeling of her lips moving against yours is as familiar as breathing. You get on your tiptoes and cup her face to keep her close. Bodies pressed together, you nod your head and deepen the kiss.

She tastes like tears and rain and that gum she always buys. Her hands run down your sides, squeezing and roaming, and she keeps pulling you closer like you aren't already intertwined.

You wrap your arms around her neck. Natasha hums quietly, her hands on your thighs, then hoists you up. You pull away.

"What are you doing?", you ask, out of breath. She's already walking back to the truck.

"You're shivering", she says. "I got a blanket in the back."

"Oh."

With the door open, you slide into the backseat. You tug Natasha in with you, and she doesn't resist. As soon as she's sitting, you're swinging one leg over her lap. She feels a twitch inside her shorts, a familiar one, and shifts.

"It's fine", you mumble, pressing your lips to her jaw. She exhales quietly. "I know what I'm doing."

"You're sure? We haven't..." She trails off. You close your eyes.

You haven't slept together in over three years now. Not long before you got pregnant with Lottie, sex turned rare and lost what it once overflowed with. It was hollow and lacked passion. But if you try hard enough, maybe you'll be able to pretend that never happened. That sex is still the same as it was. That you still know each other's bodies by heart.

Even if it's just to distract yourself for a short while.

"If you don't want to, we don't have to. Obviously."

"No, that's not..." Natasha laughs nervously. "I'm not going to last long, love."

"That's what you're worried about?"

She shakes her head, then kisses you. Her hands move upwards, undo the straps of your dungarees, take them off. You feel the bulge in her shorts, straining against the fabric, and help her out of it.

You straddle her again and sink down onto her. Neither of you are worried about using protection in this moment. You're too fixated on the feeling of her inside of you.

The rain keeps pattering against the windows, which are now fogging up on the inside. Her hands are holding onto your waist like it's a lifeline. The backseats creak softly, you grip the backrest, and everything around you stops mattering.

She lets out a quiet curse when you clench around her. You bury your face in her neck and smell rain and cologne.

"I mean it. I love you."

"I know", you moan. Her hips thrust off the seat.

"I want to fix this. I want to fix us."

You hum vaguely, but it shifts into a soft whine. "You're really picking your moment here, Nat."

"Sorry", she gasps. Her forehead is presses against your shoulder. "But I mean it."

"I know", you repeat, nodding and biting back moans. A shiver rolls up your spine, and heat pools in your lower belly. "Just...wait a minute."

"Right."

Her hips roll up against yours, and the orgasm washes over you like the rain earlier. You shudder and slump into her. She kisses your neck and you feel something warm drip down your thighs.

The windows are fully fogged up by now. It smells like sex and rain, and you close your eyes to soak it in. Her heart beats against yours, steady and rapid, and you feel like you got tossed back into the past.

. . .

The girls ask no questions when you pick them up, but you've never seen Valerie look this excited.

She jumps into the car, clutching her duffel bag like an oversized teddy, and gives you a toothy grin. It should relieve you that she's happy about this — in reality, it freaks you out.

There were no promises made. Nothing's certain. For all you know, you're playing house instead of trying to become an actual family again.

Thankfully, Lottie distracts all of you. She's cranky from a sleepless night, so she's fussing and complaining about everything. The fruit pouch you hand her is squeezed to death like that apple juice pack a couple weeks ago, and her stuffed tiger ends up flying through the truck and hitting Natasha in the head.

To try and bribe her into calming down a little, you grab ice cream at a fast food drive in. It offers you three minutes of peace, then it's smushed against the window. More tears come, little feet kick against the seat, and Natasha and you decide going home is probably your safest bet.

Natasha parks her truck in front of your house. You unbuckle, then give her a hesitant look. Just sex — except it wasn't. Not when there's so much history tied to it. It's tied to everything you do.

"I'll help you", she finally offers. You exhale, thankful she broke the silence. "I just gotta wipe the window."

"Sure. I'll get the kids."

You get out of the truck and gather the girls. One in your arm, the other holding your hand, and go inside. Natasha follows minutes later and drops off their duffel bags.

The moment she steps over the threshold, you silently agree on something neither of you says out loud. She doesn't consider leaving, and you don't consider asking her to. Instead, you move around in the house like this is how it's supposed to be.

(And maybe it is.)

Lottie doesn't question it. She inhales the grilled cheese Natasha makes for everyone, then drags her upstairs for nap time. Valerie stays seated at the kitchen table, legs dangling. As soon as she's alone with you, she leans in.

"Have you made up?"

You frown and put the knife aside, then dry your hands. "What? Nonsense. We weren't fighting, honey."

"You're lying", she says. She grabs the plate of apple slices you hand her and eats one. "You were. You always fight. Is mama moving in again?"

You stare at her, but she doesn't flinch. You doubt she isn't aware of the weight of what she just asked; she's been perceptive of her surroundings ever since she was a toddler. She's certainly acting like she has no clue, though.

"You're too observant", you finally say. You stand behind her and start fixing her hair. "Don't worry about me and mama, alright? You should read that book for your English class instead, bub. These are grown people-problems."

"But mom-"

"No", you reply. You use the hair tie around your wrist to put her hair into a ponytail. "I promise I'm trying my best here, alright? And so is mama. But there are some things that are just hard to deal with."

"I could help", she offers, getting up from her chair. "Please."

You furrow your eyebrows at her. Footsteps on the staircase make you pause, and you both peek into the hallway to see Natasha return. She looks at you.

"Lottie's asleep", she says. "Anyone want to watch a movie?"

Apparently, trying to distract Valerie from anything only works if you're Natasha. Even if just for tonight, she lets go of the topic. Instead, she curls up between you on the couch and stares at the tv screen like it's offering her the entertainment of a lifetime.

An hour later, Lottie joins. You finish watching the movie and put on some cartoon. You make dinner — stir fry; Natasha wants to both kiss you and sob her eyes out —, and then go outside. The rain has stopped a while ago, but the slide is still slippery, so Lottie almost zooms into the shrubs.

When it's bedtime, you get the kids ready together. You tuck them in, kiss foreheads, turn on nightlights and search for specific stuffies. Once everyone is happy, you meet in the hallway and go downstairs.

Again, there's not much talking involved. You don't have to say it out loud to agree on it. You get the couch ready like it's second nature — pillows, blankets, a change of clothes — and linger by the door when she sits down.

"Just for tonight, right?", she says, slowly unfolding the blanket. You shrug.

"I'm not going to answer that."

Natasha shoots you a faint smile, then sits down. "This is like that night where you kicked me out of bed."

"It's not the same at all", you argue. "Get some sleep, alright?"

She looks up and hums quietly. Join me — she doesn't say those words out loud, but she certainly thinks them. You, however, turn around and head up the stairs. Something rustles in the living room.

You're not ready to commit, or to pretend nothing ever happened. You can't go back to normal. But you can't bring yourself to let her go, either. All you can do is survive the moment and pray you don't fall apart in the morning.

By the time the sun comes up, three warm bodies will have joined Natasha on the couch.

2am. Valerie wakes up, thirsty, so she pads into the kitchen and fills up her water bottle. When she walks past the living room, she stops. Her mom's on the couch, asleep and snoring. She hasn't slept here in forever. Valerie hesitates, then curls up next to her.

4am. Charlotte wakes up. She carefully makes her way down the steps, her hand gripping the metal rods of the railing. She sees that the couch isn't empty and sleepily climbs on top of Natasha. She's knocked out within seconds.

5am. Something rips you from your sleep, so you get up and go downstairs to get started on breakfast. But you see all three of them on the couch — Natasha, on her back; Lottie, on top of her; Valerie, tucked between her side and the backrest of the couch. You pause and blink, eyes still heavy with sleep.

Walking up to them is not an active decision, and neither is laying down next to the woman who was once your wife. At least that's what you tell yourself, because it's been years since you were able to fall asleep this quickly.

When Natasha wakes up, all three of her girls have joined her on the couch.

You stir as well. As soon as you register where you are and what happened, you freeze.

Last night wasn't a dream. You didn't make it up. You were stupid enough to have sex with her, take her home, let her sleep over. Now, you're all entangled on the couch, and you have to deal with the aftermath.

The domestic peace you feel is the same thing you felt years ago. Back when everything was safe, when you trusted it. You were naive. You now know what it's like to have that feeling be taken from you, and having it taken away a second time will only hurt more.

Lottie and Valerie wake up at the same time, and you scramble up and excuse yourself. As soon as you've closed the bathroom door behind you, you sit down on the closed toilet lid. You feel the tears well up and roll down your cheeks. You cry quietly, hand over your mouth to stifle any possible noise.

Then, it knocks. You freeze and don't reply.

"Y/N?" That's Natasha's voice, soft and cautious. "You alright?"

"I'm good", you lie, ripping off some toilet paper to wipe your face. "Something happen?"

"Valerie's going to be late for school. It's almost 8am, which means she needs to be there in five minutes. I'm not good at maths, but I feel like that's kinda hard to do."

"Get her dressed", you say, getting up. You open the door and Natasha falters. "Grab a few snacks, she can eat those in the car."

"Are you-"

"Give her some lunch money too", you cut her off. You walk past her and scoop up Lottie, who's about to fall asleep again on the floor. "I'll pick her up later."

Natasha stays rooted in place. She looks helpless and confused; a little regretful too, maybe. You're gone already, having disappeared upstairs with a sleepy Charlotte in your arms.

She wants to follow you and apologize. She wants to talk about this. But Valerie runs to the front door, dressed and ready to leave, and she has no choice but to go.

. . .

Three days later, you find a jewelry box on your porch.

It just appeared there. No warning, no note, no quick text from the woman who made it for you. Another apology, disguised in wood and nails and painted white. You pick it up, flip it, inspect every inch of it.

Then, you open the lid. Between the little cushions she put in one of the compartments is a ring.

You know which one. It's the one she proposed with over a decade ago. It's the same width, the same diamond cut, the same design. It glistens in the sun, and you slam the box shut.

"What's that?", the woman behind you asks. You turn around and see Maria leaning against the doorframe. "Oh no. Don't tell me..."

"Yeah."

"She still does that?"

You gesture at the shoe rack next to the front door. "This thing's from, like, half a year ago."

Maria snorts into her coffee cup. She steps closer. Without even glancing at you, she pops open the jewelry box and pauses. "Dear god. Has she lost it?"

You give her a tired look. Maria is a firefighter as well. She works alongside Natasha, and she knows her almost as good as she knows you. She's also aware of Natasha's inability to communicate with words instead of DIY home projects.

"Guess", you mumble, shutting the box again.

"Is this her way of proposing?", she asks, following you inside. "I thought she'd be able to do at least that without a prop."

"What?" You stop in your tracks and whip around. Maria, startled, bumps into you and spills coffee. "Shit- are you insane? Why would you ask that?"

She rolls her eyes and puts the cup aside, then tugs at her shirt. It's stained with lukewarm coffee, and the fabric is sticking to her skin.

"Gee, I don't know. The engagement ring she gave you, maybe?"

You give her a stunned stare. "That's not- no. That's not what this is. I mean, that'd be..."

"Crazy? Insane? Completely bananas?" She shrugs and walks into the kitchen to grab a towel. You follow her. "Amen, sister. But it's kinda what it looks like."

You put your hand against your head and lean against the wall. Maria dabs at the stain and sighs.

"She's not proposing", you say. You're not sure if you genuinely believe that or whether you're trying to make yourself believe it. "I mean, she's with Irina."

"No, she isn't."

Your hand drops to your side. You wait for Maria to continue and explain — she can't just drop a bomb like this one and then not elaborate, after all. But she just frowns and rubs at the persistent stain on her shirt.

"What do you mean, she isn't?"

Maria looks up. She shrugs. "She had sex with you, didn't she?"

"Yeah, well." You laugh bitterly. "She also had sex with Wendy when we were married, so there's that."

"Yes, sure, but-" She sighs and takes off her shirt, then waltzes straight into the laundry room. You're tired of her constant back-and-forth, but you follow her anyway. "But she's changed. I think. And I heard her dump someone in the bunk room. She was on the phone, it got pretty ugly."

You stop in the doorway. Maria grabs a stain remover and dabs it on her shirt, then she puts it aside. You barely register any of it.

Apparently, Natasha's made a choice. She's sabotaging (sabotaged?) her relationship because of you. It's desperation in real time, and it's quiet, and messy. But she's picking you.

And you? You're not sure if you want to be picked. Maybe not being the first choice would be better for you this time. You still can't help the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You press your hand against your lower belly.

You're confused, you're scared, but you're also tempted. Part of you wants to believe in her, and in this love that still exists between you.

"She didn't tell me", you say dumbly.

"Of course not." Maria glances at you. "Why would she? She's terrified. She's fucked up before, and she's smart enough to know she's not immune to doing it again."

"Yes, but...she didn't tell me. She didn't...I mean..."

"Breathe, honey." She gently leads you back out into the hallway. "I mean, you should probably confront her, right? Don't be too nice, either. Make her suffer."

"Maria."

"I mean it."

You give her a deadpan look. She's one of the few who know why you and Natasha got divorced, and she's been a hater ever since. She used to be friends with your ex-wife, now she barely tolerates her. Seeing them in a room together is pretty funny, but you don't need her to act like this all the time.

She smiles and shrugs on her hoodie. "She deserves it."

"Yes, but she's Natasha."

"And this is why people fuck you over."

"Alright, time for you to leave."

She laughs and walks out the door. You stay on the porch, leaning against the railing, and watch her get into her car. She winks at you.

"I think she's off-duty today", she calls.

"No."

Maria nods and starts her car. "Yes. Absolutely", she says. "I mean it."

You groan. She sounds the horn, then drives off. You're left on the porch, alone, with a ring in a box waiting inside the house for you.

There's about a hundred things you'd rather do. Vacuum the house, mow the lawn, reschedule that appointment at the optometrist you won't be able to go to. In the end, you sit down in your car and drive to the other end of town.

Straight to Natasha's cabin.

. . .

Her cabin isn't unfamiliar. Not entirely.

You've been there countless times to drop the girls off, or to grab a toy one of them forgot. You know what it looks like — the dark wood, the gray trim, the metal roof. A huge backyard, half grass and half dirt patch, and a covered porch with a worn couch. Tools everywhere, even on the staircase.

You stay in the car for a long moment, then you get out and walk up to the porch. You don't knock, don't ring the doorbell. Instead, you lift the corner of the doormat and snatch the spare key Natasha apparently forgot there.

The door creaks open, and you're hit with a smell of pinewood and cologne. Sawdust and coffee are tangled into the scent, and you exhale softly as you step in. Now it's unfamiliar.

You inspect the coat rack, weighed down by jackets and fire gear and a diaper bag. You glance at the pairs of shoes scattered around underneath it. You peek into the kitchen and spot the protein powders and beef jerky on the shelf there.

Silently, you wonder whether her breakfasts are still as ridiculous as they were when you still lived together. She used to wolf down 5 to 6 eggs every morning, and sometimes followed up with waffles and leftover steak.

You shake your head and walk further into the house. It's comfy, you have to admit. Lived-in, too. You pick up a little sock with rainbows on it and put it on the coffee table, then you keep going.

A small staircase leads you into the walkout basement. You hear the sound of someone scrubbing something, so you keep going. You push open another door and freeze.

Natasha, on the floor, crouched next to a dresser. Sanding paper in hand, she's sanding the side. As soon as the door has swung open, though, she stops.

All you can do is stare at each other. Her hair, slowly coming loose from a low bun. The grey hoodie she's wearing, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes, still looking up at you in that way that never stopped making you weak.

"You let yourself in?", she asks, her voice cracking.

"Why'd you give me the ring?"

She pauses. She slowly puts the sanding paper aside, then she wipes her hands on her sweatpants before getting up. You swallow, the jewelry box firmly clutched in your hands.

This is what you wanted. An answer. Watching her squirm, hesitate. Letting her feel what it's like to drown for a moment. You didn't come up for air for much longer, after all. Grief, motherhood, betrayal — crushing your lungs and pulling you under the surface. It's her turn.

"I don't know", she then says. You shake your head, but she lifts her hand. Her expression is pleading. "I wanted you to know I still had it. I didn't know how else to...you know."

"No", you say, both sharply and weakly. "I don't know. You think you can just drop this off and fix it all? I've told you that you building shit doesn't repair anything, Natasha."

"Yeah", she mumbles.

"And neither does this ring. I don't want it. Not like this."

She nods and steps closer. You willingly hand her the box when she reaches for it, and you watch her open it and pull out the ring. It gives you flashbacks to that night in your bed, when she was lying on her side with the ring between her fingers. She'd dumped rose petals all over the room, bed included.

It was right after sex when she revealed the ring. You were both flushed and out of breath. Back then, you swore you'd never be able to fall in love like this again. As of right now, you were correct.

"I'm not proposing", she says. She keeps the ring in her fist, careful to not drop it. "Honestly? I don't know what I'm doing. I haven't known for a while. But I need to fix this, Y/N. I need to fix us."

You shake your head. "No, Nat. You-"

"Wait", she begs. "I keep thinking about it. About the way you looked at me that night. Like I was the best thing you'd ever seen. And-"

"Natasha-"

"And I want to be that again", she finishes. You rub your eyes. "I'm not supposed to burn stuff down, you know. My job is to put fires out. But I burnt us down. And now it's my job to undo the damage."

"This is not the same as burning down a house", you say. "I'd prefer that, honestly. We'd just build a new one. But you can't do that with a marriage."

Natasha's running out of moves. She's sitting in this grief, letting it encompass her. It's like a heavy weight, one she hasn't been able to shake in three years. But she needs to keep trying, even if it costs her what little dignity she has left.

She steps closer, again. You stay rooted in place, which is both relieving and saddening. Not that long ago, she couldn't have imagined that she'd ever fear you not wanting her close. But you're still here, still in front of her, and she's not only running out of moves — she's running out of time as well.

Her eyes search yours. You avert your gaze when it becomes too much.

"Please", she says. "Just tell me what to do."

"I don't know", you say, looking at her again. Sawdust on her hoodie, her eyes filled with quiet desperation. "I can't do this if you're not sure. And even then, I..."

"No. Don't."

"Can it even work?"

"Yes. It can."

You chew on your lip and glance at the floor. More sawdust. A hammer. A stack of sanding paper in various grits. A bottle of water, and a shaker filled with some protein shake.

"You cheated", you say slowly. You're hyper aware that you're starting to sound like a broken record, but you can't help it. Natasha winces. "You slept with someone else. How do you make anything work after doing that?"

Unfortunately, she has no idea. Love and relationships don't come with usage manuals or instructions. You can either try to figure it out yourself or wing everything and pray it'll be okay.

She did try. Then, she screwed up. She struck the match, burnt it down, and now, you're standing between ambers and ash. You're breathing in the smoke in a desperate attempt to clean the air, but there's only two of you, and without opening a window, you'll die before you succeed.

There's only one solution left. Tear down the walls and let the smoke escape before it suffocates you.

"I can't undo what I did", she says. "I know apologizing isn't enough. It will never be. But I know I love you, and I'll keep working on myself, and I'll make sure that you'll never doubt me again."

You stare at her, hesitating. "Nat."

"I'm serious, Y/N. So serious." She exhales, her breath shaky. "Let me prove it to you. Give me a year. A test phase. You can back out at any point. You can always end it. But give me one chance. Just one. I'm not asking for anything else."

"And then?", you probe. "I don't trust you anymore. Not like I used to. What if I also don't trust you in a year?"

"That's okay", she promises. She cups your face, the ring stuck between her fingers and pressing against your cheek. "I'm not asking for anything else. I want you and the girls back. Just give me a shot at trying."

This is so her that you almost smile. Laying out blueprints, strategizing, framing it like something practical. Turning your relationship into a deal. But somehow, she's managed to make it raw and hopeful.

At the end of your life, you don't regret what you did — you regret what you didn't do. The 'what if' hurts the most. The knowledge that something could've been, if only there'd been more courage. If only you'd been braver. If you'd taken that leap instead of walking away.

Your marriage has always been centered around fire. It's the reason why you met. It's what Natasha deals with every day. It burned your marriage to the ground, even if not literally.

You feel it all over her, too. In her hands, which are calloused and strong. Her eyes blaze with it. Whenever you'd kiss her, you felt it. She's the human equivalent to fire. She's messy and unpredictable, she can cause disastrous amounts of damage. But when it comes down to it, she's there to warm you up.

Fire meant safety. Early humans used it as a source of light and protection.

It turns out that, even millions of years later, some things don't change.

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Your eyes are burning.

"Don't disappoint the girls", you mumble. "Not again. Because I'll kill you, Romanoff. I swear."

Natasha lets out a breath. Her eyes glass over, her fingers shake against your cheek. You ended it with a threat, and truthfully, she deserves it. She'll have to fight for every scrap of softness now, but that's okay. It's worth it.

"I won't", she promises. "You know they're in good hands."

"Not the point."

"I know." She brushes her thumb over your lip. You move your head so her hand drops from your face, then you lean in and kiss her.

It's not a big deal. Just a quick brush of lips, lasting a mere second. It shoots adrenaline through her entire body and her heart begins to race. You pull away and reach up to remove some sawdust from her hoodie.

You stay silent for a moment as you study her. She doesn't say anything either, just stands there and admires you like the idiot she is. Finally, you pull away, but not without snatching the ring from her.

"I'll hide this", you say, walking up the stairs. She raises her eyebrows.

"Okay...?"

"You're not proposing unless I allow you to."

"Oh, uh- alright."

"It better be. Now get a move on, we need to pick up the girls."

She stares for another second, then she hurries up to follow you outside.

. . .

Picking the kids up together once was fine. Doing it a second time, though, left Valerie bouncing on the spot like she's a battery operated toy.

She's smart. She knew. All it took was seeing you and Natasha, waiting by your car. There was less distance between you this time. She'd touched your arm, hesitantly, and you'd opted for a faint smile.

Something'd changed. Which, for once, was a good thing.

Months have passed, and it's turned into more of a routine. You pick Charlotte up together, with Valerie waiting in the car already. The second she's in front of you, she lifts her arms at Natasha.

"Up?", she asks. Her voice is grouchy in that tired toddler-way.

"Sure, bub", she says, scooping her up. Natasha's always held babies like they're made of gold. It doesn't matter if said baby is three weeks or three years old. "Let's get you home."

"We're going to mama's place tonight", you inform them. Valerie tilts her head. "Sounds good?"

"You're not mad anymore?"

