#Wherever did he end up though...? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kylopen · 4 months ago

Text

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-

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kissmaybank · 29 days ago

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EX BOYFRIEND!RAFE

ex boyfriend!rafe who refuses to move on. in his mind, you're still his and he won't let that go. no matter why the two of you split, he doesn't want any other girl. to him, no one comforts him the same, cusses him out when he's being crazy, and he knows no other man will ever come close. still calling you his "princess," picking you up for parties, and showing you off to everyone like you were still dating.

ex boyfriend!rafe still buying you shit—whatever you want, he'll buy it. not because he thinks it'll win you back, he loves seeing you in things that he got for you; makes him feel like he still has some sort of control over you. no other girl would ever receive gifts the way he spoils you—new bags, heels, the finest jewelry, all of it. rafe even had the audacity to gift you a necklace with his initials engraved in it, and knew you were still hooked on him the moment he seen you wear it. rafe especially loves getting your nails done—he chooses the color, length and everything, just to see what looks prettiest wrapped around his cock when he shows up to your house for sex.

ex boyfriend!rafe always lurking wherever you are, almost like he's stalking (even though he won't call it that—he know's he's obsessed). every party you attend, even if he shows to your house unannounced, he's always around. it's no secret how irresistible you'd always been, rafe's blood boiling anytime he fights off other men from trying to speak to you—and if you'd always known anything, it's that rafe didn't care about being violent, if it meant having you to himself then it'd be worth it. watching you flip your hair, giggle as your cheeks flushed and hips swayed in whatever mini dress you wore, appearing silent yet deadly when he'd snaked his arm around your waist like a claim.

ex boyfriend!rafe smug since he knows you won't hesitate to fuck him if he just asks. anytime, any day, you're easy to crack through in his eyes. all he has to do is show up smelling like cedar-wood and whiskey, speaking in that low, rough voice, and that signature, smug smirk he always gave—you'd melt right into his arms, and right onto his dick, like always.

always a quick text saying something like, "let me in pretty girl." even when you roll your eyes, your feet never fail to carry you across the floor. though, you didn't stand a chance anyways—the way he looked at you, smirking as his gaze burned down your figure. "missed me?"

arms crossed, you stared right back into his piercing, ocean colored eyes. "far from it rafe..."

"yeah, yeah, whatever...go upstairs and wait on me."

and you listened.

ex boyfriend!rafe who will always want you at the end of the day. he never misses a birthday, christmas, and even the date of your anniversary. rafe had always been someone you'd depend on. you knew he'd always defend you from creeps, comfort you whenever you weren't feeling your usual self, and you always did the same for him.

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paranoiddreams · 4 months ago

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Was this a dream i originally had about Nanami? Yes. Did I wake up to my kitty throbbing his name in Morse code? You’ll never know. But I decided to replace Nanami with Satoru because this is definitely something he’d do without a second thought. Nanami though, he’d probably give you a Ted talk on why masturbation is healthy for everyone so you wouldn’t be embarrassed lol.

Thinking about pervy roommate!Satoru finding your dildo one day while searching through your room (for purposes he will not explain) and literally laughs in your face when you confront him. Because no, this bitch didn’t tell you that he found it—he let you find out.

You came home from wherever you were and go into your room to find (what you thought was) your most elusive possession just laid prettily on top of your pillow. Next to it was a little note; all that was on it was ‘you could do better’ in the most pompous, cutesy handwriting you’ve ever seen. He even added a little heart at the end.

Satoru, strategically, was already at the gym, so you couldn’t even yell at him when you crumpled up the note and ran to his room to throw it at him.

But when he did come home, all hell broke loose; although, not in the way you thought it would.

You’re on Satoru’s lap, one of his stupidly strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep you there. You’re not even able to protest anyway, because his other hand is the holding the end of your dildo as he stuffs your throat with it.