Natasha and you had a little argument last night, but it really was little. And, to be fair, it was mostly your fault. There's no need to start yelling over a roll of toilet paper.

You buckle up and look at your daughter through the mirror. Way too perceptive. That won't change. You love that about her, though, even if it sometimes drives you up the wall.

"Who said that?", you ask, smiling.

Natasha sits down and starts the car. She glances at you, then forces herself to keep her eyes on the road. "You got homework, bub?"

"Answer the question", she drawls. "Are you still mad?"

You get a pointed look from Natasha. You roll your eyes and push your hand against her cheek, making her laugh quietly.

"No", you say. "Not mad anymore. Sorry for the fight, honey."

"We didn't think you'd hear", Natasha adds. She takes a left turn and drums her fingers against the steering wheel. "You were supposed to be asleep."

"I don't care. You can't fight even when I'm sleeping."

"You're not the boss", Lottie says, throwing a LEGO figure at her sister. Valerie retaliates by grabbing her stuffed tiger and whacking it over her head. The next thing you hear is screeching and whining.

Exasperated, you turn around and intervene. "No, absolutely not. If we can't fight, then neither can you."

"She hit me!", Lottie cries out.

"She threw a LEGO at me!"

"Stop fighting and I'm getting you nuggets for lunch", Natasha mutters.

You want to intervene — don't bribe the kids into behaving, this can't end well, etc. — but then you remember that she's been doing this without you every other week for three full years. So far, nothing bad has resulted from it.

You slump into your seat when they immediately stop bickering. Natasha doesn't say anything, but she puts her hand around yours and squeezes gently.

At home, she grabs both kids and carries them into the cabin. One on her shoulders, the other in her arms, she slows down and turns around. You're close behind, holding their backpacks and the takeout paper bag.

You meet her halfway. There's a second of silence, of you just staring at each other, then you get on your tiptoes and kiss her. It takes her by surprise, for some reason, and you can't blame her.

You pull away first, and Valerie gives you a mildly disgusted look. She's been hoping for this for years, but she doesn't need to see you kiss.

"Can you not?"

Natasha shoots you a smile. You put your hand on her shoulder and turn her toward the cabin again. It's a spring afternoon, the sun is warm and the grass is covered in hundreds of little flowers. On the porch, Natasha left a half-finished bookshelf for Lottie's room.

As soon as you're inside, you wash your hands and dish out the food. You allow the girls to eat lunch in front of the tv for once, and they happily agree to find something to watch without fighting.

Then, it's just you and Natasha left in the kitchen. She's leaning against the counter, her hand twisting the top part of a water bottle. You can feel her watching you as you empty out the takeout bag and put the food on two plates.

"Want to share the onion rings?", she asks, pushing off the counter and walking up to you.

"You'll make me share my fries if we do, won't you."

"You know me too well", she mumbles. She wraps her arms around you and kisses your temple. "I'll let you have a sip of my beer."

She does. You end up on the porch together, sitting on the floor like teenagers. You stretch out your legs and she pulls them into her lap. You bring the beer bottle to your mouth and tip back your head. It's still cold, fizzy, tasting like the early days of your relationship.

You pass the bottle back to her, and she finishes what's left in it.

"Bookshelf looks nice", you comment. "Looks like a little house. Lottie will love it."

"I'll paint rainbows on it, too", she says. Her hand runs up and down your calf absentmindedly. "She asked for a bed with a slide, you know."

All you say is 'no', quickly and without hesitation. Natasha grins.

"I already told her no, don't worry. Not after the soap incident."

You hum, agreeing. Back at your house, Charlotte had dumped a small bucket of soapy water onto the slide and then slid down. Needless to say that didn't end well. You're still haunted by the blood coming out of nose.

"She laughed", you mutter, rubbing your temple. "She sat there and laughed. That's all you, you know."

"Sorry."

"Well, you better be. If she ends up wanting to be a firefighter, I'm suing."

"Maybe she ends up wanting to be like you", Natasha says. "I wouldn't mind that, you know."

You nudge her shoulder with yours. She sets her plate aside and wraps her arm around you.

Fire burns and destroys. It leaves behind ambers and smoke, soot and ash. The landscape looks scorched, your marriage was a wreckage. Things looked dead. But ash is fertile, and though you're marked, you're still here.

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @scarletsstarlet @jassgunner @marvelwomen-simp @fairyfandomwhore @womenarehotsstuff @twentyonetornmyheart

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #x reader #fanfic #marvel #lesbian #wlw #angst with a happy ending #moon’s fics

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writingangst · 1 year ago

Text

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

Part two

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I’m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!”

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath.

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.”

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #angst #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley angst #cod #one shot #characterai #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #reader #fanfiction #fanfic #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader angst #simon ghost riley x reader angst

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fuddaround · 3 months ago

Text

that damn net ⋮ p.b

pairing : paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary : seeing paige with the net and hat was a complete turn on for her situationship.

word count : 3.6k

warnings : degradation, hitting, public fingering, strap, fast paced, time skips, teammate reader, mention of reader whining.

kay speaks 💌 : this is kinda rushed, sloppy, and not fully edited just because i was aggravated after it didn’t save. i also somehow lost a part (i write it all in my notes first) ??

you can’t stop staring.

the arena is a mess—confetti everywhere, screams bouncing off the walls, people hugging, crying, laughing. you should be in it, soaking up the history, the win, the moment. but you’re locked in. eyes trained on her.

paige.

her hair’s messy under the championship hat. her jersey’s drenched in sweat and gatorade. she’s still breathing hard, adrenaline pulsing through every muscle, and god, it looks so good on her.

you’re trying to keep it chill. keep it platonic. friendly. situationship rules. you know them. no acting out in public. no being obvious. no catching feelings.

but the way she’s smiling right now? pure joy, pure fire, pure fuck-you-we-won energy towards sc? it’s driving you insane.

she waits ‘til the very end for the net-cutting. typical. center of attention shit. the whole team chanting her name. she climbs the ladder, slow and cocky, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth.

she snips the last piece. holds it up like a trophy. then as she climbs off the ladder, cd loops it around her neck like a chain. her arms up. crowd going absolutely insane.

you swallow hard.

it’s too much.

she looks like sex and power and everything you’re not supposed to want too much of. but fuck. she’s unreal.

and she smirks.

that smirk. the one that means she knows. that she saw you looking. that she liked it.

you feel your stomach flip. heat crawling under your skin.

she disappears into the mob of teammates and coaches and cameras. people are already pulling her into interviews, wrapping her in hugs, shouting her name.

and you’re just standing there, frozen, breath caught somewhere between lust and pride and the fucked-up ache of wanting someone who’s never really been yours.

you move through the crowd. heart pounding. trying to play it off.

you finally find her by the sideline, holding another can of diet coke that she hasn’t opened, laughing with azzi.

her cheeks are flushed, eyes sparkling, and the net’s still swinging from her neck like a damn trophy.

you lean in, close enough so only she hears.

“you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

her eyes flick over to you, lazy and slow. lips curl again. dangerous.

“oh,” she says, voice low, almost lost in the noise. “i do.”

the night moves fast.

bars are packed. drinks are free. everyone’s screaming uconn. half the city’s trying to buy shots for the team.

someone handed you a jello shot shaped like a basketball. you don’t even ask what’s in it.

paige is everywhere.

center of every circle. laughing with your teammates. dancing like she’s floating. championship hat still on backwards, net still around her neck like jewelry. the bar lights hit it and it flashes every time she moves.

you’re trying to play it cool. to not stare. to not think about her mouth. or her hands. or the way she keeps looking at you like she’s already fucked you tonight.

or that net that you find way too much attraction to.

she finds you near the edge of the dance floor. leans in close, breath sticky sweet from a lemon drop shot.

“oh baby..you look sooo stressed,” she says, fake pout on her lips.

“i’m good.”

“nah,” she grins, finger grazing your waist. “you’re tense. i can feel it.”

you glance around. the music’s loud. no one’s looking.

but still.

“stop.”

“you want me to?”

her hand slips under the hem of your championship shirt. just a touch. palm against your skin. you tense, but don’t move.

“you’re such a fucking tease,” you murmur.

“and you let me do it. every. single. time.”

you roll your eyes, but your breath catches when she presses her leg between yours. just lightly. enough for you to feel it.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

“we’re not doing anything,” she says, mouth close to your ear. “i’m just standing. you’re the one squirming.”

you laugh, but it’s shaky. her hands are back on your hips now. gripping. pulling you closer.

you try to speak, but she cuts you off, lips brushing your neck.

“you should’ve seen your face when i cut that net. all wide-eyed and horny. like you were about to drop to your knees right there on the court.”

“fuck off.”

“make me.”

her voice is syrupy sweet, but her hands are getting bolder. one trails down your thigh. stops just where you need it most.

you suck in a breath.

“paige—”

“you gonna say my name like that later?” she asks. “all desperate and wrecked?”

you clench your jaw. look away. try to focus on literally anything else.

but her fingers brush higher. almost. barely.

“you wore this tight ass skirt for me, didn’t you?”

“you’re not the only one i wanted to look good for.”

she laughs. cocky. mean.

“cute lie, princess.”

your head falls back when she presses just enough pressure to make your thighs clench.

“oh, no panties?” she whispers.

you don’t answer.

“jesus,” she says. “you’re really down bad, huh?”

you grab her wrist, but she doesn’t stop.

“say it,” she whispers. “say you want me.”

“i want you.”

“how bad?”

you stare at her. the music’s loud. lights flickering across her face. her pupils blown wide.

“bad enough to hook up with you in this damn bar’s bathroom.”

her smile’s lethal.

“let’s go.”

the bathroom’s disgusting.

sticky floor, loud bass bleeding through the walls, one flickering light overhead.

you don’t care.

she locks the door behind you and you’re already on her.

lips crashing. hands everywhere. teeth clashing. she tastes like vodka and lime and victory.

she pushes you up against the wall so hard it rattles. one hand on your throat, the other hiking your skirt up like she owns it.

“so fuckin’ needy,” she breathes. “could feel your pussy throbbing on my thigh out there, ma.”

you moan into her mouth. pull her closer. her fingers slide between your legs, and she freezes.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you’re soaked.”

“i told you.”

“nah,” she grins. “you didn’t tell me shit. but you will.”

“well, i did tell you i needed you.”

her hand moves slow at first. teasing. sliding through your slick, not giving you enough. just stroking her ego.

“paige,” you gasp, bucking into her palm.

“what, baby? use your words.”

“i really really need you and like now.”

you bite your lip. try to hold it in.

she presses two fingers inside, fast and deep.

you cry out. cling to her.

“that’s it,” she says, low and smug. “take it. be quiet for me though.”

your knees almost buckle.

she fucks you against the wall like she’s been dying to. like she’s owed it. fingers curling just right, palm pressing your clit every time she pumps.

“knew this pussy would be good,” she groans. “knew it’d fit my fingers perfect.”

you’re gasping now. grabbing at her shirt. mouth open, eyes fluttering.

“keep lookin’ at me like that, and i’m gonna make you cum just like this. messy. in a bar bathroom.”

“don’t stop, please, p” you beg.

“never do, baby.”

she shifts her stance, grinds her palm harder, curls her fingers deeper. your body’s not even yours anymore—just a bundle of nerves under her touch.

“you close?” she murmurs. “you gonna cream on my fingers like a good little slut?”

you lean your head on her shoulder as you grip onto the net hanging around her neck.

“yes,” you whimper. “fuck, paige—yes.”

“just remember to be quiet.”

that’s all it takes.

you break. legs shaking. moaning into her neck as you cum hard, pulsing around her fingers. she holds you up through it, fingers fucking you through the high like she’s memorizing every twitch.

“god damn,” she whispers. “this pussy’s still mine even after weeks apart.”

you try to answer but all that comes out is a whimper.

she pulls her fingers out slow. watches the slick drip down your thighs. then sucks them clean, eyes on yours the whole time.

“tastes like a championship.”

you shove her, laughing breathlessly, but she grabs your chin and kisses you hard. filthy. claiming.

“you thought that was bad?” she grins. “wait ‘til we get to the hotel.”

the night stretches on, and you’re deep in it now — drunk off paige, drunk off the win, drunk off the way she’s touching you under the table, like you belong to her and everyone in this bar should know it.

you’re at a booth in a rooftop bar now, watching the city flicker below you. but you can’t look anywhere except her. paige. her lips around a straw. the way her eyes keep flicking to yours, smug and teasing, her championship hat crooked on her head.

and she still has on that damn net.

she leans in, just enough to make you shiver. whispers in your ear.

“you still good, baby? you still thinking about what happened in that bathroom?”

you don’t answer at first, not wanting to make it obvious how wrecked you are. how much she’s already ruined you tonight.

her fingers find your knee, pushing up your thigh. slowly. steadily. no one else notices, but you feel it. feel her moving closer.

you shift, trying to keep it together, but paige’s grip tightens.

“don’t move,” she commands, voice low, dark. she’s not looking at you anymore, eyes scanning the bar, but her fingers are still creeping higher.

you want to beg. want to beg her to do more, but you hold your breath instead.

“you’re so fucking quiet,” she teases. “you’re barely even talking to the team. i promise i’ll make you feel good at the hotel.”

you bite your lip, heart hammering in your chest. “paige…”

“shh,” she cuts you off. “don’t talk yet. i’m handling you tonight. you’re gonna sit there and let me touch you however i want.”

you freeze, mouth open. her fingers brush against the inside of your thighs, slow and deliberate. she knows exactly what she’s doing to you, playing with you like you’re her toy.

her hand slips under the waistband of your skirt, just enough to slide her fingers between your slick folds.

the pressure is light, but you can’t help the way your body jerks toward her.

“you’re fucking dripping,” she breathes. “is this because of me? is this how much you want me, baby?”

you clench your jaw. you’re trying so hard to stay composed, but paige’s fingers are sliding deeper, circling, pushing in slow like she’s savoring it. savoring every reaction you can’t stop yourself from giving.

you swallow hard. look at her, eyes half-lidded.

“i need all of you,” you whisper.

paige smirks, but she doesn’t stop. she presses harder, curling her fingers inside you just enough to make you squirm, but not enough to make you cum. you’re a mess in her hands, and she’s enjoying every second of it.

“yeah?” she purrs. “you like me teasing you, huh? it’s fucking cute, how desperate you are for me.”

“paige,” you whimper, your voice breaking under the pressure.

“what, ma?” she hums, fingers still teasing, never giving you enough. “you gonna cum right here? with everyone watching?”

you shake your head, desperate for more. but you don’t want anyone to know. not here. not yet.

“i’ll make it so fucking obvious,” she whispers. “so fucking messy, baby. you’ll be dripping all over this booth.”

you want to shout, but you just squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the table for control. your body is betraying you, heart pounding, hips pushing into her hand.

“you feel that, baby?” she whispers. “you feel how much you want it? i can make you cum right now, but you gotta beg me.”

you look at her. eyes wide, chest heaving.

“paige, please,” you breathe, your voice shaky.

“please what?”

“please… make me cum.”

her fingers are suddenly gone. you open your eyes, confused, frustrated.

“oops,” she shakes her head, smirking. “you’re gonna wait, baby. wait until we’re alone. i want you begging me later, in the hotel room.”

you groan in frustration, but she pulls her hand back under the table and sits up straighter, looking around the bar like nothing happened.

“god, you’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter, glaring at her.

“yeah, i know,” she grins, leaning close again. “but you’ll be screaming my name soon.”

she kicks the door shut behind you.

hat still on. net still swinging against her chest.

“on the bed,” she says.

you stumble back, lip trembling, skirt still soaked from the bars.

your whole body feels like a live wire.

she’s looking at you like she’s starving.

she’s already tasted you and now she wants even more.

you drop onto the mattress. legs open. hands shaking.

she doesn’t touch you at first. just stares.

“look at you,” she mutters. “so fuckin’ pretty laid out like this.”

“hurry i need you.”

“nah,” she cuts you off. “you’re not in charge tonight.”

your breath catches. thighs twitch.

she shrugs her jacket off. still got the net on like a damn trophy necklace.

and you’re glad she still has it on along with the championship hat.

“still thinking about me on that ladder?” she asks, soft, sick. “with the net around my neck?”

you nod, fast.

“say it.”

“you looked so fuckin’ hot,” you whisper. “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

her eyes darken.

“you should’ve told me earlier, baby. i would’ve fucked you in the locker room.”

“i did tell you remember and you just kept edging me.”

“i didn’t edge you the bathroom,” she whispered through a kiss she planted on your neck.

you whimper. legs falling wider.

she kneels between them. kisses your thighs slow, gentle, like you’re fragile.

but there’s venom in her voice.

“you’re always actin’ like you don’t need me.”

“i do,” you cry.

“yeah?”

“need you so bad, ma.”

she grins. evil. drags your skirt down and throws them somewhere across the room.

“then stay real still.”

her mouth’s on you before you can even breathe.

hot, slow kitten licks. like she’s savoring it. sucking your clit with little moans, like she’s the one being pleased right now. and knowing her she probably was.

“i want you,” you sob. “please.”

“you already have me.”

you grab the sheets, crying out.

she spreads you open with both hands. tongue fucking you deep. moaning into it like she’s addicted.

“stay still f’me, baby,” she says, mouth glossy.

you’re whimpering now. body twitching. thighs shaking.

“you gonna cum, baby?”

“yes, fuck—please—”

she flattens her tongue. sucks hard.

your back arches.

“that’s it,” she whispers. “cum for me. make a mess.”

you break.

loud, messy, whole body trembling. crying into the pillow as she fucks you through it.

“that’s my girl,” she says, smug. soft. fucked up.

she climbs off the bed and grabs the strap.

your breath hitches.

she pulls her shorts off, straps up slow, watching you the whole time.

still wearing the hat. still wearing the net.

“look at what you’re begging for,” she says. “you gonna take this like a good little slut?”

you nod, eyes glassy. “yes, please. i’ll be good.”

she crawls back over you. slides in deep on the first thrust.

you scream and grab onto the net trying to pull her down.

“shhh,” she coos. “you wanted this, remember?”

“so full,” you cry. “so fuckin’ full.”

she fucks you slow. deep. mean.

leans down, kisses your mouth. your neck. your tears.

“no one’s ever gonna touch you like this again,” she whispers. “you’re mine, baby.”

“yours,” you sob. “yours, love.”

she pulls out and slams back in.

your legs shake.

the net brushes your chest with every thrust. you can’t stop staring at it. can’t stop crying.

“say it again.”

“i’m yours,” you whine. “please—don’t stop—”

“never,” she growls. “never fuckin’ letting you go.”

and she fucks you into the mattress like she means it.

because she absolutely means it.

she flips you off her like you weigh nothing.

“get up.”

you’re panting. shaking. body still twitching.

“i said get the fuck up.”

you stumble off the bed. legs weak. pussy throbbing.

she grabs you by the wrist, drags you toward the full-length mirror near the window.

you catch a glimpse of yourself—swollen lips, tear-stained cheeks, net burn on your chest—and you moan.

“look at you,” she growls, shoving you flat against the mirror. “fuckin’ wrecked.”

her strap’s still on. soaked. thick. heavy against your ass as she kicks your legs apart.

“you love getting used, huh?” she spits. “love being my little trophy slut?”

you nod.

she grabs your chin. yanks your face up.

“say it.”

“i’m your trophy slut.”

she grins. kisses the back of your neck.

“wear the net.”

she loops it around your shoulders, lets it fall down your chest. tangling between your tits.

“now watch yourself.”

her strap pushes into you from behind. slow and brutal.

you choke on a moan. hands splayed on the mirror.

“paige, oh fuck—”

“shut up,” she snaps. “you don’t talk unless i tell you to.”

she fucks you deep. one hand gripping your hip, the other pressing your face into the glass.

you can’t look away. can’t stop watching the way she ruins you. the net bouncing with every thrust. her hat crooked. jaw clenched.

“you see that?” she hisses in your ear. “that’s mine. you’re mine.”

“all yours, okay,” you sob. “don’t stop—please—”

“not stopping ‘til you break.”

her pace gets mean. harder. the mirror rattling with every thrust. your breath fogging the glass.

“watch the way this pussy takes it,” she says. “watch how fuckin’ good you bounce on my strap.”

you try to hold yourself up. try not to collapse.

but she grabs your throat and pins you there.

“don’t you fuckin’ look away.”

“shit,” you cry. “please..need it, need it so bad—”

“then cum, baby,” she growls. “cum on this dick. right here. in the mirror.”

you scream.

it hits you like fire. shaking. clenching. dripping down your thighs. hands sliding down the mirror like you’re melting.

she doesn’t stop. keeps fucking you through it. slapping your ass, talking you through your own destruction.

“there she is,” she pants. “my good little whore. my fuckin’ champion.”

you collapse against the glass.

face first. smiling.

ruined.

owned.

hers.

your body’s buzzing. brain mush. thighs trembling and glassy-eyed in the mirror’s reflection.

she finally pulls out.

hands careful now. warm on your hips.

you think she’s gonna say something cocky, but she doesn’t. not yet.

she just wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her bare chest to your back, strap hanging heavy between you.

you both breathe there.

quiet.

sweaty.

blissed out.

“did i hurt you?” she asks, voice low. soft. way different from a minute ago.

you shake your head, still catching your breath.

“you sure?”

you nod again.

she turns you around gently, palms framing your face. her thumbs brush under your eyes, wiping away what’s left of the tears.

“tell me if i ever go too far,” she whispers. “i mean that.”

“you didn’t,” you murmur. “i liked it.”

she smiles, kind of shy now. kisses your forehead.

“you scare me when you get like that,” you add, laughing a little.

“yeah?” she grins. “you scare me when you cum in like twelve seconds.”

you shove her shoulder. she catches your wrist, grinning.

“don’t even lie,” she smirks. “i wasn’t even halfway in.”

“whatever,” you mumble, cheeks flushed. “you’re annoying.”

“you’re obsessed.”

you roll your eyes and look down.

the net’s still around your neck. tangled. damp with sweat and tears and everything else.

she sees it too.

“gimme that,” she says, tugging it off slow. “you look too good in it, i’m gonna get hard again.”

you groan. “paige, you don’t even have a real dick.”

“so,” she murmurs, lifting the net over your head and looping it around hers again. “i’ll get horny again and fuck you again.”

you watch her walk back to the bed, still completely naked, wearing nothing but the hat and the net. cocky. glowing.

but then she flops down with a sigh. breathes deep into the hotel pillows.

“holy shit,” she mutters.

you’re standing there, still wrecked, still staring at her. something shifts in the room.

not the sex.

not the games.

just the weight of it all finally hitting.

you sit next to her, slow, careful.

“we won.”

she blinks at the ceiling.

you say it again.

“paige. we fuckin’ won a natty.”

she turns her head to look at you.

eyes soft. blue like waves. glowing like the trophy.

“we fuckin’ did,” she whispers. “national fuckin’ champs.”

you both laugh. it bubbles out of your chest like it can’t be held in anymore.

“we climbed the ladder,” you say, smiling.

“we cut the net.”

“you made me cum with the net around my neck.”

she grins. “best sex ever.”

you lean back onto the pillows beside her. heads turned toward each other. tangled limbs.

she pulls the blanket over both of you.

“hey,” she says.

you hum.

“i know we’re… not like, anything,” she starts. “but tonight—i don’t know. you feel like mine.”

you look at her.

she’s not smiling now. not teasing.

just soft.

real.

“i am,” you whisper. “if you want.”

she nods. just once.

then she curls into your side, still wearing the net. lets it fall across both your chests like a blanket.

you both fall asleep like that.

champions.

teammates.

tangled in the win, the lust, the love.

her in the hat. her in the net.

you in her arms.

#kay writes ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ #kay’s fics ⊹ ࣪ ˖#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #wlw #lesbian #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn x reader #paige bueckers x reader

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writeriguess · 3 months ago

Note

Can you do one where katauki has a crush on yn but shes oblivious and she snaps when shes really friendly with kiri? Please and thank you

More Than Just Friends

You always knew Bakugo was a bit... intense. His temper, his scowl, the way he barked orders like everyone around him was a bunch of extras. But you also knew that beneath that rough exterior was someone who truly cared, even if he’d rather set himself on fire than admit it.

You and Bakugo had been in the same class at UA since your first year, and you’d long since gotten used to his explosive personality. You even considered him a friend—sort of. Though, the idea of actually saying that to his face was kind of terrifying.

You were pretty sure he thought you were annoying most of the time. Still, it never stopped you from trying to be friendly. You always made sure to include him in conversations and offer him snacks during training breaks. Sometimes he took them with a quiet “Tch,” and sometimes he just glared at you like you’d offered him poison. Either way, you didn’t let it discourage you.

Today was no different. You had just finished sparring with Kirishima, both of you panting and laughing as you wiped the sweat from your brows. He grinned at you, flashing those sharp teeth of his.

“You’re getting stronger!” Kirishima praised, giving you a hearty slap on the back. You stumbled a bit, giggling.

“You’re just going easy on me,” you replied, nudging him playfully. “But I’ll take the compliment!”

Bakugo was a few meters away, supposedly busy with his own workout, but his crimson eyes were locked onto you and Kirishima, narrowed and seething. He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he didn’t need to. The sight of you laughing and getting all chummy with his best friend made his jaw clench so tightly it hurt.

You hadn’t even noticed his glare, too busy joking with Kirishima to pay attention to anything else.

“Seriously, though,” Kirishima continued, wiping sweat from his neck. “You’ve been working hard lately. I bet even Bakugo would—”

“Would what?” Bakugo growled, appearing beside you two like a damn shadow. You jumped at his sudden presence, your heart racing from the shock.

“Oh! Hey, Bakugo!” you greeted with a bright smile. “We were just—”

“Don’t care,” he interrupted, eyes fixed on Kirishima like he was seconds away from blowing him to bits. “Ain’t you got somethin’ better to do than flirt with her, Shitty Hair?”

Kirishima blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Whoa, man, we weren’t—”

“Didn’t ask,” Bakugo cut him off, stepping closer until he was practically towering over you. “You done here or what?”

You raised a brow, confused by his sudden hostility. “Uh... we were just training. Why are you acting all weird?”

“‘Weird’?!” he snapped, his hands sparking dangerously. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

You exchanged a glance with Kirishima, who just gave you an awkward smile and a shrug before muttering something about checking on Mina. You barely had time to wave goodbye before Bakugo’s hand wrapped around your wrist, dragging you toward the locker rooms.

“Hey! Bakugo, what’s your problem?!” you protested, trying to pull your arm free.

He didn’t answer until you were out of sight from the others, practically shoving you against the wall. You stared up at him, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“What the hell were you doing with him?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

You blinked, utterly confused. “Training? Same as you? What’s gotten into you?”

He growled, his palm slamming against the wall next to your head, and you flinched at the loud sound. His face was so close now, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“You’re always hangin’ off him,” he muttered. “Laughin’ and touchin’ him like it’s nothin’. Pisses me off.”

Your eyes widened. “Bakugo... are you jealous?”

His glare intensified, and his lips pulled back into a snarl. “As if! Like I’d give a shit about who you waste your time with!”

You just stared at him, and something seemed to crack in his expression. He clenched his jaw and looked away, frustration practically radiating off him. You softened, reaching up to lightly touch his arm.

“Hey,” you said gently. “If you wanted to train with me, you could’ve just asked.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, and he scoffed, but it sounded forced. “Like I’d ask for somethin’ so damn stupid.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how flustered he was, despite how hard he tried to hide it. “You’re so bad at this,” you teased.

“Bad at what?” he barked, glaring at you again.

You rolled your eyes. “Bad at admitting how you feel. You like me, don’t you?”

Bakugo went rigid, his cheeks flushing red. “Shut up,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

Your smile softened, and you tugged on his arm to make him look at you again. “You know, you could’ve just told me instead of blowing up on Kirishima. He’s your friend, you know.”

“Tch. Dumbass didn’t even notice I was gonna murder him,” Bakugo muttered.

You giggled, and to his surprise, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He froze, his face going even redder.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you whispered.

His eyes widened before his hands suddenly gripped your waist, yanking you closer until your chest was pressed against his. You gasped, and he leaned down, lips brushing against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

“You really are an idiot,” he whispered against your mouth. “Dancin’ around with other guys like that when you’re mine.”

Your face heated up. “I didn’t know I was yours,” you shot back, trying to sound confident despite how his proximity was making your heart race.

“You are now,” he growled before finally capturing your lips in a rough, possessive kiss. You melted into him, hands curling into his shirt as he practically devoured you, like he’d been holding back for far too long.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, and his forehead rested against yours. You were just as breathless, your fingers still gripping his shirt like you were afraid he might pull away.

“Bakugo...”

“Katsuki,” he corrected, his voice softer than usual. “Call me Katsuki when it’s just us.”

Your heart fluttered, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Alright... Katsuki.”

He gave a satisfied grunt, then smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re gonna stay away from that idiot, got it? Only need you lookin’ at me like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded. “Possessive much?”

He leaned down to nip at your bottom lip, making you squeak. “Damn right I am. You’re mine, and I’m not lettin’ anyone else get any ideas.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back down into another kiss. This time it was softer, more genuine, and when you pulled away, he didn’t look nearly as pissed.

“Fine,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

Katsuki didn’t bother replying, just kissed you again like he was making up for lost time.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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briefinquiries · 10 months ago

Text

Tyler Owens x Reader: I Choose You

Request: Anonymous said: "jealous tyler or jealous reader would be interesting to read 👀"

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: none!

A/N: not sure how i feel about this one but I gave it a go and wanted to make sure I posted!

Tyler tells himself that he’s over thinking… maybe even reading too much into things.

But God, he swears he isn’t imagining the way that you and the reporter he’d agreed to let tag along for the next week naturally interact with one another with such ease.

Tyler is not a jealous person– he’s confident and secure and he trusts you. Jealousy is petty and it’s stupid. And Tyler’s been trying his whole life to prove to himself and everyone around him that he’s not stupid.

Tyler has a loose shock to repair before the storm they’ve been tracking rolls in later that day. He’s currently laying on the dirt at the rest stop they’ve pulled in, with a wrench in his hand. Dani’s shining their flashlight for him, and it’s important he stays focused. And he tries… really, he does.

But Tyler looks up just as the reporter laughs at a joke you’ve made. And then, he reaches out to touch your arm for the added effect. Tyler nearly drops the wrench he’s holding on his face at the sight.

“Easy, T,” Dani says, studying him closely.

He takes a deep breath before looking back towards the truck.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Dani asks, kicking his shoulder gently with their boot.

“Nothing,” Tyler grumbles in a tone that screams there is absolutely something wrong. Thankfully Dani doesn’t push.

…

Throughout the rest of the week, Tyler tries to talk himself down whenever jealousy rears its ugly head. He keeps telling himself that he’s being irrational– you’re not flirting with the reporter everytime you walk with him into the gas stations they stop at, or offer to ride with him in the van instead of Tyler’s truck, where you normally sit. You’re just trying to be friendly… make him feel at ease.

But did he really have to look at you that way while you studied the GPS monitoring system? Or share his fucking cookies with you when everyone ate lunch in the field? And did you have to laugh so loudly at every single joke he made?

Tyler finds out on the second night he’s tagging along that Henry’s a fucking Columbia grad on top of a stupid self-proclaimed comedian. The two of you are sitting around the fire talking about graduate degrees when Henry turns towards him.

“Did you two meet at school then?” Henry asks.

Tyler smiles, but instead of warmth it’s laced with sarcasm. “Nope, I don’t have one of those fancy degrees, Henry. In fact, none of us but her do.”

Henry turns back towards you and proceeds to ask more questions about your time studying meteorology at the U of A. Meanwhile, Tyler is left to simmer in his own self pity, wondering if it bothered you that he isn’t educated like Henry.

Tyler has to spend the rest of the week fighting the urge to make it known you’re his– he’s had thoughts of keeping a permanent hand planted on your waist right in front of Henry. Maybe if he pulled you in for a kiss a little more often, and really claimed you as his, this guy would back the hell off.

But Tyler quickly shakes away the thought.

Because claiming you like an object is stupid, and Tyler is not stupid.

…

Tyler grabs you a coffee from the nearest gas station and brings it back to the motel because he’s really trying to move past all this shit. You’re sitting with Lilly and fiddling with the drone when he tries to hand it to you.

You offer him an appreciative smile that warms his entire chest. Tyler’s definitely been overreacting, because you’re looking at him with such love and admiration in your eyes.

“Thanks, but I’ve already had some today,” you say, crushing every hope inside of him in an instant. “Why don’t you give it to Dani? They take their coffee the same as I do.”

“When did you have time to get coffee?” he asks, trying to play it cool.

You reply so simply, like the words don’t slice right through his heart. “I didn’t, Henry brought me one.”

Tyler’s jaw tightens. It’s a gesture you don’t notice, because you’re too busy focusing on the drone half in your lap.

What you do seem to notice, is the way he scoffs. It makes yours and Lilly’s heads both turn.

But before you can reply, Tyler’s already walking away. He clutches the coffee firmly in his hand and without a word, drops the full cup in the trash can outside the motel.

…

Tyler has to remind himself that he’s not angry.

At least not at you.

You and him have a great relationship. He trusts you and that’s all there is to it. Whether it’s Henry or whoever else– you never gave Tyler a reason to be worried.

But Tyler doesn’t like the way seeing you with the reporter makes him feel. Because at any moment, you could leave him for someone with a more respectable career– someone with fair skin and button up polos who just looked like they had their shit together. Someone with a college degree… someone a hell of a lot smarter than him.

Seeing you with him made Tyler feel vulnerable, like he had something to lose– because he had everything to lose.

…

The crew spends another week chasing in Oklahoma. The season’s winding down, but they still managed to catch two EF0s and an EF1.

Tyler’s been avoiding you for most of the week. He’d offer the truck space to Boone and Lilly, he’d sit next to Dexter around the fire at night… hell, he would hardly even look at you.

You turned down his coffee earlier in the week. Only after the fact did you realize that you should have just taken the damn thing. You understand that rejecting him after he went out of his way to do something nice for you hurt his feelings… But you can’t understand how that turned into an entire week of the silent treatment.

On numerous instances, you try to approach him. But he always has somewhere to run off to.

“I gotta help Dani with the van’s oil change.”

“I gotta see if Boone got the footage we need.”

“I gotta give Dexter a hand with the radar.”

You’re getting sick of it.

You try to distract yourself for the rest of the week– you ask Lilly to explain more about how to work her drone, you keep on top of the radar– looking for forming storm cells, and you try to make the reporter Tyler had invited along for the week feel welcome.

Henry’s nice– he’s completely new to storm chasing and has loads of questions all the time. You find it slightly annoying that he’s so interested in Tyler… but you get it. And even though you’re a little irritated with Tyler for your week-long silent-treatment sentence, you still want him to sound as good as possible in the article, so you talk him up every chance you can.

You know that this lack of communication can’t last. And the second Henry goes back to Boston to write his piece, you plan to corner Tyler and force him into telling you what the hell you’d done wrong. But until then, you don’t want to cause a scene. So, you sit back, spend more time talking with Henry about Tyler, and try like hell not to lose your mind.

…

It’s more for his own sanity than anything. It’s like seeing you with Henry has caused this sudden realization to pop into his head… You can do better– and honestly you deserve better than him. The thought is all consuming. It makes focusing on anything else incredibly difficult.

“You gonna tell us what the hell is up?” Lilly asks one day.

Tyler’s currently standing in the bed of his truck, tinkering things that didn’t really need to be fixed just to stay busy.

“What do you mean?” he replies without looking up.

“I mean are you going to tell us why you two love birds haven’t spoken in like three days?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler notices Boone glancing his way with an expression on his face that says he was wondering the same thing.

“We’ve spoken,” Tyler says dismissively.

“Telling her you don’t have room for her in the truck doesn’t count,” Lilly retorts. “C’mon, seriously, Ty. What’s wrong?”

Tyler sets his tool down and looks down at Lilly. “Nothing is wrong.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Okay, well are you sure she knows that? Cause Dani and I saw her crying in the bathroom.”

Tyler lets out a long exhale– the thought of you upset instantly filling his insides with sorrow. But the thought that he was the one to make you upset is even worse.

“I know it’s not my business,” Lilly adds. “But I’ve been watching you give her the silent treatment all week, and that’s not going to fix anything. I know Henry’s still here and it’s been a crazy week–”

Tyler can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips at the mention of Henry’s name.

Lilly pauses before a look of understanding washes over her. “You’re pissed that she’s been hanging with Henry.” She says it as a statement instead of a question.

“I’m not–”

“I’ve known you for six years, don’t even try to deny it. You are– you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

With his lips pursed in a thin line, Tyler raises an eyebrow at her. “Maybe I am. Does that make you happy? Is that what you want to hear?”

Now it was Lilly’s turn to scoff. “Of course it doesn’t make me happy. You’re being an idiot.”

“What?”

“I said that you’re being an idiot,” Lilly says, annunciating each word insultingly.

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “I’m well aware that I’m an idiot, but thanks for reminding me.”

“I said you’re being an idiot, Tyler. Not that you are one. Now stop sulking and fucking listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s so out of the ordinary for Lilly to snap that Tyler actually does shut his mouth.

“You invite a reporter on the road with us and then you don’t give him the time of day to answer any of the questions he has. You’re short and curt and to be honest, kind of fucking rude anytime he asks you anything. Y/N is being polite– and she’s hosting the guest you invited along. So don’t fucking blame her just because you’re insecure.”

Tyler can feel the anger rising in his own chest, he wants to get defensive– to snap back at Lilly. But deep down, he knows she’s right, so he stifles any comebacks and instead hangs his head.

Lilly sighs. “You’re not an idiot, Tyler. So stop acting like one.”

…

After letting Lilly’s words really sink in, Tyler decides that she’s right. For the first time all week, he’s motivated to actually talk with you and make things right.

Or at least he is right until he sees Henry approaching you in the parking lot. He’s too far away to hear what Henry has to say. But he’s not so far away that he doesn't see the folded up piece of paper that he passes you.

In an instant, everything Lilly had said– along with all the things he’s said to convince himself he’s been overreacting flies away with the wind. Because Henry just gave you his fucking phone number.

Tyler turns– needing to get as much space from whatever exchange he just witnessed as he possibly can. In a few, long, angry strides, Tyler reaches his truck and climbs inside. In the distance, he hears Lilly call after him. But he pretends he doesn’t hear. Instead, he slams the door shut, starts the ignition and drives away.

…

“Where’s he goin’?” Boone says just as you approach him and the rest of the crew.

“Dunno. He didn’t say anything to you?” Dani asks, turning towards Lilly.

She shakes her head, eyes squinting against the bright sun.

“What the hell is his problem?” you say frustratedly, biting back tears.

Stupidly, you’d let yourself get your hopes up earlier in the day when Tyler had offered you a small smile over breakfast. You had thought that maybe things were alright, and that he was finally over whatever had been bothering him so badly.

But now you’re standing in the cloud of dust he just left behind after taking off in his truck without a word to anyone and you know that isn’t the case.

“Here I was thinking I helped last night,” Lilly says under her breath.

You snap your head in her direction. “You talked to him?”

She shrugs. “I tried to.”

“Did he say why he’s been so upset?”

Lilly hesitates. And truthfully, you understand why. Everyone here was Tyler’s friend first. You were the last to join the crew– inducted into the group just by being Tyler’s girlfriend. They have no obligation to be loyal to you over Tyler.

“Forget it,” you say defeatedly, turning away as soon as you feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “It doesn’t even matter.” With that, you make your way towards the RV, painfully aware of everyone’s eyes trained on you the entire way.

…

Tyler drives to the nearest gas station, desperate for space to clear his head.

He knows he’s being dramatic and irrational at this point, but if he stayed at that rest stop another second, he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth. He really really had to get it together. But he can’t escape the fear inside of him– the one saying that meeting Henry helped you recognize that you could do so much better than him.

And now you had his phone number, to reach out whenever that realization hit.

Why wouldn’t you be interested in Henry? He’s got a goddamn master’s degree from Columbia, he writes articles for the Globe, works out every morning before they go chasing– apparently makes hilarious jokes…

Tyler rests his forehead against the steering wheel and groans.

…

Tyler’s gone for an hour. But when he finally parks the truck back at the rest stop, he hasn’t shaken the sinking feeling inside of him.

In a preemptive attempt to avoid questions he had snagged a bunch of snacks from the nearest gas station. If you ask where he’s been, he can just say he had a hankering for potato chips and call it good.

Except, you don’t even look at him when he gets out of the truck. Boone’s got corn hole set up in the dirt. It looks like Boone and Henry versus Dani and Dexter while you watch. He only watches for a moment before bringing the bag of snacks into the RV.

Secretly, Tyler’s been simultaneously excited for and dreading the end of the week. He’s excited for Henry to leave and excited to sleep in his own bed. But he’s dreading being back in your shared house. It’ll be the first time the two of you are forced to be alone, and he knows he’ll have to find the words to describe what he’s been feeling.

But apparently Tyler’s stupid, because he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to lose you. And seeing you with Henry makes him feel like he’s about to lose you. Tyler doesn’t know how to say that to you without coming across as a total lunatic.

…

You don’t want to cause a scene at the rest stop. But the minute you see Tyler head for the RV, you’re out of your seat and beelining it towards him while the rest of the team is distracted.

As soon as you hoist open the door, you find him hunched over the fridge, grabbing a water bottle.

“What the hell?” is all you can manage to blurt out. You’re fuming and on the verge of tears. But you can’t help it– Tyler’s silent treatment has just about pushed you to the edge.

Tyler whips around at the sound of your entrance… and maybe it was a little dramatic– but you need to get your point across.

There’s a long pause while Tyler’s eyes study you.

“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all week?”

You’re met by more silence.

“This is ridiculous, Tyler. Will you just talk to me?”

Finally, Tyler scoffs, “The reporter gave you his number, right? Why don’t you talk to him? I’m sure he’d love to talk.”

In an instant, a wave of understanding washes over you. But it isn’t overshadowed by the anger you feel.

“Are you serious right now? You’re jealous of Henry?”

He shuts the fridge before cracking open his water bottle dismissively, ignoring your questions.

“Tyler, are you forgetting that you’re the one who invited him with us this week? I mean, did you think he was just supposed to sit back and observe? He’s a reporter, of course he’s going to have questions… Questions that you were way more qualified to answer, but you were too busy being a jerk all week to answer any of them. So I did it for you–”

“I never asked for you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to– I did it for you!” you cry. “I did it so that he’d write you a good story– because you deserve that.”

“Oh, how convenient. So you two just get along so well for my sake then?” he says.

You exhale sharply. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve spent the last week talking about you! I’ve been talking you up– telling him stories about what you do– how good you are at what you do– all the people you’ve helped–”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah right,” he scoffs.

You pause, anger slowly melting away at the realization that he genuinely didn’t believe anything you were saying.

“Tyler,” you say seriously. “There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Henry. I’ve been answering his questions and telling him how fucking brave and generous and smart you are–”

“Don’t patronize me,” he snaps, voice cracking just slightly. “Just forget it, it doesn’t matter.” He sets his water bottle on the counter before moving to step by you.

“Tyler stop–” you say, reaching for him. But he’s too quick. He reaches the door before you’re able to stop him.

“Will you please stop walking away from me!” you blurt out frustratedly, tears forming in your eyes. “You’ve been running from me all week– I just… I just want to talk about this. Please–”

Tyler doesn’t turn to face you, but to your relief, he stops before opening the door.

“There is nothing happening between me and Henry, Tyler. I mean, I promise you, absolutely nothing– I… I don’t know how else to convince you. But there’s nothing going on. I’m not into Henry–”

“I know,” he says quickly, eyes squeezing shut.

You let your mouth fall open, confusion washing over you. “What?”

“I know there’s nothing happening between you and Henry– I trust you and I believe you.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “So why are you so mad at me?”

Tyler pauses and bites his lip before saying, “I’m not mad at you–” he tries to explain. “I just… I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“I don’t understand why–”

You sigh. “Tyler, you’re not making any sense–”

Tyler’s face twists in anguish. “Why aren’t you into him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s everything I’m not. And I mean– Seeing you with him– it just made me realize that you can do so much better than me,” Tyler says desperately, the pain almost palpable in his voice. “He’s got the fancy degree– he’s obviously smart–”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence, because the idea of anyone ever being better than Tyler was even more ludicrous than him being jealous in the first place. “Tyler, you’re smart–”

“I didn’t go to Columbia. I didn’t even finish my first year of undergrad.”

“I don’t care about any of that– you know I don’t–”

“Why?” he blurts out harshly, finally turning to look at you. “Why do you even want me when you can have someone like him?”