“Aww, what? You embarrassed now? You weren’t when you were screaming at me for finding it,” he whispers in your ear. He’s being so mean as you squirm in his lap, drool dripping down your neck as he fucks your throat with your toy, and you hate to admit that it’s only making you love this even more. Even though tears are streaming down your cheeks, and strangled whimpers escape your lips every time he pulls the toy out, you can’t help but push your thighs together.

“You won’t be needing this anymore, sweet thing…”

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fawniette · 13 days ago

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toji and his controversially young girlfriend 🐰 !

older!toji who works in security, usually found working as a bouncer for numerous clubs and bars. he’s definitely the type of bouncer that’s annoyingly strict, looking over at id’s for far too long or confiscating them when he believes they’re fake.

older!toji who you first met when you was on a night out with your girls, you can get pretty hectic, so conversations with him were inevitable. but he couldn’t help but think you were the prettiest girl he’s seen and gradually gets to know you on a more personal level when he sees you out most weekends.

older!toji who’s definitely a little thrown off by your age gap, which prevents him from making any bold moves, even if you’re reciprocating it and making moves of your own. he doesn’t wanna come off as some creepy older man.

older!toji who does eventually give in and asks you for your number despite his thoughts. he’s never dated a younger girl before but he had really grown to like you, he also couldn’t deny the attraction he had for you and the undeniable chemistry between you. and besides, you’re still an adult at the end of the day.

older!toji who is so naturally and casually dominant, always leading you with his hand on your lower back, or making simple decisions for you both in day to day life. he’s always the one to lead while you can just simply turn your brain off.

older!toji who is such a gentlemen, taking you out on dates to wherever your heart desired before showing up to your door with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, and buying you gifts whenever you mentioned something you liked.

older!toji who just loves to spoil you. he loves seeing the way your face lights up whenever he buys you something, thanking him with a pretty smile that has him handing you his card all over again.

older!toji who takes you out of town for a few days when he decides he wants to make you his girl. he’s making this trip as romantic as possible for you, finally popping the question where you happily and wholeheartedly agree.

older!toji who then fucked you later that night for the first time with so much adoration, worshipping your body with his gentle kisses and soft touches, just admiring how beautiful you looked under him, bare and vulnerable all while whispering how well worth the wait was.

older!toji whose thrusts were deep, bottoming out inside of you as your pussy swallow him whole, fluttering around his shaft that causes a deep hiss to escape his lips as he snaps his hips forward, which elicits a pretty, surprised gasp from you.

older!toji who makes you cum multiple times on his cock as the pads of his thumbs circle over your clit, your velvet walls clenching over and over as your back arches with the snap of his hips. he just can’t get enough of your sweet moans.

older!toji who couldn’t finish without eating you out like a starved man, having you sat directly on his face as you buck you hips with his tongue working pure magic on your sensitive clit and glossy folds. and you can feel that cocky smirk he has as your squirm from your umpteenth orgasm of the night.

older!toji who had everyone worried besides your friends who already knew him when you introduced him as your boyfriend. he definitely has a certain look to him with his dark hair and eyes with that unbelievably sexy scar on the side of his mouth. not to mention he was over a decade older that you. it definitely wasn’t doing him any favours when trying to win over your loved ones.

older!toji who is so fiercely protective over you now that you’re officially his, swearing to himself that he’d never let you get into harms way. he’s more than willing to put his life at risk if it means keeping you safe.

older!toji who spoils you even more than he did before, always getting you anything that you ask for when he sees those pleading eyes and a pretty smile on your glossed lips. he has a real hard time resisting you even though you drain his bank account, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

older!toji who hates the idea of you going out with your girls now that you’re his. he knows it’s a toxic trait of his, and he’s never gonna go and stop you or try and control you. but he’ll always have something to say about it, which is usually met with your eye rolls that have him sighing.

older!toji who has just honestly just turned into such a lover boy since being with you. he wants you all to himself, even if he knows you should be out there having fun. but he’s trying to somewhat control himself.

older!toji who just loves and adores you so much. you take up all of his mind, and while you might be his controversially young girlfriend, he couldn’t care less about what anyone has to say about it. and honestly, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the fact he can teach you all he knows.