Tyler didn’t think he was good enough for you– and that admission broke your fucking heart. In an instant, all the reasons you loved Tyler flow through your head. There’s so many, you can’t even keep up.

So instead, you reach into your pocket and pull out the note Henry had given you just hours earlier– the one Tyler apparently saw him give you. He watches as you unfold the piece of paper, quickly revealing that it’s not a phone number.

“It’s his mom’s cookie recipe,” you explain. “The ones you refused to try. I talked to him about how you have a sweet tooth, and I said how much you love chocolate chip cookies, so he wrote it down for me. I thought I might be able to make them for you when we got home. Because I love you– and I love doing things that will make you happy. Because that’s what you do for me– you make me happy. All the time, just by existing.”

You watch as the realization washes over him.

You sigh. “Did you ever stop and think about how I feel the same about you?”

He pauses before looking at you questioningly.

“I mean, you’re you,” you say, gesturing towards him. “People adore you, Tyler. And rightfully so– but I’m always worried you’ll find someone better. But I don’t get hung up on it, because I trust you. I trust that you mean it when you tell me you love me and you choose me. And I need you to do the same for me, Tyler. I need you to trust me. Because I love you– and I always will.”

Tyler exhales, his eyes watery.

“Can you do that?” you plead.

To your relief, after a moment, he nods.

You don’t hesitate before closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his middle. You lay your head on his chest just as his arms wind around your shoulders in an attempt to make up for all the hugs you’ve missed out on this week. Because as much as you love chasing in Oklahoma or Texas, your absolute favorite place to be is at home in his arms.

“Cookie recipe, huh?” he muses above you, chin resting on top of your heads.

You nod. “I’m a horrible baker, but I was going to give it a shot.”

Tyler tightens his grip around you. “Well horrible baker or not, I love you and I choose you.”

You let your eyes fall shut and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” you say honestly.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fic #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x reader fic #tyler owens x reader imagine #twisters imagine #twisters fanfic #twisters fic

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theseerasures · 6 months ago

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imagine becoming friends with this girl--not like, super close friends, just on friendly terms--who seems destined to become an influencer. she's not one yet but she already has a following at the school you both attend and everybody likes her because she's nice to everyone and pretty funny. one day she starts hanging out with this absolute loser buzzkill sjw and at first you're like, fine, it's a good look to shout out smaller content creators, but then they just never STOP hanging out

one day both of them leave campus to go on a day trip and clearly SOMETHING happens, because right before dinner you get an emergency alert on your phone that her loser friend is on the FBI's most wanted list for animal torture? the popular girl's not answering any of her texts, even from her hot metrosexual boyfriend that she has, and no one hears anything until the next day when she goes Live and announces that she got a really big sponsorship from THE PRESIDENT, no followup on that thing where her bff apparently was a terrorist this whole time

the next few years are really scary because the terrorist keeps evading capture and like, commiting so many atrocities and the details always end up getting leaked. you're terrified in particular because duh, you went to school with that psychopath and apparently she was doing all these terrible things and turning into some freaky three eyed snake when you weren't paying attention. the one spot of joy for everybody's doomscrolling is the popular girl. she does an adread for the government at the start of all her stuff, but the content itself is just like. hauls and GRWMs and makeup tutorials with the occasional day in the life sprinkled in, which is always nice to consume after another horrific news cycle.

she gets engaged to the hot metrosexual boyfriend from school eventually and does an Engagement Reveal bc of course she does, and it's...really weird?? hot metrosexual fiance leaves abruptly halfway through and then the whole thing turns into like. this bizarre apology video, with crying and everything, only she doesn't give specifics or context AT ALL before it's over and she goes back to doing a mukbang with some of her fans and your old principal, who probably got her that government sponsorship. apparently some crazy shit happens to the country after that but you weren't really following it bc you were too busy talking with your friends about what the FUCK was up with that engagement annoucement. you all go back through her history to figure out what problematic thing she might have done but you can't find anything, other than being friendly with the terrorist chick when you were all in school. obviously she couldn't have known about the terrorism back then, so it might just be drama farming. she's a pretty bad actor

except she doesn't post again for a few days, which is worrying since she's ALWAYS followed a super strict upload schedule, but the country is pretty much on fire at that point, so. when she next posts you're pretty excited, because maybe you'll get an explanation for some/any of this, or preferably a sequel drama video

instead she tells you that the terrorist chick is dead, the president is. resigning? leaving? also dead? and he never sponsored any other influencers, which means she's president now, and after she throws your old principal in jail she's gonna teach everybody how to be nice

#wicked

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andypantsx3 · 2 years ago

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MR. TOKYO BEAT HOTTEST HERO : SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you. CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, established relationship, afab reader (no pronouns used), shouto's general obliviousness, todoroki shouto is a little shit, fluff, aged-up characters, smut, nipple play, vaginal sex, emotional sex, 18+ minors please dni! (3.8k)

Pro Hero Shouto Voted Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero of the Year

It’s been almost six years since Todoroki Shouto swept onto the scene as pro hero Shouto, melting almost as many villains as he has hearts. Currently standing at number four in the hero rankings, he’s armed with a formidable ice-and-fire combination quirk nearly as devastating as his smile.

Shouto’s heartthrob status has created such a sensation that he’s papered the pages of our magazine hundreds of times since his UA days. Now he’s taking home the coveted Hottest Hero crown… [read more]

It was a frosty night in early December when Shouto returned from patrol, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

To an outside observer, his expression probably looked as bland as ever. But years into your relationship, you knew how to read your boyfriend’s microexpressions—the tiniest furrowing of his brows, the softest downward hitch of that perfect, plush mouth. He looked troubled—more troubled than you’d seen him in a while.

You turned off the heat on the stove, abandoning the dinner you’d been preparing, and rushed over to him as he shed his boots at the door. He’d apparently already changed out of his hero uniform at the agency, dressed instead in the high-collared gray coat that always made him look like he’d wandered out of the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He shrugged his coat off in tandem with his backpack, the tiny frown still carving his lips.

“Shouto—what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, immediately taking his face in your hands.

Shouto blinked down at you, twin points of blue and silver fixing on your face. To your satisfaction, his expression seemed to soften, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth instead, and he murmured your name in greeting, his tone low and soft.

“Did something bad happen on patrol?” you asked. “You look troubled.”

Two warm, big hands came up to encompass your own, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of your fingers. You let him pull your hands away from his face to hold in his own, and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of one, his mouth sweet and hot on your skin.

You flushed. Despite the years you’d been together, you had never been able to establish any sort of immunity to Shouto. If anything, the crush you’d had on him before you’d gotten together had only grown more out of control the longer you were exposed to him—-you still got butterflies whenever he looked at you with a fraction more intensity than normal.

“Hello, love,” he said, his mouth lingering over your skin.

Your stomach swooped, and your face got hot. Damn him.

“Hi Sho,” you backtracked. “I’m happy you’re home. But seriously, did something happen?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around yours, and a little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Not on patrol. Something else… unexpected happened.”

You watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

His eyes roved over you, as if searching for the appropriate words on your face, until he seemed to find the right question. “Am I… do people consider me handsome?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before an incredulous laugh burst out of you.

The most beautiful man on earth, the internet’s steadfast boyfriend—the literal stuff of wet dreams, lurid fantasies, and thousands of covert sessions with a vibrator—was asking if he was considered handsome.

You knew Shouto had never been interested in his own beauty, blinking at compliments as if unsure how to receive them, generally oblivious to anyone hitting on him as though he thought people were that friendly to everyone, never spending any significant time in front of the mirror unless it was to stare at you next to him in the reflection, undoing your hair or washing your face or brushing your teeth.

But to be so unaware of his own looks that he was asking you?

“Shouto, you know you’re handsome,” you said. “I tell you all the time.”

The wrinkle between Shouto’s brows deepened. “You think so because you love me. But—I meant… do other people who do not love me think so?”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, floored by this line of questioning. “Shouto—every single person on earth thinks you are like the hottest man alive. Are you for real?”

Shouto blinked, those gray and blue eyes growing a fraction wider. “They do?”

You nodded, surprise coloring your tone. “Yeah—you didn’t know? Sero calls you ‘pretty boy’ to tease you like all the time. You get hit on every time you leave the house. You have twitter accounts dedicated to you.”

A tiny pout crept onto Shouto’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. “I thought he said it as a joke. And I thought those accounts were fans of my work. And I thought… you only thought so because you love me.”

You laughed. Shouto’s good looks were as serious as a heart attack. So serious they might just induce one, in fact. And you did love him, and would love him no matter what he looked like—his inside was just as beautiful as his outside, and would always make him attractive to you. He was so kind, so thoughtful, and so inherently bone-deep good in so many ways that made your heart swell just looking at him.

Truly he was love-you-even-if-you-were-a-worm material. But this was no laughing matter.

“What’s brought this question on now?” you asked.

Shouto blinked again, looking slightly startled, then turned to his backpack. He produced a glossy magazine with a sticky note stuck to it, covered in his manager’s handwriting that read: check out page 43 >:). Just over the sticky note, two very familiar heterochromatic eyes peered out intensely from the magazine’s cover.

You peeled away the note to see your boyfriend’s face in full—his expression handsome and solemn. The shot must have been taken sometime post-rescue as he had smudges of ash all along his high cheekbones, and his hair was windswept, and a little piecey, like he’d just finished using phosphor. A headline next to his ear proclaimed, Todoroki Shouto: Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero Alive!

You looked back up at Shouto to find both of his ears red, though his expression was determinedly blank-faced. A grin yanked at your mouth.

“Well someone who works there has eyeballs,” you said, laughing. “Congratulations, Shouto!”

The scarlet at the tips of Shouto’s ears deepened. “I do not… I did not expect…”

Your smile grew larger, fondness blooming in your chest. He was so good you wanted to bite him. Of course he never expected anything like this—his concerns were tied to his heroics—had he saved enough people, was he living up to the hero he wanted to be? Even when he’d finally broken the top five earlier last month, he was only pleased to be so recognized because he wanted many people to be reassured by him, not out of any sense of competitiveness with his fellow heroes.

He would never think of anything like this—he was so fucking good.

“I always thought—my scar,” Shouto said, touching his face.

Your heart squeezed and you wormed your fingers under his, placing your hand over the scar in question.

“Your scar is a part of your face and a part of your identity. But to be real with you, it only makes you look more interesting, Sho.” Your own ears heated. “To be completely honest it’s—well it’s one thing that makes you look human. You kind of look, um, unnaturally handsome otherwise, like some kind of vampire or angel or something. When I say things like you’re too handsome to be allowed I actually mean it, you know.”

Shouto paused, those heterochromatic eyes flickering back down to yours. A scarlet eyebrow quirked slightly. “Then you also think that I am handsome,” he said, though it was phrased more like a revelation to him than a question.

“Did you think I was lying?” you asked hotly.

Shouto shook his head minutely. “No—but I did not realize. You found me handsome before you loved me?”

You laughed. “I had eyeballs before I loved you, so yeah. And I wouldn’t be so effusive all the time if I didn’t mean it. You think when I tell you stuff like that that I’m just playing it up?”

Shouto’s expression went suddenly blank, like a marker board suddenly erased of nefarious plans. Instantly, your hackles raised, the smile falling off your mouth, your senses suddenly screaming danger. Shouto might be the most trustworthy, reassuring, and beautiful pro hero of all time, but beneath the surface lurked a youngest child and a major little shit. His expression only ever changed like this when he was about to get up to something.

“Then you think I am so handsome you cannot think,” Shouto said.

The magazine suddenly crackled in your fingers as you clutched it between you. “What.”

Shouto moved a step closer, gaze sharpening. “When you said I was so handsome you cannot think. You meant it.”

A sound like a nervous cow escaped you as you backed up a few steps. “Did I say that?”

A tiny smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth again, a cross between something sincerely pleased and sincerely shit-eating.

“When you said I am so handsome that sometimes your brain goes static,” he said, his tone dropping low, prowling closer. “You meant it.”

You flushed hot. Hearing your words repeated back to you like that was so embarrassing.

You flailed when your back hit the wall, and Shouto stretched out an arm, blocking you in. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his bicep for a split second, admiring the way it flexed slightly under the sleeve of his shirt as he pressed his hand to the wall, the way the kitchen light shadowed it lovingly.

Shouto’s ears were even redder when you looked back at him, but his gaze was hungrier. He’d definitely noticed your inspection, and his newfound realization about your level of appreciation was clearly both pleasing but embarrassing.

“You said your brain does not work right when I am close,” Shouto said, his face looming near. “Am I doing it right?”

He was doing it right—terribly, horribly, awfully right. Your breath caught in your lungs, lights in your brain winking out one by one as that soft, perfect mouth hovered just over yours. Shouto was so warm this close, and you could feel all the fibers in your body straining towards him like plants unfurling under the sun.

You rallied yourself one last time, throwing your hands up, defeated. “I live with a literal Greek sculpture of a boyfriend, am I not supposed to admire the artwork?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, you saw the smile on his lips widen a fraction, just before his mouth captured yours.

In the space of a heartbeat he’d pressed himself against you, trapping you against the wall just as your knees went to pudding. You could feel every part of him against you and you couldn’t think, all your thoughts slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water. Shouto’s hands came up to support your waist, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you so sweetly and so very thoroughly.

“Is this it, love?” he asked when he pulled back, something both smug and wondering in his tone. “Am I doing it right?”

You scraped the bottom of your mind for any fragments of human language with which to respond. “You always do it right, you little shit.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked in a smile again, and he leaned in to press it to the side of your throat, lips moving softly. You shivered in his hands and felt the way his smile widened on your skin.

You could practically feel delight pouring off of him, this discovery of his new power—a power he’d always had but never understood in full.

It figured Shouto’s beauty would only interest him insofar as he could deploy it against you.

But that was Shouto. Everything he had was something he used in service to others.

Shouto’s mouth mapped a hot trail down your throat, and you clung to his shoulders as his lips dipped under the collar of your shirt and sucked, softly but insistently. One of his hands left its place at your hip to slide up your stomach and beneath the fabric of your shirt, cupping the side of your breast.

He wasn’t touching anything, but the feeling of his hand, warm and strong and so very large that it spanned over your chest and ribcage, sucked all the oxygen right out of the air. You bit back a noise as Shouto left another mark beneath your collar, his long eyelashes fluttering against the skin of your throat as he let out his own soft groan.

“I thought you were beautiful, too, before I loved you,” Shouto said as his fingers traced the outline of your bra, just barely skimming the skin underneath.

Your ears went hot, the way they always did when Shouto got sincere in place of dirty talk. It was even hotter than the filthiest thing he could have said to you, because you knew he meant every single word of it.

“But now I love you, you are even more beautiful to me,” he said. “Is it the same for you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but cut off on a moan as Shouto’s fingers finally found their way beneath your bra, his thumb swiping over your nipple. Your head thunked back against the wall when he did it again, pinching gently as his other hand covered your other breast, mirroring the action.

Heat streaked through your veins, pooling in your core. You bit your lip as Shouto played with you, feeling those heterochromatic eyes hot on your face.

“Answer me, love,” he commanded gently.

You peeked open an eye, realizing you’d squeezed them shut, shuddering as Shouto’s thumbs swiped over your nipples again, the touch perfect and maddening. Shouto was watching you intently, as he always did, but there was an extra dimension of interest, as if he truly did not know, truly wanted to know what you would say.

“Yes,” you told him, your tone hitching higher as he gently rolled your nipples in his long, pretty fingers. “Yes I—oh!—only find you more incredibly handsome every day—ah! Shouto!”

Shouto looked pleased, leaning forward to layer a kiss over your mouth as he played with your nipples. You squirmed under his hands, panting into his mouth, the touches already overwhelming. After years together, he knew exactly how to work you.

A strong thigh slid in between your own as Shouto pressed himself closer to you. You kissed him fiercely, huffing tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth, grinding against his thigh.

“Fuck, love,” Shouto groaned as he grew hard against your hip. You felt like you were floating, thoughts distant, the only present idea the feeling of Shouto’s strong body over yours. He was all over you but you wanted more, wanted to climb inside him and make your home there, wanted him to press inside of you and fill you and claim you and keep you—

“Shouto, bed—please, please—” you managed, before Shouto was hefting you in his arms obligingly.

He dumped you on the bed with a little less finesse than usual, following you down hungrily, weighing you into the sheets.

He made short work of your clothes, and you were bare to him in what felt like seconds. Shouto’s mouth immediately sought your breast again, closing over your nipple as his fingers dipped inside of you. You writhed with the heat of him over you, the heat of his mouth on you, the gentle press of him inside of you.

His thumb brushed over your clit as his tongue did something mind-bending over your nipple, and a moan escaped you, high and shivery. Shouto’s huff across the skin of your chest told you that it had pleased him, and he sucked a little more firmly, a little more insistently.

“Shouto, Shouto, Shouto—” you babbled mindlessly, hands sliding all over him. You wanted to touch him but you couldn’t reach him in return, so you settled for sliding your fingers into his hair, clinging as he made stars fizzle under your skin.

“Shouto—I’m going to come—you have to stop if you want to—ah!” you squeaked, as Shouto rubbed you more purposefully, moving over your clit in the way he knew you liked. His fingers moved inside you unrelentingly as he licked and sucked you slowly, the contrast between his mouth and his fingers too much for you.

Your pleasure rolled over you like a wave, rushing through your veins, pooling in all your limbs. You seized up under Shouto, but his weight held you down, his mouth and fingers working you through it.

You were still whining with sensitivity when he worked his own clothes off and slid into you, filling you up with the familiar shape of him. Your whine trailed into another moan, the feeling of him so utterly perfect inside of you.

“I don’t need anyone to think I am handsome but you, love,” Shouto said, canting his hips up so that he slid in and out of you. “All I want is you.”

You shifted, wrapping your legs around his back, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I know—Shouto, you’re beautiful inside and out. I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kindness, your goodness,” you paused as he filled you again, grinning up at him. “Your di—”

A powerful thrust had you choking off into a squeak, and you clutched his bicep as Shouto smiled down at you, his own grin charming and mischievous. You thought he was especially handsome just like this—panting, flushed, grinning, glorious—the way no one else got to see him but you. Mr. Tokyo Beat Hottest Hero he may be, but people still would never know how truly beautiful he could be, grinning down over you.

That was all yours.

Shouto wormed an arm between your back and the mattress, catching your waist and pulling you into him. The new angle had him brushing against your clit as he slipped in and out of you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when you caught sight of where you were joined together, Shouto’s abs flexing tightly as he moved back and forth within you.

Sounds of pleasure slipped out of you, and Shouto caught them in his mouth. You kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer. You reveled in the feeling of his hot skin on yours, shivering in delight with the contrast of his heat and the cool room around you.

Shouto’s hips worked into you, chasing both of your pleasure, his strokes fluid and sure. Those long fingers slid down your body again to press ever-so-slightly over your clit, and you bucked into his hand, delirious with the feeling of him pressing against you from both the inside and out. With the heavy weight of him over you it was like he was all around you, all over you, in your mouth, in your sex, overwhelming you.

You writhed against him, babbling a string of nonsense when he let your mouth free. Praise about how beautiful he was, about how good he was, about how good he felt, about how much you loved him.

Shouto breathed his own praise into your ear, his mouth closing around the lobe. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how even if everyone liked the way he looked it was “all for you, love—everything is for you.”

His fingers slid in soft circles around your clit as he ground into you, kissing his way up your throat. You panted into the dim of your bedroom, little stars sparking in the corner of your vision. It felt like someone had lit a sparkler beneath your skin, a thousand tiny points of fizzing, burning friction, and Shouto was touching every single one of them.

“Cum for me, love,” Shouto commanded, his tone soft and low, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, nearly there. His fingers kept toying with you, expert and unrelenting, and in another few seconds the wave of your pleasure was mounting again. It swept over you like a tidal wave, smashing through you, sweeping through every limb, every nerve ending.

You cried out Shouto’s name, clenching around him, and then he was abandoning your clit to pull you up into him, grinding hard. His pace grew faster, more frantic, and he panted into your throat, until he was following you off the edge, pouring himself into you, filling you up from the inside.

You shivered and shook against him until finally the wave of your pleasure crested. Shouto relaxed over you as your limbs went slack too. He pressed a kiss to your mouth, slow and languid.

“Definitely Tokyo’s hottest hero,” you said muzzily, your words a little slurred. “The world’s hottest hero, even.”

Shouto huffed a tiny laugh. “I only need to be your hottest hero,” he told you, his heterochromatic eyes pinning you earnestly.

You smiled up at him, running a hand absently through his scarlet and white mop of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers.

“You always have been. Before I loved you, but especially now that I love you this much,” you told him.

Shouto smiled, then, a pleased, half-moon grin, so beautiful and so clever that it knocked the wind right back out of you again. You leaned up to kiss him again, soaking in his private beauty, pleased that you out of everyone got to have him like this. And you would make him feel it again—you wanted to show him again how much he meant to you.

He was Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero—but he was your most beautiful, beloved, cherished hero. And that was a thousand times better. So you’d show him a thousand times over.

You rolled over him, delighting in the slight widening of those beautiful eyes, the tiniest quirk of interest on that perfect mouth.

You’d show him—starting right now.

#shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto smut

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sc0tters · 5 months ago

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A Helping Hand | Jack Hughes & Trevor Zegras

summary: when the boys learn that you've never finished, it's only right that they change that for you.

request: yes/no

warnings: sexual themes, threesome, oral (f & m receiving!), unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of drinking.

word count: 7.02k

authors note: is it really a trevor and jack threesome from me, without @sweetestdesire's help? no, no it is not... all jokes aside though this may be the dirtiest piece that I have ever written? like i embraced my inner slut, whore and everything inbetween while writing this so I do hope that you enjoy it! I know I did so we may end up with the first series of the year with this one!

Nobody truly remembered how you all got there.

Sat around the camp fire with a blanket thrown over your legs and a beer in your hand.

It was these little moments at the lake house that you adored so much. Luke was in the chair next to you, allowing you to send him the occasional whisper after the boys did something stupid.

Tonight was one of those nights as Cole managed to convince the group to play never have I ever, after Quinn’s suggestion of truth or dare was quickly shot down by Jack reminder of how he had to go skinny dipping in the lake. When the boys stole his clothes and locked him outside, it was the first and last time truth or dare made an appearance at the lake house.

You sighed thinking to yourself of a question“never have I ever done the walk of shame.” It was a good one to get most of the guys to drop a finger as Luke had told you about many of their escapades throughout their careers.

A while left Trevor’s lips “that one isn’t fair!” He grumbled dropping another finger leaving him with only two up.

Alex looked at the group of girls that had joined you guys as he had found one he wanted to make a move on “never have I ever faked an orgasm.” The boy swore he was going to do a dance of happiness when he saw the blonde one he had been talking to, keep her finger up whilst the first around her thought about their answers.

Your finger went down hoping that someone else would have a much more interesting story to share than you “are you seriously telling me that your little football player boyfriend was shit in bed?” Trevor asked as he let out a laugh seeing your cheeks turn a shade of red.

Jack turned to you, matching his friend’s curious expression “who is to say it was even with him?” It was something he had never even wondered about before, but now everyone’s eyes were on you as most of the people around that fire knew of your entire love life “she does not need to answer if she doesn’t want to.” Quinn sent you a friendly smile, Luke nodded in agreement with this being something that he didn’t even know about.

You let out a sigh of relief “yeah why don’t we move on?” There was a pleading sense in your voice that made everyone accept your request.

Well almost everyone, as the night went on and people went home or to bed. You were left with Trevor, Jack and Luke “you want another beer?” Luke asked as he got up with his empty beer bottle “please.” You nodded, the older two boys giving the same response.

This was the first opportunity that they got to truthfully ask the question that plagued their minds all night “so was it Jake?” Trevor blurted out as he turned his attention to you “what about the theatre kid before him?” Jack truthfully never liked that one, thankfully he only lasted one summer.

You toyed with your bracelet “if I tell you do you promise to keep it to yourselves?” If it got out you knew half of the people there would never look at you the same.

Hell you weren’t even sure if Trevor and Jack would see you the same way again “we will not tell a soul.” They both nodded at the same time, practically sat on the edges of their seats.

You let out a sigh, rubbing your lips together “it was all of them.” Those words made them freeze “you faked it with every single guy you’ve been with?” Jack let out a shocked laugh when you nodded.

Trevor felt confused “I didn’t realise you were with such shit guys.” Some of the guys had notable reputations too “it wasn’t their faults-” you tried to give them some grace within the situation.

But Jack was having none of it “if you have to fake it then it is on him.” Of course that’s what he’d say, the man prided himself on how good he was in bed after all. You had been privy to hearing the mutters through the wall when you stayed over to see Luke.

The Ducks player nodded in agreement “we won’t tell them if you think they were shit.” He added wanting so desperately to hear more of this “it’s me okay!” Your words suddenly made them both go quiet.

Their eyes went wide “I can’t cum so when I have sex I have to fake it.” Your voice was quieter as you didn’t know where Luke was “and before you ask yes I know my body is clearly broken-” you were cut off by the sound of the sliding door opening from the house.

Luke walked out with the four beers in his hands “what is broken?” The three of you looked like kids caught with your hands in the cookie jar in that very moment “oh just the door of my closet in the apartment.” You quickly recovered, it wasn’t a lie. In fact, it was actually something you needed to fix.

He stared at you for a moment before he nodded “wait until I visit and I can help you.” Luke offered making you nod “sounds like a plan.” You sent him a smile, ignoring the conversation that you had just had with the boys.

It seemed that even if you were able to sleep soundly amongst all of Luke’s snoring, Jack and Trevor were plagued with thoughts. Neither one could fall asleep as they sat there thinking about what you had said.

How was it that a girl like you could have a problem that seemed so unbreakable?

“Just so we’re both on the same page, she clearly has a shit taste in guys right?” Trevor blurted out as he stared at the ceiling “I mean it has to be that right?” He added not even sure if Jack was listening.

Jack let out a harsh sigh “but how is she going got accept that?” He rolled over knowing that he shared the same thoughts “well I mean there is one way we could do it.” Trevor trailed off figuring, that it was the should have been obvious.

The Hughes boy let out a laugh “yeah like she’s ever gonna go for that.” He shook his head rolling over to look out the window as he tried to force himself to go to sleep.

A party echoed out in the yard, music blared through the speakers as you made your way upstairs “I’m telling you that she’s not going to go for it.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose as he chugged back the remainder of his beer “why not?” Trevor whined crossing his arms.

He took in a large amount of air in when he sighed “it’s not like she exactly has any other better options than sticking to never coming.” Those words made you freeze in front of their door. Why were they talking about you, and what was their potential option to help you?

Your cheeks grew warm when your mind began to travel “because you think little miss perfect is gonna fuck the two of us to prove that she just has a shit taste in boys?” Those words made you scoff, it was a response that was a little louder than you had hoped when the boys went quiet “shit.” Jack was quick to open the door.

Both of them were visibly relieved to see it was just you “care to join us?” Jack smirked at the sight of the irritated expression on your face “I am not little Miss Perfect.” You announced sticking your finger in his face.

It was the response he wanted, knowing you had taken the bait “so why don’t you give us a chance then?” Trevor spoke up from behind the younger boy who nodded in agreement.

Your fists clenched into balls “over my dead body.” You were embarrassed as you stormed off in the direction of your room “on a scale of one to ten how badly do you think we fucked up?” Trevor asked hearing the door slam behind you.

Jack sucked at his teeth “I would lean closer to ten.” He nodded thinking about what would happen if Luke were to find out about what was said.

The night had grown dark as you tried to push the boys comments back to the bottom of your mind. It was something that so negatively failed, especially when you began to picture those two.

You had ended up in the bathroom having a shower trying to calm yourself down at first “fuck!” You grumbled letting your fingers thrust into your cunt as the steam stuck to your skin.

Your body had started to shrivel like a prune due to how long you had been in there. Your body was hot as the image of Jack and Trevor lingered on your mind, picturing how they’d kiss you and morph your body in the ways they wanted to use you. You weren’t an idiot, if they were talking about you then it was clearly a competition in their minds.

The peaks of your nipples throbbed as this clearly wasn’t working. Defeat wasn’t something that you accept gracefully, and that’s why you muttered to yourself as you grabbed one of Luke’s shirts and threw it on. Bringing your panties up your legs as you sent Luke one last look, as if you were checking that he was indeed asleep.

You had to try to be quiet as you knew that everyone else was in there room, and with the minimal amounts of chatter that came from Quinn’s room when he spoke to his girlfriend on the phone. It was the timezones that caused him to be awake, but you knew you couldn’t be certain about the other rooms “shit.” You grumbled landing at Trevor and Jacks door to see that there room was empty. Their beds were made with their sandals missing, which only meant that they were downstairs.

It was a lightbulb moment as you practically raced down using the banister as support. Chatter could be heard from outside and that’s where they were “pass me the blunt.” Jack’s voice was soft, muffled by the glass.

Your feet brought you up to the door as you sighed knowing that beyond this moment if you wanted to turn back, you wouldn’t be able to “do my eyes deceive me or is little Miss Perfect stood in front of me?” Trevor teased, using the nickname that Jack had as his eyes drank in the sight of you.

Jack could sense you were nervous “why don’t you come take a hit?” He offered holding the blunt in your direction “don’t know how.” You shook your head, making him smirk.

Of course, weed was something you hadn’t dabbled in, how were they not surprised “I’ll teach ya.” Jack patted his thigh as he spread his legs open for you to sit there.

He held the joint between his ring and pointer fingers when you sat down “just suck the air in but don’t inhale it.” The middle Hughes boy knew that you weren’t exactly some chain smoker so he had to help you.

You nodded as you followed his instructions when he brought the blunt to your lips. Both boys watched on when Jack let his hand travel up the inside of her thigh “there we go.” He cooed until you let out a cough.

It made them softly laugh when you shook your head “never doing that again.” You announced assuming that it would have done something to calm the nerves that ran through your veins.

Jack brought the blunt to his lips “what brought you down here?” He asked looking at his watch, you were usually fast asleep “I couldn’t sleep.” You confessed wanting sigh when you felt the breeze brush past you.

Trevor smiled at your words “anything particular that brought the late shower on?” It was clear that your hair was still wet as it drenched the back of the shirt that you made into a dress “do you think you guys can really fix me?” The words made the two boys freeze.

It wasn’t something that they thought you would come around to “because if I have to spend another fucking unsatisfactory night with fingers between my thighs I’m going to shoot someone.” Jack let out a soft laugh hearing your confession.

He smiled bringing his lips to your cheek to kiss “you gonna be a good girl for us?” He quizzed you, circling his thumb on the inside of your thigh “let us break you?” He added which made you whimper in response.

Trevor almost felt jealous at how far away he was from you “why don’t we move this inside?” His proposal made your head snap in his direction. You seemed to sense where the boy came from “c’mon pretty girl.” Jack patted your thigh signalling to you to get up.

Jack had never been more grateful for the fact that he picked a room downstairs, which you at the moment seemed to so happily run into “c’mere.” Trevor shut the door behind him.

He brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. A grin plastered on his face as your head tilted in his direction so that he could kiss you. There present taste of beer mixed with the weed on his tongue that he dragged over your lower lip. A moan escaped your lips as Jack placed his hands on your hips “didn’t forget about you too.” you confessed, turning your head so that you could kiss him too.

It was rougher when Trevor turned his attention to your neck. His kisses were hungry as he sucked at the skin “n-no marks.” You gasped not wanting to worry about covering more than your bikinis already did.

Jack finally took a step back as he looked at you “why don’t you show us how you normally try to get off?” Jack’s fingers danced over the hem of Luke’s shirt that hung over your knee.

Trevor nodded in agreement “doll, it ain’t like we don’t see those pathetic bikinis you wear.” His words were sharp, making you listen as you took a step back, “like you want us to know what is under ‘em.” He added, allowing his eyes to burn your skin.

The boys watched in awe as your fingers gripped at the ends of the shirt, you took in a deep breath in like it was meant to give you some newfound confidence. The room grew warmed as you pulled the white t-shirt off of your body, letting it fall onto the floor when you now stood in just a white thong. They both stood in silence, causing you to bite at your lip with your confidence immediately wavering.

You were quick to reach down wanting to grab the shirt, assuming that the boys thought this was a mistake or that you weren’t as pretty as they thought you’d be “let us get a good look at ya.” Trevor’s hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you from leaning over any further.

A whistle left his lips when you stood up straight “never thought these tits could ever have looked better than when they were in those bikinis.” His voice was a low growl, letting his fingers cup at your breasts before he gave them a squeeze.

The feeling made a moan get caught in your throat “god imagine what she’s hiding under those panties?” Trevor turned to Jack, not letting his hands move from your boobs that his thumbs began to massage.

Possibilities felt endless “you wanna let us see?” Jack asked making you nod. Trevor kissed at your neck whilst you locked your fingers into the sides of your panties.

The fabric brushed against your skin when Trevor looked down to see your bare mound “don’t know how any of those boyfriends of yours used to let you leave them.” He sighed pressing a kiss against your cheek.

Jack nodded in agreement “if we had a say you’d always be around ready for us.” Those words made you squirm and force your thighs together.

Neither one of them were an idiot, easily sensing the effect they had on you “can you sit on the bed for me sweet girl?” Jack cooed tilting your jaw up to him so that he could kiss you.

That kiss helped settle some of your nerves as you nodded. You sat on the edge of Jacks bed “higher.” Trevor motioned to you to move higher up the bed.

You drove your hips up until you got sat in the middle of his bed “now why don’t you show us how you get off?” After all that was the entire reason that you were there so it made sense they watched you first.

When you lay down on the bed the boys looked at you like you were the sight for sore eyes “c’mon you can show us.” Trevor’s voice oozed this sense of cockiness as he motioned to you to start, brushing those waves of uncertainty aside.

Your heels pushed up to your ass as you spread your lefs open, seeing the boys stare back at you “need to make it wet.” You whimpered feeling Jack kneel into the bed.

He took two of his fingers to spread your folds open, saliva pooled in his mouth before he let his spit fall onto your cunt. It ran down your clit making you squirm “that enough?” Jack asked standing back up straight as you nodded.

You brought your fingers down your stomach and to your slit. The two fingers rubbed over your sensitive nub making the boy’s pants grow tight, your fingers travelled to your cunt as you let them thrust into the hole. The pace you used seemed to be a happy medium using Jack’s spit as some kind of lube that let your fingers create a squelching sound.

Jack felt his throat grow tight “you think that you add another finger?” He could see how your eyes stuck on his now-formed boner “you want some encouragement?” The boy smirked when you nodded.

Neither one hesitated to drop their pants as they pulled their cocks out of their boxers “can’t fit.” You shook your head watching as your mouth watered seeing them palm their members.

Trevor sucked at his teeth “know you can do it.” He encouraged but still that didn’t seem to be enough.

Your free hand went up to cup your boob, going tease your nipple that had been throbbing since it felt the cool air of Jack’s room “need help.” You pleaded, only ever having two fingers in your hole. Even the guys you dated seemed to stop at two, thinking that it was the perfect number.

Jack took his precum over the head of his cock as he rubbed it down his length “why don’t you pick who.” If he had it his way he wouldn’t have even given Trevor a chance to get you first.

When your eyes didn’t leave the Devils players it seemed your answer was written on the walls “no hard feels right?” He smirked tucking his cock back into boxers before he joined you on the bed.

You sat up letting your back rest against his headboard “gonna relax f’me okay?” Jack asked watching you pull your own fingers from your cunt “okay.” You nodded letting your eyes shut when his thumb circled your clit.

In the beginning he opted to start easy, with two fingers it was only slightly bigger than what you could fit in yourself “shit.” You whimpered letting your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

His fingers grazed the spongey area of your cunt “uh huh baby want to hear you.” Jack kissed at your neck wanting to hear you scream “feels good.” You confessed making him nod.

Jack pressed these opened-mouthed kisses on your jaw as he felt you clench around him “you see how hard you make him?” The Hughes boy turned his eyes to Trevor who palmed his cock at an even quicker pace “feel how hard you make me?” Jack brought your hand with his free one over his boxers.

You took the time to feel his hard appendage and with that, Jack slid a third finger into your cunt “fuck!” Your toes curled at the new sensation.

Jack lowered his head to your boob letting his lips wrap around your nipple “right there.” Your head rested against the cool wood behind you.

His fingers felt every inch of you, the way your cunt clenched around his digits that attacked your needy hole “think you should get her clit Z.” Jack’s words made you whimper as you saw the boy’s swollen red tip look desperate for more of your attention “such a pretty girl ain’t she?” Trevor nodded, joining you on the other side of the bed.

But he didn’t take the liberty of tucking himself away as he let his fingers tap on your lower lip “and a good listener too huh?” He teased watching your mouth suck at his fingers.

He was forced to pull them out, not wanting to get too carried away “don’t stop.” There was a feeling you had never felt as Jack curled his fingers in this come hither motion. Trevor added to it letting his fingers drop down between Jacks hand and your clit. His calloused fingers were rough “fuck!” You called out watching Trevor drop his face to your chest.

The boy clicked his tongue “look at this poor fucking tit all ignored.” He sighed not giving you a chance to respond as he too wrapped his lips around your other nipple.

Looking down it was a sight of dreams as each boy sucked at your nipples, working in tandem on your clit and your cunt “I feel funny.” You confessed making them both look at each other.

It was encouragement for them to increase the pace of their fingers as Trevor rubbed your clit faster and Jack increased the pace of his thrusts “I think I’m gonna.” You trailed off with wide eyes as your body began to shake not sure if the pleasure was coming from your nipples, clit or cunt, or even a mixture of all three.

Jack made a muffled grunt against your nipple that sent you over the edge, your face scrunched your face up letting your head jolt. Your cunt clenched around Jacks fingers as your body didn’t stop squirming. The boys didn’t stop there though as they brought you through your orgasm.

The Hughes boy let his fingers begin to slow as your release didn’t seem to grow any sloppier around his digits “shit baby.” Jack let your nipple drop from his mouth with a pop. Your chest heaved as you nodded enough.” You whimpered feeling them retract their fingers away from you as Trevor finally let your other breast go.

Trevor and Jack looked at the sight that you were in front of them “why don’t you taste yourself.” Jack offered his fingers bringing them into your mouth “so you can remember your first orgasm.” He added as Trevor had a devilish look in his eyes.

You went to turned your attention to the other boy whilst still sucking on Jacks fingers “I want a proper taste.” Trevor announced settling in between your legs.

Your body was still sensitive and Jack was able to pick upon that “hey pretty girl.” His voice was soft, his fingers gripped at your jaw turning your head in his direction.

His eyes caught yours “don’t worry about him right now?” Jack reassured you as Trevor kissed at your thigh “you want to still feel so good right?” Trevor asked wrapping his arm around your thigh when he blew against your cunt.

The sensation made you squirm “please.” You nodded switching your gaze between both boys “a guy ever eaten this pretty cunt before?” Trevor ran his finger down your slit when he pressed a kiss against your other thigh.

Jack focused his lips against the hollow of your collarbone “none.” But that wasn’t to say that you never wanted it, the guys you were with just wanted it to be you who went down on them “can’t believe you fucking thought you were the problem.” Jack clicked his tongue watching your eyes stick on Trevor.

The boy mindlessly stared at your cunt, like he had never seen something so glorious “kiss?” You pleaded looking at Jack who couldn’t help but nod at you.

His fingers gripped at your jaw as he started kissing you slowly at first. Trevor felt his cock throb watching the scene unfold in front of him. Jacks tongue ended up in your mouth and the Ducks player decided he couldn’t be the only one not having any fun.

Trevor wrapped his other arm around your bare thigh, allowing your feet to settle on his shoulder blades “fucking hell.” His voice barely above a whisper before his head dropped against your cunt.

His mouth latched over your clit first making you moan into Jacks mouth “such a sweet cunt.” Trevor moaned sending shivers up your spine. The boy let his tongue travel to your weeping hole, his nose grazed your clit as he thrusted his tongue in against your walls.

Your head fell back as Jack looked down “be a good girl and look at how good Z his making you feel.” He sucked at your earlobe making you whimper.

Trevor’s eyes locked onto yours, his arms slightly loosened around your legs allowing you to drive your hips close to him “fuck z.” You moaned feeling Jack cup your tits once again “Jacky you’re missing out here.” Trevor confessed placing his thumb on your clit before he went back to fucking you with his tongue.

Your eyes screwed shut as you felt Jack softly laugh against your skin “don’t have to worry because we’ve got plenty more in ya.” He looked at you through his devilishly long lashes “don’t we baby?” Jack asked as he sucked at your jaw.

Silence swallowed you up when pleasure lulled in your ears. Trevor had been paying attention which made him scoff “he asked you a question doll.” The boy cupped his hand as he lay a smack against your cunt.

The movement made you jolt when your eyes burst open “ahh,” you whimpered almost folding your body over “‘m sorry.” You apologised letting your lips form a pout.

Trevor accepted the apology as he continued. He pressed a kiss against your clit “we just want you to be a good girl.” He sighed licking a stripe down your slit.

Your thighs tensed around his head “because we don’t have to punish you then.” Your cunt clenched around his tongue as it lolled back into your hole “just wanna make you feel so good tonight.” Jack confessed going back to kissing your lips as you quickly became like a drug to him.

There was the slightest scent of your perfume that was still on your skin that invaded his nostrils “please.” You nodded practically feeling like a brand new woman as the boys focused on you.

Jack nodded running his fingers over your collarbone “c’mon sweet girl.” Jack cooed as you bit at your lip “you let this house hear you or else we’re gonna stop.” He warned squeezing your cheeks in his hand.

Trevor pulled his tongue from your entrance before he let it lay flat running against your clit “seems like little miss perfect wants that.” Trevor taunted latching his lips around the sensitive nub.

Jack gasped toying with your nipple between his fingers “you want Lukey to see what we are doing to his best friend?” The image made your voice quiver “h-he can’t.” You whimpered shaking your head.

The boy between your thighs smirked “shame to keep this pretty pussy a secret.” Trevor sighed pressing a kiss against your clit “when she’s all soaked for us, it’s better to keep it our think no?” Jack asked pressing a wet kiss against your throat when you arched your back.

The Ducks player let his tongue swirl around your sensitive nub, creating a healthy rhythm that caused your thighs to squeeze against his head “all for you.” You nodded with your voice turning breathy, almost angelic to the duo.

Those words went straight to the boys cocks that they were still so desperate to just let burst out, letting it soak your skin “can’t believe you tried to act like you were too good for us.” Jack pinched at your side making you jolt “I’m sorry.” You cried, your throat feeling raw as your heels pushed against Trevor’s shoulder blades.

Jack smiled raking his fingers through your hair “‘s okay.” He mumbled pecking your lips “all that matters is that you’re here now.” Jack kissed you harder that time when your nails dug into his thigh.

Trevor let his lips go from your clit as you whimpered not aware of how that hurt him more to stop than you could have known “please she’s been wanting to be a dumb little slut for us.” Trevor’s words were rough as he thrusted his fingers into your cunt.

His were longer than Jacks but they weren’t as smooth either “please.” You begged clenching your walls around his digits “please what?” Trevor softly bit that the inside of your thigh.

Your eyes almost rolled back into your head while Jack kissed at your shoulder “make me cum.” You whined wanting nothing more than to feel the high you felt earlier on “how can I say no to that.” Trevor clicked his tongue as he went back to sucking at your clit.

His fingers did this scissoring motion stretching you out around him. The squelching noises echoed against the walls of the room, mixing with the sounds of your moans that slipped through Jacks kisses “such a spoilt girl ain’t ya.” Jack saw the sweat that formed on your stomach.

You nodded whimpering against him “want you to cum really good for him okay?” Those words made your toes curl as the coil tightened in your stomach “can I?” You nodded not knowing it was possible for you to do it again.

Trevor nodded refusing to slow down his thrusts as he grinded his hips into the bed beneath him. Words left your lips in a shaky chant “please fuck please.” You begged squirming as he didn’t relent running his tongue over your clit.

You huffed shaking your head “c’mon sweet girl you can let go.” Jack egged you on kissing your lips, swallowing the moans from your mouth.

Your legs shook when Trevor fingered you through your high, your release coating his fingers when the coil snapped in your stomach “shit, holy shit.” Your chest heaved letting your fingers tug at Trevor’s hair to pull him off of you.

His fingers dropped from your cunt went you kissed him. Your release shone on his chin “fuck.” Trevor moaned feeling your tongue brush against his, your walls clenched around nothing as you knew it was the taste of your pussy on his tongue.

Jack grunted from beside you as you turned back to look at him. There was a smile on your lips “you ready for one more?” He asked pushing your hair out of your face when you nodded.

It made Trevor laugh “of course she is.” He mumbled tugging at the hair on the nape of your neck so that he could kiss you again. You felt as if the wind was knocked out of you with the amount of passion in it.