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valleydolli · 1 month ago

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౨ৎ NFLplayer!Toji x WAG!reader ౨ৎ

Authors Note: This is so random it just came to me and I was like oh my goodness let me write it down and then I kept going, and going, and going and here we are... heh... ALSO I did NOT proof read it, because if I did I wouldn't post it cause I'm judgemental! I'm going to watch The Apothecary Diaries now!

NFLplayer!Toji, who spotted you in the crowd at one of his games. Causing him to completely freeze on the field, so captivated by your beauty. The Jumbotron cameras notice who he’s staring at and instantly puts you on the big screen. You have yet to realise because you weren’t paying attention to the game at all. It was your friend who dragged you here. Your friend punches your arm, causing you to wince. “What the hell?” You yell at her. She manually turns your head to look at the jumbotron with your face on it, captioned, “Fushiguro’s future WAG!” Your jaw drops to the floor. The crowd is roaring. The whole game deadass paused just for Toji Fushiguro, THEE Toji Fushiguro, to gawk at you.

What in the Wattpad story is this?!

NFLplayer!Toji, who, as soon as his game ended, yelled at his manager, Shiu, to go look for you. Shiu finds you shuffling your way out of the exit. He quickly runs to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn ready to yell at the stranger touching you, but he’s holding up his badge that says, “Manager” on it. Shiu indicates that you should come with him. You go to say no, but your friend quickly places her hand on your mouth, guiding you to wherever this “Shiu” guy is taking you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who is patiently waiting for Shiu to bring you into his locker room. Did he find you? Did you say no? So many questions running through his mind until he hears the door click, watching you walk right through. Your eyes scan Toji's personal locker room, before your beautiful eyes land on his green ones. He shoots up, walking to you, offering his hand. You take it, placing your smaller hand into his bigger one. Your eyes widen at how big they are. “Your hands are freakishly big, by the way.” He snorts, “Why do you think I'm the best at this shit?”

“I don’t really pay attention to this shit. I just got invited by my friend.” You try to slide your hand out of his slowly before he claps it shut, keeping hold of your hand. You stare at him, confused, awkwardly laughing. He really likes holding your hand.

NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you then and there to go on a date with you. You want to say no, but something in you tells you to say yes. And you’re glad you did. The date was a disaster. It was so bad, but so funny and so cute. He really did try his best, but failed miserably. Though it wasn’t really his fault. He wanted to take you on a picnic date, and the weather app said it would be sunny out, but no, the universe decided to rain on his parade… literally. You were both soaked. The food was ruined. The blanket was soggy. Man, how unlucky could he be? He was sure you would never want to see his ass again.

NFLplayer!Toji, who was shocked when you asked if his apartment was nearby, so you both could dry off. It wasn’t, but he didn’t care, as long as he could spend more time with you after the disaster of a date they just had.

NFLplayer!Toji, who takes you back to his, not-so-nearby penthouse, giving you a change of clothes and a hair dryer to dry your hair. “This place is nice… My apartment is probably the size of your bedroom,” You laugh.

NFLplayer!Toji, who tells you, “Don't worry. When I marry you, we’ll have a bigger place than this.” Your eyes widen, and he doesn’t laugh; he still has a stoic expression on his rugged face. “You’re extremely unserious, Toji. You know that?”

“I’m being so fucking serious, doll.”

NFLplayer!Toji, who has been seeing you for months now. You’re not dating officially, but he brings you to all his events and football games, bragging about how you’re his wife. Not only skipping the girlfriend part, but just outright lying to people. Do you correct him, though? Of course not.

UpcomingWAG!reader, who has accumulated millions of followers, in the few months that she's been with Toji.

UpcomingWAG!reader, who gets heaps of hate and love comments on her social media.

NFLplayer!Toji, who hates every one of his fangirls and boys who harass you on social media.

NFLplayer!Toji, who made a social media account just to call said fangirls and boys, “pieces of shit” “nowhere near as gorgeous as his girl (you, duh.)” and personally going through your comment section reporting each and every hate comment and going on their profiles to call them ugly in the comments. It really doesn’t get to you, because you barely check your socials anyway. You just post what you want and dip. Whether it’s a photo of a new bag Toji got you, or a breakfast he made you, or just Toji his damn self. You couldn't care less.

NFLplayer!Toji, who asks you to marry him after his Super Bowl win— Oh, he didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend? Yeah, fuck that he had to get straight to the point. No wasting time around here. You better be ready to put on a damn white dress and head to a church. Because obviously you said yes.

NFLplayer!Toji, who fucks you like he hates you, roughly ramming his hips into you every night, holding you close to his body; so tight you wouldn't be able to break free even if you tried your upmost hardest, but it’s not like you would want to be away from him anyway. He kisses you deeply the whole time he's fucking you— no, making love to you. Confessing how much you've changed his life for the better. How no one could even come close to you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who marries you 3 months after proposing to you. A small wedding, but it was enough for you, so it was enough for him.

WAG!reader, who becomes an ICONIC WAG, maybe even more iconic that than Victoria Beckham and Cheryl Cole. You start some of the biggest fashion trends. The paparazzi always need to know where you are. You're gifted almost everything in your life now. You being shown on that Jumbotron really changed your life for the better. Toji, changed your life for the better.

NFLplayer!Toji, who is completely ready to start a family with you. He has been ready for a while, but he cares how you feel about it more. If you don't want kids, he’s okay with that. If you want to adopt, that's more than okay. But if you want him to breed the fuck out of you. Then it’ll be his damn pleasure.

WAG!reader, who lets Toji know that you do want kids with him just not so soon. You're young and you want to enjoy this new WAG status you've just gained.

WAG!reader, who after 2 years of being married, lets Toji know you're ready to start a family with him. He can't speak for a moment, but you straddle him pecking his lips, telling him to take you to your bedroom.

NFLplayer!Toji, who rushes to the bedroom, carefully placing you down on the sheets, kissing every each of your body... Literally. He's cherishing the future mother of his kid-- not kid, sorry, he means kids... PLURAL. You two are about to make a whole new NFL team. He fucked you into the night. Dumping heaps of his hot cum into your fertile womb.

"Toji, hah it's s-so much," you whimper.

He reassures that, you can take it, you have to take it. He straightens your legs, hugging them tightly, pounding into you roughly, but with love too. But fuck every mewl you make, every moan. It's extremely difficult for him to not fuck the shit out of you. But he knows he's much bigger than you, so he'll always be asking you and making sure his wife is okay.

He falls on top of you; the both of you cumming together intensely, trying to catch your breath. You lift his head up off your shoulder kissing him gently, telling how well he did. You both love to give each other praises. He's your hype man and you're his hype girl.

WAG!reader, who a month later takes a pregnancy test seeing those two special lines. You're excited to tell Toji but, he needs to be focused on practice right now. You don't want to shift that focus onto you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who has noticed a change in you but cant quite put his finger on it. Your skin is somehow more glowy than usual. But, you're also way more tired than before. You sleep in so late that you're asleep when he leaves for practice and you're asleep when he gets back.

NFLplayer!Toji, who is shocked to come back from practice, seeing you awake for once, but awake and standing in front of balloons that say "You're going to be a daddy!"

He stays still for a good 30 seconds surprised at what he's reading. He had an inkling that you might be pregnant, but he wasn't so sure. So, seeing this now, makes him the happiest person on this damn planet. He runs to you picking you up spinning you around like a princess before getting on his knees this place kisses on your not so pregnant looking stomach. He pledges to you and your unborn child.

"I promise I'll take good care of you... the both of you. I'll be an amazing Father I swear it.