A moan escaped from your lips “wanna taste you.” Your confession made his cock throb “how can I say no when a little slut asks me so nicely?” He nodded cupping your jaw as he smiled.

Jack gripped at your sides “gonna let me fuck you while he does that?” Those words made you nod.

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened but before you knew it Jack was on the end of the bed with his legs hanging over. You were hovering over his hips and of course Trevor stood over you, taking in the sight that you were through your thick eyelashes “remember when you thought you were too good to entertain us?” Trevor taunted you like those words hadn’t been spoken mere hours ago.

You nodded feeling Jack kiss your shoulder blade “well I think it’s time you give us an apology for being such a fucking brat.” His words were harsh as Jack dragged the head of his cock against your clit “I’m sorry Trevor.” Jacks hand held your hip stopping you from sinking into his cock.

Trevor laughed shaking his head “you gotta do a whole lot better than that.” His fingers brushed through your hair “and that’s gonna start with you getting on his dick okay?” You were eager to please them both.

Jack let out a grunt “condom?” He asked when your head leaned against his shoulder “on the pill.” Your words made him gasp finally letting your cunt sink down on his cock.

The ducks player smirked watching how your jaw went slack “shit this cunt is-wow.” Jack let his teeth gnaw at your shoulder blade.

Neither one of you moved, taking the chance let your walls stretch around his cock. Trevor palmed himself watching how your eyes screwed shut enjoying how the boy felt inside of you “gonna have to try it one day too.” He nodded as you finally started lifting yourself up against Jack “you ready f’me to fuck you huh?” Jack asked, your head bobbed with your one hand resting on his thigh your nails digging into his skin.

Jacks blue orbs burnt into the back of your head “this cunt is so perfect god.” He barked wrapping his one arm around your waist to keep your back flush against his chest “don’t stop.” The Devils player drunk in your whimpers while you squirmed.

He adjusted his legs so that you had spread yours around his. Letting the feelings of pleasure soak over you, not sure how much more of him you could actually take. A grunt came from in front of you, reminding you that it wasn’t just you and Jack in that room.

Trevor’s precum oozed out of his cock and you swore you could see a smirk on his face when your mouth watered “you wanna suck my cock?” He asked watching you nodded.

His breath grew short when you used your tongue to spread his liquid around his length “shit this mouth is-” Trevor cut himself off as you took more of his cock in your mouth.

His fingers messily tugged at your hair forming a loose pony at the back of your head, encouraging you to work his cock between your lips “you want more?” He asked seeing how you looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Jack had settled into a rhythm he liked unintentionally knocking your hand off of him. This cause you to reach out at Trevor’s thighs “fuck.” Both boys spoke through gritted teeth as Trevor’s cock hit your throat causing tears to spill from your eyes when you clenched around Jacks cock.

The ducks player watched how you worked your tongue on the underside of his length “don’t stop pretty girl.” He nodded hearing the squelching of your cunt as Jack fucked you “yeah sweets we wanna use you proper.” Jack cooed gripping at your hip, pinching at the skin.

You moaned around Trevor almost toppling him over “think you like the idea of us using you.” His words were full of desire, fantasies forming in his mind wanting to go through with them in that moment.

Sweat stuck to your skin, turning you into a whimper mess “god you’re such a cock hungry slut.” Trevor muttered tugging at your hair eliciting another moan from your lips

The sensation made his eyes screw shut “fuck I’m gonna cum.” Trevor response was mangled, Jack started chasing his own high that was quickly approaching when he heard that message “you gonna let me make a mess in this pretty little mouth of yours?” He brought his one hand forward from your hair.

His thumb brushed against your cheek “mhm.” Tears streamed down your cheeks while your eyes darted up to his.

Trevor’s movements increased fucking your face as if you were his own hand. He took that moment before he became undone. His hand held you in place so his release hit the back of your throat all at once.

Your throat gagged at the new sensation causing his cock to twitch before he went lax letting go of your hair. You hollowed out your cheeks as you let your lips swallow every last drop of what had been on his skin cleaning him up in the process.

Gasps escaped from your lips causing droplets of his release to drip out of the side of your mouth “don’t go making a mess now.” Trevor clicked his tongue catching it with his thumb before he brought it into your mouth.

Your lips wrapped around his digit swirling your tongue around it like it was his cock all over again “fuck I’m gonna make a mess in this pussy.” Jack announced feeling that he was close.

His pace turned animalistic and if Trevor wasn’t in front of you, you swore you would have fallen over “such a tight cunt.” The boy moaned with his eyes glued to the way your folds swallowed his cock.

Trevor felt himself grow hard again “such a pretty little cock drunk slut ain’t ya?” He asked watching your eyes grow glassy “yeah.” You cried hearing how your thighs slapped against Jack with every thrust of his cock.

He almost felt as if he could feel your guts he was so deep, touch places you didn’t even know were in you “needed you both so bad.” You were surprised you were able to form a coherent sentence “knew you were always gonna be so desperate for us.” Trevor almost laughed watching your head bob as you nodded along.

Your mouth watered seeing how his cock still oozed while his hand ran along the underside of it “you wanna feel this too pretty girl?” It was almost the sweetest thing he had said that night.

It seemed to throw you off as you chewed at your lip sensing you were close “or maybe we should stop until this little slut remembers how to talk.” The threat held no weight as Jack was far too close with your walls squeezing his cock to let you off of him, but that wasn’t something that you considered “please Z.” Your moan sounded like you were a pornstar letting the whimpers of desperation escape from your throat.

Trevor crouched down pumping his cock once more before he let the head sit in your clit “shit doll you like that?” Jack asked feeling you clench around him “so good.” You nodded letting your head fall against his shoulder.

The sight was something Trevor swore should have been in the Louvre. His cock dragged over your clit matching the pace of Jacks thrusts. The Hughes boy was desperate to get you to cum first because he knew that the moment he finish he was a goner.

Trevor begun to kiss at your throat which he now had the perfect spot to do as such “go on.” Trevor mumbled sucking at your sweet skin “make a mess on Jacky boys cock.” Your breathy gasps filled the room as your eyes screwed shut.

Jack grunted from behind you “yeah baby make a mess for me.” Between Jacks cock fucking you senseless, Trevor’s cock against your clit and now both boys marking up your throat you were done.

You shuttered out a cry while your face contorted letting tears fall from your shut eyes as your orgasm ripped through you. Neither boy stopped what they were doing, wanting to guide you through your orgasm “shit shit so good!” Jack sputtered out feeling your cunt clench around him.

His eyes practically rolled back into his head as his cock shot warm sticky ropes of release into your cunt “fucking hell.” Trevor softly laughed against your throat when the younger boy lulled his thrusts before he kissed your shoulder.

Your chest heaved trying to catch your breath you lay against Jack slowly coming back to, before you softly clenched around him remembering that he was still there “you with us baby?” Jack asked brushing your hair out of your face.

You nodded gripping onto Trevor’s arm to help yourself up “damn.” Jack mumbled looking down at where you had been sat. A mix of your release and Jacks oozed out of your cunt and down the inside of your thigh as you used Trevor to support you.

Trevor’s eyes followed Jacks before he let out a soft gasp “you know you could do that?” His hand squeezed at your hip before he set you on the bed next to the devils player.

You shook your head “do what?” You asked growing confused “this broken girl just squirted.” Trevor scooped the release that had fallen before he thrusted his fingers into your cunt once more “we can’t have you forgetting about this now can we?” He asked watching your hand try to wrap around his wrist to stop him.

Jack smirked seeing how you dropped back onto the bed, allowing your face to contort as you felt with a mix of pleasure and overstimulation “silly girl this summer is only just getting started.” The devils player nipped at your ear knowing that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Because here is to the summer you’ll never forget.

#amber writes fics #jack hughes smut #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagines #trevor zegras x you #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes oneshots #nhl smut #nhl imagine #hockey smut #hockey imagine #threes0me

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yeppeun-riaa · 1 year ago

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What do you think their type of girl is: ran, rindou, sanzu and kakucho

TR MEN AND THEIR TYPE

MDNI 18+

Not proofread. Idk why rans own is the shortest because hes my fav😫, I got carried away with the rest😭,hope you enjoy tho, thank you for the ask💕!

⋆RAN

Ran is into brats! women that are stubborn, women that have an attitude that will be the death of them, women that are way to dramatic and clingy, overall just downright bratty, he'd love to put them in their place when they decide to bitch out on him, he's sadistic and loves to watch them cry while he punishes them.

'You really thought you'd get away after pulling that shit? Then fucking think again, whore, you should be glad I'm putting that dirty mouth of yours to good use' he'd say through gritted teeth while using your mouth th get himself off.

ALSO. He likes when she plays hard to get, he always up for a challenge. I think he'd also be into very studious girs, like student council, top of all her classes type shit because it boosts his ego, and melts his heart, knowing that someone so uptight would crumble within mere seconds under his touch.

⋆RINDOU

He honestly just loves women, he really isn't that picky when it comes to his type but he would fall 10× harder for a girl if she was clingy and really into pda. You might disagree but I think rindou is a moderate fan of pda😭 he just loves all the attention he'd get.... The fact that his girlfriend would always want to hold hands or want him to have his anywhere on her body, a girl that just needs him would ignite a fire in him, he may not show it but he enjoys being wanted...

Your mouth hung agape and you saw stars as rindou thrusted into you at an inhumane pace, all while bending you almost painfully over the sink. "Fuck—rin!" You cried as his hand came down on your ass, you looked like a mess as you locked gaze with yourself in the mirror, tears streaming down your face, makeup all ruined while rindou pounded into you from behind. "You just can't keep your hands to yourself huh?" He says punctuating each word with a slap to your behind. "Don't fucking cry, you wanted this and now you'll take everything I give you and thank me after" yeah... when you came back to the others it was pretty obvious what went down.

⋆SANZU

He likes himself a bimbo, a woman that's that kind, caring, innocent and downright stupid, a girl that's book smart, but stupid in anything else. The type dumb of girl that walks around in tight clothes and thinks the men staring at her being friendly, of course he gets annoyed when she fails to realize that someone is flirting with her, or when she ask the most dumb question and won't stop fucking talking, but it's okaayyy, he loves to shut her up and teach her a lesson!!

"W-wait haru! too much" you'd yelp from your spot on the bed, trying to break free from your restraints to tug him away from your aching pussy. He smirks and runs his tongue up your slit, sticking one more finger into your tight hole and sucking harshly on your clit, "you're a fucking whore, if i didn't know any better I'd think you did that on purpose because you wanted a punishment" he spat harshly at you, you lost count of how many times you came, all you were sure of was that he needed to stop because it was all too much. "Baby I'm sorry! I di-didn't know he was flirting", he scoffs slapping your cunt making tears form on your waterline, "how could you not know? He was all up in your fucking face, talking about he could be better to you than me, are you dumb, or just dumb." It was a statement, not a question and you mourned seeing him sit up to undo his pants, it was gonna be a long fucking night.

⋆KAKUCHO

Kakucho is another one that just loves women♡ he's smitten for women that are confident, it drives him crazy (in a good way) when a girl is passionate and radiates good energy. That popular girl that everyone knows and loves, the girl that every guy wants, the girl that everyone would throw hands for if she ever cried. He wants that type of girl so he can be there for her, and see the side of her no one else gets to. Even the sad side that she never shows, he'll take great pride that he was able to break down her walls and be the only one too see her In that different night. He want to be the one that makes the false happiness, that no one else could detect, real.

"Shh, it's okay" he'd whisper sweet nothings I to your ear at night while he made love to you. Some nights rough, others slow and sensual, it all depended on how you felt, and right now you were sad, all you wanted was the him to love on you, melt all the sadness away. And that's exactly what he would do.

#Divider credits to @v-asearc♡#ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #ran smut #ran x reader #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #sanzu x reader #rindou haitani #sanzu smut #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x you #tokyo revengers #tokrev #kakucho #kakucho hitto #kakucho x reader #kakucho x you #kakucho x y/n

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wynnerwynner · 2 months ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇

avengers au!joaquin torres x afab!toxikensis!reader

synopsis: y/n and joaquin have to keep their relationship hidden due to the avenger’s unspoken rule. meanwhile, joaquin shows y/n she is more than her trauma.

request: yes

warnings: hints at murder, trust issues, happy ending

wc: 3.2k

a/n: i never said i was good at endings y'all 😫. also if anyone has any tips for tmj pain let me know bc im bouta go ape shit

There was no written rule for “no sexual relations among teammates”, however, it was heavily implied. After Natasha and Bruce’s relationship crashed and burned, rumours of teammates possibly hooking up or even liking each other seemed to set everyone on edge. It was too much of a risk, one person favouring another’s safety during missions or getting distracted. The only exception was for Vision and Wanda, who the team did not exactly count as committing a crime because Vision lacked human error.

As someone who was closed off, Y/N had never thought much of the rule. She’d conditioned herself to keep a distance from people, even after learning to tame her poison abilities. She was so used to burning someone’s skin by simply touching them or poison someone by sharing a drink that the idea of being able to return to some of her previous indulgences was discomforting. However, with Joaquin’s arrival, that rule suddenly flashed before her eyes like an obnoxious billboard.

Joaquin was speechless when he first met Y/N. He’d seen her in the media but in person, she took his breath away. When he’d tried to shake her hand, she stared at it for a moment before returning the formality. As their skin touched, she looked him in the eye and offered him a small smile. She was quiet, but he could almost see the gears turning as though she had come up with a particularly smart response in her head. He could tell that despite the cold exterior, she was all fire within.

The first time Joaquin went to the gym to train with his new teammates, Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked Sam.

“She doesn’t like to train with us,” he answered.

“She has her own space down the hall,” Natasha pointed over her shoulder. “Something to do with not wanting to hurt anyone.”

The room Y/N trained in was similar in size to a shipping container. The longest walls were made of glass but the shorter were of cement. He watched her from the other side of the glass, fighting off Tony’s training drones and dummies. As she raised her hands, thick neon-green liquid rose to her fingertips and sprayed out at the training dummy. She took down three others by blowing a cloud of yellow, billowing gas at them. Joaquin clapped, causing her to look around with furrowed brows. She went over to a high-tech panel a few feet from him and when she tapped a few buttons, her eyes widened as they caught his.

He raised a friendly hand with an abashed smile, “Sorry.”

Y/N only assessed him, then turned back to her work.

Joaquin proceeded took the long route to the gym every morning. His new path allowed him to walk past her training room and the more he passed by, the more sure he was sure she’d stopped using the two-way glass feature. One time, he caught her as she was exiting.

“You’re late,” she commented.

It was so rare to hear her speak that he savoured every syllable.

She was right, though. He was very late to training that morning.

“Yeah, I was on the phone with my mom,” he sighed. “I love her but sometimes I feel like she’ll never let me go.”

Y/N cracked an almost imperceptible smile and nodded.

“How come you practice alone?” he asked.

Her eyes roved over him, detailing his appearance for the morning. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”

“Don’t believe everything you see online.”

Y/N’s snort brought a smile to his face. It was like an achievement, making her laugh. To others it was nothing, but to him it felt like everything.

“It’s safer this way,” she glanced back at the darkened room.

“But you’ve learned to control your powers, right?”

Her head cocked and she peered at the ground. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…” She hesitated, “Thank you for shaking my hand.”

Joaquin’s brows furrowed. What an odd thing to thank him for.

“It’s only the polite thing,” he replied.

Y/N looked from one of his eyes to the other. He couldn’t tell if she was studying him or judging him. He felt like he was missing something. Without another word, she walked away.

Another morning, Joaquin knocked on the glass and waved her over. She stuck her head out the crystal door, waiting for him to speak.

“Hi,” he smiled with a sigh. “Uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to get some food sometime? Not—not as a date, just… just to get to know my teammate. I think you’re really cool and—”

“I don’t eat out,” she interjected his rambling.

“Why not?”

Her lips flattened into a line and she pushed her sweaty baby hairs from her forehead. “It’s not safe. I’m like a virus. I could kill someone by them touching my fork.”

“You touched me and I’m still here. See?” He held up the hand she shook.

Y/N sighed and pulled the door closed. Joaquin jammed his foot between it before it could fully close and grabbed the door.

“Let me cook for you,” he offered.

“That’s—”

“I can buy disposable dishes or you can wash them yourself,” he spoke quickly. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

The look in his eyes was desperate and she almost felt bad saying no. She looked him over again, then nodded.

That had started it all. Y/N had spoke more than she had in a long time. As time went on, he would catch her in the halls and make conversation. He even managed to make her fully smile.

One late night, Joaquin found her sitting on the edge of the koi pond in the lobby, a ceramic bowl in one hand. He hadn’t seen her in anything other than workout clothing or their suits. A smile graced her lips as she dropped food into the pond. He’d never seen her so relaxed.

“Doesn’t Stark have someone doing that for him?”

Her head whipped to meet his gaze.

Joaquin cringed, “Sorry.”

Y/N returned to her fish, dropping a small piece of orange into the pond. The fish leapt at the food, splashing water on her sweats, but she didn’t seem to mind. “He does,” she replied to his inquiry. “When she’s on vacation I do it for her.”

“At one in the morning?”

She eyed him, “You’re one to talk.”

Joaquin chuckled at her quip. “Do you mind?”

At a shake of her head, he sat himself beside her. He watched her take another piece of orange and hold it out to him. Her fingers brushed his skin as she set the wet fruit in his palm and he wanted to say he was proud of her but was afraid it might scare her off.

“Did you know,” she began, grabbing some orange, “koi can recognize people?”

Joaquin watched her put her hand in the water and four fish fought for the food in her hand. He couldn’t look away from her satisfied smile. It made him feel giddy, like a school boy with a crush again. She made him feel things he hadn’t in a long time.

“Go on.”

Joaquin did a double take as he realized from her words that he had been staring. Instead of her usual blank expression she offered him, a small smile was tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Do I just… drop it in?” he asked, angling his hand over the water.

Y/N nodded encouragingly.

Joaquin let go of the fruit and a laugh left his lips as they dove for it. This time, it was Y/N’s turn to be caught staring. They both couldn’t seem to look away. Caught up in the moment, Joaquin reached for her free hand. His breathing picked up as she didn’t pull away from his touch. Her skin was warm, just as he’d imagined. He ran his thumb gently over her knuckles. A smile twitched across her lips and when it fully appeared, his world felt a little brighter.

“You’re beautiful,” he found himself saying.

Y/N looked to the wall of windows, out to the hanger across the property. The light of the moon and the glow of the lamplights illuminated her face. She came back to him, peering at their hands. Y/N raised her hand and he thought for a moment she was going to push him away, but she didn’t. Joaquin could only watch as she raised his palm to her cheek. His fingers were covered in the juice from the orange but she didn’t seem to care. As he ran his thumb under her eye, she closed her eyes.

“When I first came here,” she began, “no one shook my hand. They weren’t trying to be rude, I know that, but they knew what I was. They were afraid, even if they didn’t want to admit it.”

Joaquin almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he also wasn’t surprised. She’d joined the Avengers years before him and if he guessed correctly, the articles that came out about her accidentally killing people because of her powers were still fresh on people’s minds. The only difference between Joaquin and the rest of the team was that by the time he joined, people with superpowers were normalized and rarely went about the world terrorizing others on purpose. Joaquin knew there was no way Steve Rogers would have agreed to have her on the team if she was a danger.

After that night at the koi pond, things began as innocent brushes, small conversations while their teammates were around, shooting a glance to each other across tables.

Y/N had kissed him first. He wanted to give her the control—only advance things when she was comfortable. The more she’d pull him into empty hallways and kissed him before running off again, the more comfortable he was with waiting for her. Joaquin was addicted to her and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

After a while, he suggested she try using the same gym as them. The day she’d walked in, almost all eyes were on her. Joaquin had caught her rigid shoulders and took advantage of Sam’s distraction, slamming him to the mat with a loud smack. The entire room looked to Joaquin standing over Sam. Bucky’s laugh echoed from his spot on the bench.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Sam exclaimed.

“Never let your guard down, Sam,” Natasha smirked. “Good one Joaquin.”

“No, man, get away from me,” Captain America smacked Joaquin’s offered hand.

He laughed, teasing him, “Don’t be such a sore loser, Cap.”

“Listen, I’ll get you back,” he pointed as he went for his water bottle.

Joaquin took the momentary breather to find Y/N again. She was wrapping her hands, preparing to use the punching bag. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at him and nodded her thanks.

Joaquin made sure to distract them any time she entered the gym and eventually, he didn’t have to anymore. The team could see she was getting more comfortable and yet no one seemed to question her sudden change in attitude. Natasha began to spar with Y/N, helping perfect her moves and teach her new ones. Joaquin was proud as he watched her day after day grow closer with their team. He was happy seeing her be herself, understanding that she wasn’t defined by her past.

After months of hiding their relationship, Joaquin strode into the kitchen late at night. Natasha was leaning back against the counter, spooning yoghurt into her mouth.

“You looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked.

Tony was hosting his annual Stark Expo and the Avengers attendance was mandatory.

“Not really,” she mumbled. “I’ll probably show up an hour before it ends. Then Tony can’t say I didn’t show.”

Joaquin chuckled as he grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl. “That’s smart.”

Natasha watched as he got out a cutting board, knife, and bowl.

“You gonna bring anyone?” she asked.

“Why? Wanna be my date?”

Natasha cringed, but a laugh escaped her. “You’re a little too young for my taste, kid. Besides, I don’t think it’d be appropriate.”

“Because of the no-dating-teammates rule?” he cut the orange into small pieces.

Natasha was quiet as she scraped the last of the yoghurt from the cup. Joaquin glanced up to find a small smile on her lips.

“You going to feed the fish?” she asked.

“Uh…” he looked down at the sticky mess on the counter, “yeah.”

“Sometimes thing echo around here, you know?” Natasha smirked. “Walls are made of glass. Lots of open space in the lobby.”

Joaquin continued to cut up the orange. “Yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

“Won’t tell anyone what?” he chuckled, feigning confusion.

Natasha threw out her yoghurt cup and put the spoon in the dishwasher.

“You’re a good liar, Captain,” she said as she made her way back to the hall. “It takes one to know one.”

Natasha disappeared toward the bedrooms with a wink, leaving him alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.

The next night, Joaquin was dressed in his best suit. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Y/N in her outfit. She was the definition of beautiful. There were a few times he was sure his teammates had caught him admiring her.

Thor suddenly clapped a tipsy hand on Joaquin’s shoulder. The Falcon bent slightly at the knees from the weight of his grip.

“You’re a good man, Captain Falcon,” the god slurred a little. “You deserve a good woman. Y/N seems good, too.”

Joaquin had laughed awkwardly, trying his best to come up with a way out of the situation. “Thanks, man.”

“You should ask her out,” Thor encouraged.

“I don’t know…”

“What? Are you scared? Never be afraid, little man,” he squeezed a little harder with a good shake and Joaquin had to fight back a groan from the throbbing of his shoulder blade. “You need not be afraid of women. Or men. Whichever you prefer. You know, my brother is—”

“I don’t think that’d be fair to everyone,” Joaquin quickly replied. “I wouldn’t want to make things awkward.”

“You’re a good man,” Thor tapped him a little too hard on the cheek. “I’m sure no one would mind.”

Joaquin searched for Y/N in the sea of people as Thor walked away. He didn’t care if people noticed him staring. Maybe Thor was right. If they kept it professional around their teammates as they already had, there would be no harm. Besides, if Vision and Wanda could move out and build a family together, why couldn’t he and Y/N have a life of their own, too?

That night, when their formal clothes were on the floor and Y/N lay against his chest, Joaquin spoke into the dark, “I think we should tell them.”

Y/N lifted her head, looking at him through the golden lamp light, “What?”

“Natasha knows,” he admitted. “And Thor—”

“Don’t tell me he does, too,” she sat up. “He can’t keep a secret, Joaquin. If he knows, everyone does.”

“Y/N,” he cradled her face in his hands. “He doesn’t know.”

She sighed, but her lips remained in a flat line.

“Thor suggested I ask you out. I told him it wouldn’t be fair to the team but he said he didn’t think they’d mind.”

“And you agree.”

Joaquin brushed his thumb under her eye, “Y/N, I love you and I want everyone to know. We’ve already done great at hiding it so it shouldn’t be difficult to continue keeping it professional once it’s out there.”

“When we put it out there, they will make assumptions,” she argued. “They will disregard how everything’s been in the past and they’ll think we can’t handle working together.”

He knew her words were coming from a place of anxiety and he didn’t wish to push her, only to reassure. She was good at listening and considering opinions, even if she didn’t agree at the time.

“These people aren’t just our teammates,” he said carefully. “They’re our family. Natasha and Bruce broke up, but they’re still cordial. They don’t make it uncomfortable for us because they are professionals and we are all there for each other. Most of these people don’t have anyone outside the compound they can call family.”

Joaquin never brought it up again after that night. He would let her think about it for as long as she wanted.

After a couple of days, Y/N decided she didn’t want to be cold anymore. She realized that she’d been using her trust issues as an excuse and a deluded explanation for why she didn’t deserve happiness. Joaquin and Thor were right, they wouldn’t care because they trusted each other.

She’d kept herself locked away for too long. She’d been scared of how people would perceive her for too long. Joaquin had proved to her that she was worthy of love; that she was perfect the way she was. It wasn’t fair to him to keep them hiding any longer, but it especially wasn’t fair to herself. She deserved to be something more than the water that had devoured her all those years ago. It may have ate at her blood and altered her brain, but her heart was still hers.

She deserved love.

The team sat in the common area eating take out together. Joaquin stood at the counter with Sam and Bucky when he caught sight of Y/N entering from the hallway. She stopped in the archway and looked at him before eyeing the rest of their teammates. The room went quiet as they took notice of her clear need to say something.

“Joaquin and I are dating.”

The room erupted in voices. Joaquin flinched at the sudden noise, almost choking on a piece of broccoli. Sam looked to him with wide, excited eyes.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed. “I told you!” he looked to Bucky, who smiled into his food with a shake of his head.

“I would like everyone to know this was my doing,” Thor raised a hand. “I set this up.”

“No, you did not,” Pietro laughed.

“I did!” the god insisted. “I suggested he ask her out.”

“How long have you been dating?” Wanda asked the couple over her shoulder.

Joaquin looked to Y/N, who stared at him like a deer in headlights. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to.

“Almost a year,” Joaquin said.

“Yo, what the hell, man?” Sam back-handed him in the chest.

From the couch, Rhodey whistled.

“I thought we were close,” Sam continued teasingly.

“I can’t believe you two have been doing it under my roof for almost a year and I didn’t know,” Tony quipped, face serious.

“God, Tony,” Natasha chastised.

“Tony, really?” Rhodey reached over to Peter, clamping his hands over his ears. “There are children present.”

“I’m twenty-five!” Peter exclaimed, pushing his hands away.

Joaquin’s smile at Y/N from across the room seemed to shake her from her thoughts. She broke the distance and he slid an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the excitement of the room.

“I only have one rule,” Tony said, catching everyone’s attention. “No kids under my roof. I don’t need any of those around here, especially ones shooting poison darts at me while I try to enjoy my breakfast.”

Joaquin laughed and gazed down at Y/N who hid against his chest. He placed a kiss to the top of her head and she squeezed him reassuringly.

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gaydaroreilly · 1 month ago

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I love Jake with shit parents as much as (or more) than the next guy, but what about Jake with doting Lesbian parents (run down of those moms here) who maybe didn’t give him the structure or boundaries he needed. They pumped up his ego like crazy and his world was perfect until he got old enough to understand homophobia and toxic masculinity.

Until he got bullied for wearing his hair in long waves when he started kindergarten.

Until he understood the slurs mean men yelled at his mamas as the feed store.

Jake started closing off whenever he wasn’t at home with his moms and sisters. Putting on the armor of misogyny and toxic masculinity. He splits himself in two. Into Jake and the one who becomes hangman.

His moms are big on supporting the military. One of his moms was in the navy for a bit or something (ONE OF HIS MOMS IS BEAU SIMPSON’S SISTER), so when Jake wanted to fly, he knew he was gonna go navy. He never came out to his moms. They knew anyway.

He put on his hangman persona and went to Annapolis. Jake didn’t come the surface again except on breaks and eventually, with Javy.

One leave Javy comes home with Jake to Texas and is stunned by how fucking camp Jake is with his family. How relaxed and loved Jake is and how he really is hot shit at the Seresin ranch. How he sings Dolly and Reba and Bonnie with his Mama while fixing up cars and how he helps his sisters with their horses and patches fences with his Mom.

Everyone at home knows Jake’s queer, nobody says it because that boy needs to fly. They love him hard to tide him over between the academy and flight school and deployments. They charge him up so he can cover himself in his veneer of cockiness, douche baggery, and over inflated ego.

That’s what Bradley sees the first time they meet. And Bradley hates him and is so infatuated with the confidence and the smirk and the build. Jake thinks Bradley is hot, but he’s not in the navy to find a boyfriend. They end up in an enemies with benefits situation. Over time bits of Jake slip out and Bradley falls hard. Jake falls too but he knows they have secrets and knows what his moms went through before mom left the navy. They both want to fly.

Bradley bugs out on their relationship when Jake invites him home (as a friend). Jake curses Bradley for getting under his skin. He swears off feelings, gets the callsign hangman for leaving Bradley during a training exercise, and Jake finds that real ironic.

By The Mission Jake has dated a few guys, maybe brought one home even. His oldest little sister is getting married and he’s still hung up on Bradley and that pisses him the fuck off. He is spitting mad at himself and Rooster. It comes out in training.

Javy is the only one who knows what’s going on all the way and he’s just watching the dumpster fire. Phoenix is the same but she’s showing up on rooster’s side. They are secretly married, so they both know everything and basically blame their besties for all the grey hairs.

Nat doesn’t know the extent of Bradley’s parental shit though. So when she finds out about Mav she’s like ah yes the puzzle pieces.

Bradley was raised in the opposite environment (vibes wise) from Jake. Closeted men (Icemav, some Hollywolf) hiding and a little ashamed and filled with internalized homophobia raising a little boy to be untrustworthy and afraid. That was Bradley’s natural state. His mask the one of friendliness and charm.

Basically this is another campaign for Jake and Bradley as literary foils. Two sides of the same coin. They figure it out in the end.

Jake’s mamas are very cold to Bradley for the first few years after the reconciliation. Bradley gets absolutely floored by soft snuggle bug horsegirl Jake when he finally meets him.

More here and here

#hangster #icemav #jake hangman seresin #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #javy coyote machado #natasha phoenix trace #Jake’s lesbian farm moms #javy/nat #sereshaw #weird masculinity fucking everyone in the eyeballs #top gun #Jake is a gay man #camp Jake my beloved #also he has sisters #always #fanfic

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redflagshipwriter · 11 months ago

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Mamabat Chapter 11: the trap snaps shut

masterpost

Five vans peeled into view, rocketing around the curved road fast enough that they visibly tilted through the turn. They all bristled with weaponry.

Cass felt her lips press into a faint line. She glanced at Dannybaby: scared. I knew it. Here they are.

They didn’t have to talk about it. The three adults stepped out and put their backs to ring Danny, facing outwards to the threat.

“Shoot the racks,” she commanded. The mounted weapons. She didn’t like that. She pulled out a batarang herself and squinted to find her aim. The construction? Sloppy. Exposed wires. Weakness.

A gun cocked. “Aye aye, captain.” Jason hefted a gun in each hand and started shooting as the vans screeched to a stop in a circle around them. Bang! Sparks flew where he hit. Cass and Dickiebird did the same with quieter precision, slicing wires and leaving projectiles sticking into the metal monstrosities. Electricity sparked. Just in time: machines whined as they were powered on. One gave out with a huge bang! The van attached to it jolted as the machine punched a huge dent into the roof. White smoke floated away, clouding the nighttime scene with a chemical stink.

“Whoa,” Danny breathed.

She felt a twinge of satisfaction.

Jason hit the last set-up with a bang! Bang! Then his foot scuffed across the pavement to knock against Danny��s. Check, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re little.

“They’ll come out!” Danny warned.

He was right. Doors clicked unlocked all around them and men in white suits piled out, futuristic looking guns aimed at the little group.

She felt a twinge of disbelief. “Can’t shoot,” Cass said. No way. So dumb. They were in a circle. Friendly fire, new concept to losers??

They shot. She hit the ground in a roll and trusted that everyone else would. They did. She turned her head to see that one agent was down from friendly fire. There was no blood as he was lifted off his feet and blasted backwards against the van he came out of.

“Ghost scum!” howled one of the suits.

“We knew it!”

The victory in their voices set her blood boiling. Cass launched herself to the closest opponent and took him down with a nasty hit. She whirled on the next one, two mean hits. Go, go, clear the area! She heard feet scuffling and weapons whining as they fired, fired, fired on the boys.

She took number 4 down as the smoke was starting to clear. She heard a pained oof from the center, where Jason and Dickiebird were blocking Danny.

“Jason!” Danny said. He sounded very young. “Oh, shit.” Cass cast a frantic glance over at his posture and sucked in a breath even as she bulleted towards the next opponent. Determined. I have to do this. Here we go!

No, no!

Jason was down. Dickiebird was darting between Jason and the man actively firing. Danny was pale. He opened his mouth. He put his palms out. He flashbanged.

She blinked away stars and slammed a man’s head into a van before he could aim at her. Slam, slam, drop. She stole another glance. Danny was- Danny had white hair now and he was flashing green light at their enemies. Hm. She couldn’t afford to watch. Cass bared her teeth, angry.

Air sizzled: GIW firing wildly. Guns fired: Jason was still conscious. Danny yelped: what?

Cass didn’t dare look more. She moved faster than Batman could ever, brutally taking down these criminals with disdainful ease. They had nothing but numbers and lasers.

Green shot past her vision. She traced it back: Danny! Her eyes went wide. Wow. He had some kind of organic blast, like Starfire. Very useful!

It wasn’t enough. Danny screamed. She heard him hit the ground. Sizzling.

She howled, wordless with fury. She tackled the next agent and cracked his head against the pavement. Only two more. She flung a batarang down the barrel aimed at her and then yanked the weapon away to brutally jab the air out of the agent’s diaphragm. Cass tossed it at him as he fell. Solid thunk. It hit his head.

The last man tried to say something, white teeth flashing in the gloom. Her ears were closed to it. The only language she spoke right now was violence. She used it to get him down and wrench him into zip ties. She could hear Dickiebird talking his soothing sounds at Danny baby. Cass wanted to go there. Cass wanted to soothe him. She wanted to see his hurts.

But she had to secure the area. She rushed around to the groaning and crying men she had put down. She immobilized them. The foolish ones tried to get up as she approached. The smart one (and there was only one) held his hands out, eyes wide in the night. He talked at her. Beseeching, reasoning, she just doesn’t understand. You’re like me. Not like them.

Cass snarled. She understood just fine. She pressed his face into the ground harshly, fingers digging into his jaw. “Shut up,” she gritted out. She left him with effort, ignoring the mean impulse to smack him.

All the boys were on the ground. There was no blood. Eyes open. Not dead.

Something in her gun unclenched.

Dickiebird looked up at her from where he was supporting Jason, sitting halfway with a grimace as he holstered his guns. Hands shaking. “He’ll be fine!” Danny pressed his body against Jason like he was trying to absorb his body heat. His hair was black again and his eyes looked tired. “He, uh, it’s shock,” Dannybaby babbled. She knelt to rub at his back, silently encouraging the explanation. “They basically zapped his ecto, stopped circulation. It should start up again in a few minutes and he’ll feel fine.”

“Get off,” Jason grunted. He shoved at Dickiebird. Weak. “I feel fine.”

Lie.

“I feel drained,” he admitted. “But fine. Just weak. I can stand.” He struggled to stand, biting his lip. He swayed only slightly. “Man,” he cursed under his breath. Jason cast an unhappy look at the 14 agents groaning on the ground, on their bellies like the worms they were with hands ziptied at their backs. “Not my best showing.”

“Next time, you could dodge,” Dickiebird suggested lightly.

“You’re lucky it got him and not you,” Danny snapped. “Didn’t you see that guy go flying?”

Tense. Dickiebird paused. Smile. Soothe. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “It’s fine, Danny.”

“None of this is fine!” Cass swiveled her head to make sweltering eye contact with the scumbag who was cutting in. He was bold, for someone with his cheek digging into the rocks and cement. “By the authority of the US Government, you are required to submit these ecto-entities for testing and capture into our custody. Release us, or face dire consequences!”

Cass looked at him. She felt hate. Disdain. You’re nothing, you’re a worm to me.

“They’re telling the truth,” Danny whispered. “It’s, uh, it’s legal.” He looked haunted. He rubbed at his chest: some memory of sharp pain.

Dickiebird snorted and slung an arm over Danny’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe by US laws, but Oa has jurisdiction that supersedes. This was a clear case of assault.” He gave an unpleasant smile. Big brother. Big angry. Guard dog at the door. “I’ll make a call.”

The next minutes felt very long. Cass pressed Danny’s face into her shoulder so that he didn’t have to make eye contact with the fallen agents. She stroked his hair with her free hand, boiling inside with fury.

Dickiebird called. A Green Lantern answered: coming.

They waited. Jason said he felt better. His body said: mostly better. But strange. They ignored the threats and complaints from the GIW men on the ground.

Hal Jordan came, with one more Green Lantern that Cass didn’t know. He gathered up prisoners in a green veil. He talked with Dickiebird. He nodded, and left.

“I wanna go home,” Danny said quietly. “But I think that we need to get Jason to my doctor. He’s really not right. It’s… It might be time sensitive.”

#dp x dc #dc x dp #red mama bat

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ssentimentals · 5 months ago

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mingyu + confession

mingyu is a good guy (self-proclaimed, but still). he's well-mannered, friendly, kind and attentive. he is nice, okay? he helps elderly people cross roads or carries their heavy stuff for them, holds doors for others and always slows down when he walks behind a woman in a dark alley. he is nice and nice guys don't get jealous, as far as he knows. nice guys are self assured enough to not feel sharp pangs of jealousy in their hearts and if they do, then they are smart enough to not let it show. see, mingyu is a nice guy, but he's failing miserably in the whole 'not getting jealous' part.

'if looks could kill...' seungkwan sing-songs and then chokes on his drink, when mingyu elbows him hard in the stomach. 'ouch, you fucker!'

'hush, you two.' seungcheol hisses at them. 'what's your problem?'

'it's all mingyu, he has a problem, not me!' seungkwan whispers and quickly shuts up, when professor pointedly clears his throat and sends them a glare.

mingyu, for his part, can't even deny it. he does have a problem. his problem is sitting four rows below and is leaning way too close to you for it to be considered normal. his hair hand (god, why is this guy so hairy?) reaches out and caresses your back in a soothing gesture - mingyu almost breaks his pencil in two. why is he touching you like that? what did you say to him? he chews on his bottom lip, not listening to the lecture at all; he's more occupied with your apparently new friend. you never introduced him before, why? who is he?

'dude, i don't know what's your problem, but can you stop bouncing your knee like that?' his groupmate says, frowning. 'it's annoying.'

oh. mingyu blushes and apologizes, looking down. he didn't even notice that he did it. gripping his knee, he looks up to see you giggling quietly with the guy and his other knee bumps on the desk, making everyone startle. shit. 'sorry, sorry.' mingyu mutters, when everyone on his row sends him unimpressed glares.

the thing - mingyu knows what's his problem is. well, if to narrow down his total list of problems to the most pressing ones then he will have two points in the list. one - your new touchy and hairy friend. two - his inability to confess his undying love to you. mingyu chances a look at you again and almost pukes at the sight: 'he is hugging her!' he whispers frantically to seungkwan, clutching his hand.

seungkwan, as a good friend, instantly forgets about his notes and looks up. sighs. turns to mingyu with raised eyebrow: 'he stretched his arm out. that's not hugging. if that is hugging then he is also hugging wonwoo.' seeing how mingyu is about to argue, seungkwan raises his one hand, silencing him: 'you either stop being a coward and confess or shut up and don't whine.'

'boo seungkwan and kim mingyu!' professor roars and that's the end of the conversation, which leaves mingyu with a crushing desire to set something on fire.

=+=

that desire doesn't go away on the next day and stays strong in his chest for following days too. it's a busy season: mindterms make everyone miserable and busy, so mingyu sees you only once in a passing. it's enough to make him feel like he's some plant that needs sunshine without which it's going to die - yeah, mingyu is aware how bad he has it for you.

'just text her, loser.' jeonghan says, exasperated.

'what if she thinks i'm annoying? i already texted her at lunch,' mingyu whines, genuinely wanting to cry from how complicated this whole thing with you is for him. 'we only recently got close, i can't bombard her with texts all the time.'

'mingyu, she knows you're annoying,' wonwoo comments and before mingyu can throw a pillow at him, he adds: 'and she still is your friend, so rest assured she has no problems with your annoying ass.'

'but this is different!' mingyu whines even louder, frustrated that no one seems to get him. how they can be so non-chalant about this?

'it can be different if you finally man up and ask her out.' jeonghan points out kindly. 'until then it's just a dialogue between two friends.'

mingyu has two problems and while he can do nothing about the living and breathing hairy one (aka your new friend), he knows he can solve the second one with just one question. but it's so hard and no one seems to understand it. no one knows how high stakes are, no one knows that if you reject him and cut him off, mingyu will literally feel like he's missing a limb. no one knows what a special place you hold in his heart, how just your mere existence is enough to make him happy. no one knows that he never felt this way about anyone in his life and that's also what makes it all scary.

'you don't know what she means to me,' mingyu whispers.

wonwoo reaches out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. 'and we don't have to, gyu. but you know who does? her.'

jeonghan nods. 'tell her. she deserves to know.'

mingyu thinks that you deserve the world, not his silly confession, but he keeps his mouth shut.

=+=

turns out your new hairy friend is a foreigner and mingyu knows these guys are hundred times cooler than him, so yeah. he's not in the best mood. 'you're going with him on a date?' he asks, when you both finished your study session for upcoming midterm.

'huh?' you look tired and mingyu barely resists the urge to hug you tight. 'i think we're going to the cafe? then maybe cinema.'

'so. a date.' mingyu doesn't mean to spit it out in such tone but he can't help himself.

you stop, frowning. 'not a date, gyu. i'm just helping him settle down, you know he's not from here.'

he nods. he knows, of course. only he doesn't understand or he doesn't want to; mingyu is kind of sick of being the good guy who is never angry and understands every single thing. 'still sounds like a date,' he presses on. 'if it's just you two.'

'two more girls will come,' you comment, fully turning to him. 'what's gotten into you?'

you, he wants to say. instead his mind catches up with your answer and he breathes out in relief: 'not a date then.'

'my god, yes. not a date.' you then raise your eyebrow: 'and if it were? a date? what of it?'

mingyu is so, so sick of being a good guy. 'i wouldn't have liked it,' he answers in a surprisingly steady voice. 'i think jealousy would've killed me.'

he watches as understanding dawns on you: your eyes widen and mouth opens up in surprise. there's hopeful expression on your face and maybe mingyu misreads it, but he still dives in: 'i like you. and i'm saying 'i like you' because i don't wanna scare you with what actually i feel for you, which is much much closer to falling in love territory. i think-' he takes a deep breath. 'i think you're amazing. brilliant, even. i want you to be mine in all ways that you'll let me have you.'

mingyu thinks you deserve the world and his silly confession. jeonghan was right - it does feel much lighter once heavy words leave the confines of his chest. you look like you're about to cry and he steps closer, cradling your face in his hands. 'i don't deserve your tears,' he mutters. 'please don't-'

'then don't make me cry, idiot.' you slap his chest, laughing. 'it's all your fault.'

mingyu leans in. 'but good tears, right?'

you nod. 'yeah. i like you too, by the way. also in the falling in love territory.'

mingyu smiles. if he felt relieved before then now he feels like he's about to burst from happiness. 'good.' he says. 'i'm gonna kiss you now, alright?'

the smile you gift him makes his knees weak. 'please do.'

you don't have to ask him twice.

a/n: sorry for getting carried away with this request but i do hope you will like it! - nini <3

more seventeen works are HERE

#seventeen imagine #seventeen reaction #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu fluff #mingyu imagines #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt mingyu #svt kim mingyu #mingyu #svt mingyu x reader #svt mingyu imagine

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ak319 · 7 months ago

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Haii!, I really like your Arthur Morgan series and I've also read it several times and it's not boring at all!🫶🏻

Can I make a request? If so, can you make the reader jealous because Arthur is close to Mary Beth?🫶🏻 (Arthur and the reader's relationship is not platonic!)