The two of you decide to keep your pregnancy a secret from the public. You don't need unwarranted stress from not only the media, but fans too.

The following week you both go to your first scan, to take a look at the life you the made and the life you're growing. It's a little to early to find out the gender, but by the time your next appointment rolls by you'll know.

The next appointment comes and you find out you're carrying a boy. Toji, is ecstatic. He didn't mind what gender the baby would be, but he really did hope for a little boy and he got that. You've made his dream come true.

The nine months roll by sooner than anticipated. Your due date is right around the corner; close to Toji's birthday. He honestly hopes Megumi will stay in a little longer so they can share a birthday, but you got mad telling him to not wish further pain on you. Megumi's a big boy, thanks to his father... fatass.

NFLplayer!Toji, who panics when you wake him up abruptly, telling him your waters broke. He shoots out of bed grabbing everything needed to give birth to your little blessing. You’re screaming in the car while making your way to hospital, scaring the fuck out of Toji. Hr wants to cry, he’s never seen you like this and he hates it. It’s his fault, all his fault.

“It’s not your fault, Toji. I’m just going through labour. It’s natural. Just— oh my god, just drive to the fucking hospital!”

Toji may have sped slightly to the hospital, but safely of course…

After 3 hours you gave birth to your beautiful baby boy, Megumi.

NFLplayer!Toji, who cried for the first time since he was a young boy, after hearing the cries of your new born child. He kissed and thanked you profusely for being in his life. You honestly changed him for the better. He doesn’t know where he would be without you.

NFLplayer!Toji, who proudly walks out of the hospital with you in one hand and baby Megumi in the other. Walking out into the many flashing lights of paparazzi, that got some inside information that you just gave birth to a baby boy. You both surf your way through the sea of nosey paps before making it to your car, heading home a new family of three.

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danis-artss · 2 months ago

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GUYSS I DID ITTTT

Finished dannymay prompt 5 and 6 owo

Soooooo here you go with late day 5, Cryptid !

(Though it also works for day 4, eyes)

"Did you notice ?"

"Notice what ?"

"His eyes..."

"What about them ?"

"Sometimes.. it seems like they glow.. and, wherever he goes, shadows seem to deepen, lights tend to go out, the air grows cold, like- freezing cold.."

"That is weird, but.. that might all just be because of ghosts, yk ? Its no news that casper high is haunted.."

"Yes but.. just look at this photo, please ? You KNOW my camera is good, but whenever i try to take a photo of danny, the entire thing ends up grainy !! Buuut not even the grainyness can erase these damn glowing green eyes"

"Uhm.. dude ? Are you sure the grainyness and weird eyes are the only problem here ?"

"Huh? What do you mean"

"Look at his shadow"

#danny phantom #phanart #artists on tumblr #art #dp #danny fenton #digital art #artwork #anime art #anime style #dannymay #dannymay2025 #fanart #danny phantom fanart #drawing #my art #illustration

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ari-ana-bel-la · 3 months ago

Note

could you do alex albon’s 4 year old daughter getting lost in the paddock and having everyone panicking trying to find her?

Little Explorer

The Suzuka sun was already peeking over the horizon when Alex arrived at the paddock, his hand securely holding that of his four-year-old daughter, Yn. Her little pink cap was nearly too big for her head, threatening to slip down over her eyes every time she looked up at her dad. She wore a tiny Williams team shirt, complete with her name embroidered above the heart, and her backpack bounced with every excited step she took.

"Papa, is this where the race cars sleep?" Yn asked, eyes wide as she gazed around the bustling paddock.

Alex chuckled, crouching down to her level. "Not exactly, sweet pea. But it's where they get ready. Like a pit stop bedroom."

She giggled. “Do they have pillows?”

“If they do, they probably smell like engine oil.”

Yn made a face, scrunching her little nose, and Alex laughed. He stood up just in time to see Carlos approach them from across the garage.