(AN: Tsym! Remind me why we making Y/n suffer again? PS: I'm terrible at writing jealousy shit ngl and I legit dunno why. AND THATS LIT WHAT YALL KEPT ASKING FOR-😭☠) Hope yall enjoy reading lol)

Warnings/MDNI: None, just angst and then fluff to soothe your asses-

You were by the lake, lazily washing clothes. The day had you feeling sluggish, and the pleasant weather didn’t exactly help motivate you. The water was just the right temperature, cool enough to refresh but warm enough to keep you rooted in place. You should really pick up the pace, finish up, and grab some tea--or coffee--or a well-deserved break.

The faint hum of camp activity behind you was oddly comforting, a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. That is until you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel, quick and impatient, followed by a sharp curse.

“Dammit! I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, girl.”

You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as Molly stormed up to you, her face a mix of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“For God’s sake, Molly, you know my Tuesday routine by now,” you teased, tossing a wet shirt into the basket beside you. “It’s not like this camp is big enough to lose someone. Honestly, I think you’re just bad at looking.”

She didn’t laugh. Not even a crack of a smile. Instead, she stood there, arms crossed, her expression tight with barely-contained frustration. You paused mid-scrub, a curious eyebrow raised.

“What’s gotten into you? You look ready to murder someone.”

“Oh, sure,” she snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Leave it to ever-so-clueless (Y/N) to not notice a damn thing going on around her.” She gestured wildly toward the camp as though you were missing some grand spectacle.

You blinked, thoroughly confused. “What the hell are you on about?”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she hesitated as if debating whether you were even worth the explanation. Then, with a dramatic huff, she took a step closer, glaring down at you like you’d personally wronged her.

“Let me spell it out for you. Do I even bother tellin’ you what’s happening? Or should I just assume it won’t make a difference because your ‘dearest cold heart’ won’t care? Or worse, you’ll just laugh it off like you always do!”

Your hands stilled in the water, the soap slipping through your fingers. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

"Y’know, what I just heard and saw?” Molly huffed, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. “Mr. Arthur Morgan, having a chat with Mary-Beth. Mary-Beth! That same snake who’s all over Dutch, and now, apparently, your man, (Y/N)!”

Her voice rose with each word, and you blinked, caught completely off guard. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge your reaction. “I swear to God, she was asking him to buy her another one of those silly romance books for her lovesick brain. I mean, why Arthur, huh? Why doesn’t she go pester Kieran’s ass instead?”

Hearing her rant, you stood up, gripping the damp shirt in your hands as you processed her words. “Wh--sounds like a friendly chat to me, Molly,” you said, trying to brush it off with a shrug. “I mean, Arthur brings stuff for everyone. He goes out the most, doesn’t he? And, well, Kieran… he’s not exactly allowed far from camp neither he can afford anything right now. They still don’t trust him, y’know. And Arthur, he’s like a brother to Mary-Beth-"

“Don’t even start with that ‘brother’ shit, (Y/N),” Molly snapped, cutting you off. “It's just a facade.”

Your mouth fell open, heat rushing to your face at the implication. Uncertainty clawed at your chest as you tried to stammer a response, but she wasn’t done. Molly’s jealousy toward Mary Beth only seemed to fuel her fire, her words coming quicker now, sharp and biting.

“And don’t act like it couldn’t happen. You think she doesn’t see how kind he is to you? How he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching? Oh, she sees it. And she’d snatch him up the moment she gets the chance.”

You clenched your jaw, her words making you shift uncomfortably. Sure, you trusted Arthur, but the venom in Molly’s tone, the way her words seemed to twist around your insecurities, left you feeling just the slightest bit unsteady.

"Did he even say goodbye to you before he sprang into action?” Molly pressed, her voice softer now, almost pitying. “And the other day, weren’t you telling me you needed some cream for your hands? You even told him, and look, just look at your hands.”

Her gaze dropped to your chapped and reddened fingers, and you instinctively tried to wipe them dry on your skirt, as if that would somehow make them better. Her words were digging deeper now, clawing at something vulnerable in you. Did he forget to bring it? Or worse, did he not care enough to remember? Had your wishes, his woman’s wishes, stopped mattering to him altogether?

“This is bullshit, you should have run away with that pen pal of yours, to be honest when you had the chance,” Molly muttered, crossing her arms. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you she’s after Dutch. And now she’s after both! I swear, those books she reads must be teaching her these tactics. Manipulative little-"

“I--y’know what?” you cut her off, your voice suddenly firm as your gaze drifted to the camp, your eyes narrowing.

“What?” Molly asked, surprised by your sudden shift in tone.

“Let’s just go,” you said, your voice laced with resolve.

“Go where?”

“Town.”

Without waiting for her to argue, you kicked the bucket of soapy water, sending it tumbling into the river, the suds spilling out and disappearing downstream. The laundry lay abandoned on the grass as you turned and marched toward the stables, Molly following close behind.

Damn everyone, then.

❀˖°

Arthur returned to camp, expecting to find you in his tent as usual. But when he stepped inside, the familiar space felt oddly empty. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Hey... um, Sadie?" he called out, spotting her near the campfire. "You seen (Y/N)?"

Sadie glanced up from sharpening her knife. "Oh, yeah. She and Molly went to town."

"What?!" The word escaped him before he could stop it, his voice louder than he intended. Clearing his throat, he muttered a quick, “Thanks,” and walked back to his tent, feeling heat rise to his face. He slumped down onto his cot with a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You know how he felt about you going far from camp without him, even if you were with one of the girls. It wasn’t a matter of trust, it was fear.

And still you did.

There were too many dangers out there, too many things that could go wrong, and the thought of you out there without him stirred a storm in his chest.

It was 5 p.m., the time when you two usually sat together to talk about your day over supper. The time he looked forward to most whenever he was at camp. And now? He sat there, staring at the flap of his tent, the minutes ticking by painfully slow.

But what bothered him more was why you’d gone. And with Molly, of all people. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her, he didn’t have a problem with her, not really. But something about the way you two were together always set him on edge.

He’d told you how he felt about it once. About how Molly seemed to lean on you a little too much, how her sadness and drama sometimes seemed to pull you down with her. But of course, you’d defended her, saying you couldn’t just turn your back on your best friend. That Molly found her only comfort in your company.

And you were right. He knew you were. But that didn’t make it any easier to sit here, waiting, imagining where you were and what could happen.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, his appetite gone. Instead of heading to the campfire for supper, he threw himself onto his cot, pulling his hat over his face in an attempt to block out the growing worry gnawing at his chest.

But even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t shake the unease. Images of you and Molly wandering through town, far from the safety of camp, flickered in his mind. He trusted you, of course, but the world out there? That was another story entirely.

“Damn woman never listens to me,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with equal parts frustration and concern.

Sleep didn’t come easily, and even as he tried to rest, he knew one thing for certain, when you came back, this was a conversation he wasn’t going to let slide.

❀˖°

Arthur woke with a start, roused by Bill’s loud guffaw somewhere in the camp. With a groan, he rubbed his face, taking a moment to shake off the haze of sleep and piece together his scattered thoughts. Then it hit him, the memory of you leaving with Molly, and the worry twisted sharply in his chest again.

He pushed himself up with a sigh, his body stiff from the restless nap. Moving through camp, he glanced around, hoping, praying, to catch sight of you. But there was nothing. No sign of you or Molly.

He considered asking Dutch, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. Dutch would likely know even less than he did, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood for meaningless chatter.

Back at his tent, he sat on the edge of his cot, pulling out his journal in an attempt to distract himself. The flap of the tent was open, giving him a clear view of camp, but his eyes kept flickering toward it, waiting for you to appear.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to eat, not until you came back, served the meal, and sat down beside him. That was how it went. That was how it had to go.

He was about to get up and go to find both of you himself when-

"Um, Arthur?" Abigail’s voice broke through his brooding. She appeared by the flap of his tent, holding a coffee pot. "There’s some coffee left, and I’ve got to wash the pot, would you like a cup?"

He shook his head, barely sparing her a glance. "Why’d they go to town?"

"Molly and (Y/N)?" Abigail tilted her head, her tone casual. "Oh, they’ve been back. Got back about half an hour ago. They’re in my tent, just hanging out."

Arthur blinked, first in shock, then confusion, which quickly morphed into anger. Half an hour? You’d been back for that long and hadn’t even bothered to come see him? Not even a word after being gone all day?

He shut his journal with a snap, the sound echoing his rising temper, and stood. The muffled chatter coming from Abigail’s tent grated on his nerves as he stalked toward it, each step heavier than the last.

What the hell was going on with you?

He cleared his throat outside the tent before pushing the flap open, only to find you and Molly sitting cross-legged, enjoying supper.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you."

You swallowed your bite, not bothering to look up at him. "Needed a few important things from town, actually, so I had to go."

Arthur’s jaw tightened. "Can you come with me? I want to talk."

"I’m already talking to Molly," you replied, your tone curt, still avoiding his gaze.

Damn it. Why the hell weren’t you even looking at him? That gnawing frustration in his chest boiled over. He had enough of this.

"I said, Come. With. Me." he demanded, his voice low but firm, the tone sharper than he intended.

Your head snapped up, eyes glaring at him with such intensity that, for a moment, he regretted using that tone. Hell, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him just a little.

"Oh, excuse me, Mister. Don’t you dare order me around like a maid, alright? I sit, talk, and walk when I want to. And right now? I don’t want to. Now go away, we’re busy."

Arthur ignored Molly’s taunting scoff, still fixated on you. Something about this--about you--just didn’t sit right.

"I’m sorry, okay? I’m just hungry. I was waiting for you... Can we eat now?" Arthur’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anger softening. "...I was just worried as hell."

Hell, I still am.

But you didn’t let it go. "I’ve already eaten, and I didn’t ask you to wait for me. There are plenty of people around here you can share your meal with, Arthur. Plenty."

You turned your attention back to Molly, flashing her a rueful grin with your hair covering your face but he definitely caught it.

The Irishwoman gave you a knowing smile, her voice full of mischief. "Oh, girl, there’s always someone around."

This is how it's gonna be huh?

His first instinct was to walk away, but no. Arthur wasn’t the type to run from problems. With one swift movement, he grabbed your arm and dragged you out and behind the tent, just past the tree line. He stared down at you, his expression a mix of annoyance and desperation.

"What the hell is that all about?! And you know I hate it when you go out alone-"

"I don’t care! I don’t care anymore!" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger. "I hate going out for some petty stuff too, which, by the way, I clearly asked you to get, and you forgot! I guess books are more important than me, huh?."

Arthur’s chest tightened. He rarely saw this side of you ever since you both got together, the frustration, the hurt, the coldness. "See, this is the problem," you continued, your voice rising. "When men find someone vulnerable enough to control, to fix, they get bored. Then they move on, find someone else to repeat the same damn cycle. Am I right?"

His mouth went dry. The words cut deep. But what hurt him the most was the thought that maybe... maybe you believed that.

He wasn’t asking for much, was he? Three meals with you, a cup of coffee, that was it. Simple things that made him feel like you cared. That made him feel loved. But you didn’t... or did you?

The silence between you two was deafening as he tried to process what you said.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur started, his frustration mounting. "See, this is why I don’t like when you and Molly-"

"Oh, no, no, no. Shush. Don’t you dare," you interrupted, your voice sharp, but there was a deep hurt behind it. "She’s always been right, Arthur. I was the dumb one. I’ve been working my ass off for you, and you didn’t even bother to say goodbye this morning, huh?"

Arthur froze, guilt beginning to gnaw at him. He wasn’t ready for this. "You know, I had a chance to leave this life, you know exactly who I’m talking about. But I didn’t. I chose you. But if I’m just gonna be sidelined like this? Nuh-uh. My ego doesn’t allow it. Nobody gets to disrespect me like that."

You took a deep breath, eyes blazing. "If you don’t want me anymore, then say it. Don’t play these stupid-ass games with me. I’m not Molly, not when it comes to this."

Arthur’s stomach dropped as the weight of your words settled in. He could feel the hurt radiating off of you, the betrayal that had built up. And now it made sense. Molly had probably warned you, just like she always did. He could almost hear her saying it a dozen times in the morning,

'Don’t let him treat you like that, they are all shit.'

"There is NOTHING like that, woman!" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration. "Is that what this is about? You’re ready to just forget, hell, even think like this over a misunderstanding?"

"Call it whatever you want," you replied coldly, not backing down. "But not gonna lie, the pattern makes sense now, Arthur."

He took a step back, trying to steady his breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Don’t say that... c’mon. You know it’s not true! She’s like a sister to me! For God’s sake, how can you even think--"

Without another word, you grabbed his satchel, the leather creaking in your grip, and flipped it upside down. A book slid out and thudded onto the ground.

Arthur froze, his eyes darting to the book, then to the scattered contents of his bag. He watched, his heart sinking, as you threw the satchel aside in disgust. "Bravo," you muttered, the bitterness in your voice sharper than a knife.

"Don't even bother explaining. I’m tired." You began to walk away, but before you could get far, Arthur grabbed your wrist.

"Don't you dare, no way you’re... sleeping away from me." His voice started strong, then faltered into a desperate plea, but you didn’t turn around. With a sharp jerk, you freed your hand from his grasp and continued walking.

Arthur stood there for a moment, his breath heavy as he watched you leave. With a defeated sigh, he bent down to gather the scattered contents of his satchel. Tilly approached, offering to help, but he shrugged her off with a tired wave and handed the book over to Mary-Beth, who was standing a few feet away, her face filled with guilt and sadness. His hand lingered in his pocket for a moment, pulling out the cream he had meant to bring you, adding it to the pile with a sharp scoff.

His posture was slumped, his movements slow and burdened. He didn’t need to say anything, his body language alone was enough to tell Tilly, Mary-Beth, and anyone else watching that this sulking would last for days, and you... you weren’t someone who accepted apologies easily.

❀˖°

And that’s exactly what happened. Arthur waited every day, hoping you would just come, sit with him, and listen. He longed for you to let him explain, to sort things out, so he could hold you in his arms again. Dammit. He missed you at night like a child misses their favorite doll.

But you weren’t just any doll.

You were his doll.

And when it came to you, he was nothing but a man-child.

Everybody knew his routine, the gang enforcer's routine. Simple, predictable. Come back, chat a little, handle his business, talk and eat with you, then the tent flaps closed, just the two of you, a world away from the chaos of the camp.

But now?

Come back, brood in one corner, pace to another, sleep with the flaps wide open.

Arthur’s mood soured every time he saw you doing something that wasn’t just being with him. Chores, errands, anything that took you away, even for a moment, made him restless, agitated. He needed you with him, in the tent, with the flaps closed, where he could hold you, even if it was just in the silence of the night.

Every night, he asked you to come with him. But you ignored him. Yet, he kept asking, unable to stop the desperate hope that you’d return, that you’d see it the way he did.

"Damnit. Damn stubborn ass woman." He grumbled for what? The millionth time? Sighing he petted his horse as it trotted at a leisurely pace, just a few meters from camp. How the hell had it all gone so bad? What was even the point anymore? Are you happy now?

His horse huffed as if sensing his despair, nudging him gently, but Arthur barely acknowledged it. The familiar sound of the camp in the distance only served to remind him that nothing was the same anymore, not the meals, not the quiet talks, and certainly not the comfort of his cot. That's it. This ends tonight.

He is going to carry you over his shoulder if that takes you to talk to him. To hell with your protests and stubbornness.

You were crouched down, sorting through vegetables with Abigail, your hands busy with the task at hand.

It wasn’t long before you saw Molly moving quietly, eyes darting back and forth, heading toward the girls' area.

You knew Molly. You had spent enough time with her to understand that when her instincts kicked in, she often acted before she thought. There was an impulsive streak in her, a tendency to let her emotions guide her steps, and that could be dangerous. Especially now, when tensions were already high.

Without much thought, you excused yourself from Abigail, your voice quick and unsteady. “I’ll be right back.”

You left her with the vegetables and slipped away from the campfire, your steps light as you tried to stay out of sight. Moving quietly, you found a small, hidden spot behind a tent, where you could just make out the faint sounds of voices, though you couldn’t yet hear clearly what was being said. Your heart pounded in your chest.

"(Y/N) and I were so close, in fact, like sisters, but you ruined that too! I don’t know what you told her-" Mary-Beth’s voice cracked, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual calm, polite tone she carried. There was raw emotion, maybe even a hint of fear, but more than that, it sounded like heartbreak.

"You did it! Just like you're trying to ruin my relationship with Dutch."

"Are you in your senses, Ms. Molly?!" Mary-Beth gasped, trying to defend herself. "How can you even think that?!"

The past few days, you couldn’t help but notice her glances at you, brief but meaningful. It was as if she was caught between wanting to reach out and not knowing if you’d welcome her presence. Her eyes would meet yours across the camp, filled with a mixture of concern and hesitation, as if she longed to approach, to console you, but the fear of intruding, of making things worse, kept her frozen in place.

You understood her hesitation. She was a kind soul, someone who cared deeply for those she loved, and in these tense moments, you knew she wasn’t sure how to navigate the space between you both. And neither did you try to clear the air.

"You and your pretty face are going to be your downfa-"

"Molly, enough." You stepped in, your voice firm. Molly turned to you, arms crossed over her chest, her face filled with frustration.

"(Y/N), don’t tell me you’re under her spell too, for God’s sake. She needs to get a reality check-"

"Molly," you interjected, stepping forward and gently taking hold of her arms. You guided her a few steps away from Mary-Beth, the tension between them thick. "Let me handle it, alright?"

"Don’t pity her, let me make that clear. Otherwise, you’ll be the one regretting it." Molly threw one last angry glance at Mary-Beth, shaking her head before storming off, muttering under her breath.

You stood there, a heavy sigh escaping you as you rubbed your forehead, watching Molly retreat. Turning back to Mary-Beth, who sat on the ground, you softened your expression. "I apologize on her behalf..." You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. You knew you’d have to work hard to get Molly to let go of her anger, but that's for later.

"It's... alright, (Y/N)." Her voice croaked, and you didn’t miss the tremble in it, nor the quiet tears she tried to hide. Your gaze shifted to the book resting on the makeshift table in the corner. The one she had requested. You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat.

"You’re not reading it?" you asked, your voice gentle.

She looked up at you, shaking her head slowly. You could see the weight of her emotions pressing down on her, and it hurt to see her like this.

You walked over, picked up the book, and sat beside her. "Why not?" you asked softly. It caught her off guard, and for a moment, her eyes softened. She hesitated before returning the smile, albeit faintly, her sadness still lingering behind it.

"I am sorry... (Y/N), if you... if you misunderstood my actions, but I swear it’s nothing. There’s nobody else, except Mr. Morgan that we feel comfortable enough to ask for things... but if you mind it, then we won’t--"

"No. No. You can ask without hesitation, and I am sorry. I was quick to jump to... conclusions," you interrupted, your voice soft with regret. You hugged her, and she gladly returned the embrace. The warmth of her arms around you soothed the tension in your chest.

You placed the book gently in her lap and shifted your body closer, not wanting to break the moment. "I just... y'know... when I love someone, I do it fully. And I don’t tolerate when that gets disrespected, y'know? That’s one thing I will never forgive." Your voice trembled slightly, the depth of your feelings evident. "But anyway, do read it, and then we’ll have a chat about it. You know I love hearing you yap about your books more than reading them myself."

She chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a glimmer of her old self, and you watched her face brighten as she held the book. You stood up, feeling a sense of relief, but also a lingering desire to stay.

"Definitely. But for now, I must go work too, don’t want Susan to bury me alive."

"You better." As you were making your way back to the kitchen wagon, a figure stepped in your way.

"Am I forgiven too?" His voice was teasing, but his expression was genuine. You deadpanned, folding your arms.

"Ummmm... let me think about it," you replied with a mock thoughtful expression, your gaze narrowing slightly.

He mirrored your posture, folding his arms with a smirk. "Not fair, woman. Not fair."

"I never said I was." You gave him a pointed look before turning to walk past him.

As you continued your walk back to the kitchen wagon, you felt a lightness in the air, a shift that felt... right. Arthur, still a few steps behind you, watched you quietly with an almost childish pout. There was something about the way his gaze lingered on you that told you he was waiting, waiting for you to acknowledge it all, to say what neither of you had dared to say yet.

You stopped for a moment, as you placed the cutting board, and turned to face him. The sunlight caught the edges of his hair, giving him a softer, not to mention the dark circles, giving him a more vulnerable look than you’d seen before. There was no teasing now, no masks, just Arthur, looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

"I’m sorry, too," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "For the things I said."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I don’t like it either. I swear, I’d rather fight a hundred men than have you angry at me. But..." His hand reached out hesitantly, as though unsure whether he had the right to touch you, to pull you close. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. And I apologize too...for making you feel that way. But I swear it wasn't in my intention."

A warmth spread through your chest at his words. It wasn’t the grand gestures or flowery promises that touched you. It was the simplicity of it, the honesty in his voice, the vulnerability he rarely let show. "Well then let me tell you that," you whispered back, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "I’m not going anywhere."

With a relieved exhale, Arthur stepped forward, his arms wrapping around you firmly, pulling you into his chest. It was as though all the tension from before melted away, and in its place, there was just the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. "I love you," he murmured into your hair, the words so familiar now, but somehow more precious each time.

You nestled into his embrace, letting your worries fade for the moment, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. "I love you, too," you replied, your voice barely above a breath, but you meant it with everything you had.

"Y'know darlin'...I was very close to shootin' myself if I had to sleep on the cold bed any longer. It took strength to control myself and not drag you out-" You rolled your eyes and pulled away.

"Right, now go away, I have work to do."

"Absolutely not. To hell with these damn chores. You are coming with me."

You shot him a skeptical glance, hands on your hips as you paused in your tracks. "Really?" you said, raising an eyebrow.

A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he stepped closer, his broad frame encroaching on your space. "What do you think, darlin'?" he teased, his hands coming up to cradle your face, nearly squishing it with playful force. He gave your head a gentle shake, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It’s been too damn long. You’ve had me sleeping like a corpse for days. You cruel woman."

You tried to hold back the laugh that bubbled up in your chest, but his determination was infectious "Fine," you muttered, giving in more to his presence than anything else. He grinned, his hands reaching for you, pulling you effortlessly toward the flap of his tent.

"Atta girl." His voice held a triumphant edge, but it was softened with affection.

And finally, after days, the enforcer's tent flaps were closed at night--and so was the distance between you two.

(AN: Req/asks closed for now, guys :/ do keep in mind ur ideas and send once I'll announce them open)

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