"Good morning!" Carlos greeted with a big smile. He bent down slightly, holding out a fist for Yn, who bumped it without hesitation.

"Hola, Carlitos!" she chirped, her eyes sparkling.

"Already using the nickname, huh?" Alex grinned.

"She’s got good taste," Carlos teased. "How are you, princesa?"

“I saw a big tire! It was taller than me!” Yn said, stretching her arms to demonstrate the size.

Carlos gasped dramatically. “Wow! Did you try to lift it?”

“I did! But it was super heavy.”

“Well, we’ll work on your muscles later, okay?” Carlos winked at her, and Yn nodded very seriously.

Alex watched the exchange with a soft smile. It always warmed him how easily Carlos got along with his daughter. Though they kept Yn out of the spotlight, she had a way of making herself at home wherever she went.

"Hey," Carlos said quietly to Alex, "we have that strategy meeting in ten minutes."

Alex sighed. "Right. I almost forgot."

Carlos gestured toward a young Williams intern who was standing nearby. "She’ll be in good hands. We’ll be back before she can finish her juice box."

"Okay, sweetie," Alex crouched down to talk to Yn, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I need to go talk about grown-up stuff with Uncle Carlos. Can you be a good girl and hang out here with Miss Sophie for a little bit?"

Yn nodded solemnly. “I’ll be the best girl.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed her forehead before standing up, exchanging one last glance with the intern. “Thank you. We'll be quick.”

With that, he and Carlos disappeared into the meeting room, leaving Sophie to keep an eye on Yn, who had now sat on a small bench, swinging her legs and sipping from her juice pouch.

But it only took a moment.

One glance away to check a message on her phone.

And when Sophie looked up again—Yn was gone.

Yn wandered along the paddock path, her eyes filled with wonder at the noise, the smells, the shimmer of the mechanics' uniforms and the laughter echoing from various corners. She clutched her little cap in one hand as she meandered away, drawn by the colorful banners and a sudden patch of green at the far end.

Flowers.

Tucked beside a hospitality suite, a narrow planter overflowed with bright blossoms—petunias, daisies, and tiny pink and white buds.

Yn gasped. “Whoa!”

She skipped over and crouched next to the flowers, reaching out to gently touch a petal. She giggled as a bee buzzed past her, and that’s when she noticed a man watering the plants.

Fernando.

He was pouring water over the soil with a plastic jug, humming to himself. He blinked when he noticed the tiny figure crouched beside him.

“Well, hello there,” he said in surprise, straightening up. “Where did you come from?”

Yn smiled up at him, not afraid at all. “Hi! I like flowers.”

“Do you?” he smiled warmly, crouching beside her. “These are petunias. They’re thirsty today.”

“I like that one!” she pointed to a pink one. “It looks like my blanket at home.”

“That’s a very good choice. Petunias are very friendly flowers.”

Yn tilted her head. “Do flowers talk?”

Fernando chuckled. “Only if you listen really carefully.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do they say?”

“They say, ‘thank you for the water, kind girl!’”

Yn burst into a giggle fit. “That’s silly!”

He smiled. “Not as silly as finding a flower princess all alone in the paddock. Where’s your papa?”

“My papa is with Carlitos. He’s talking about grown-up stuff.”

Fernando’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what’s your papa’s name?”

“Alex!”

That made Fernando’s eyes widen. “You’re Alex’s little girl?”

“Uh-huh! And George is my goddaddy.”

Fernando let out a low whistle. “You’re F1 royalty then. Come on, let’s get you back to your garage before everyone starts looking under the race cars for you.”

She reached for his hand, trusting and joyful. “Okay! But can we say bye to the flowers?”

He smiled softly. “Of course.”

Back in the Williams garage, chaos was brewing.

“She’s not here?” Alex’s voice cracked, already halfway through panic. “How is she not here?!”

Sophie looked like she was about to cry. “I—I just looked away for a second—I swear—”

Carlos rubbed a hand down his face. “She couldn’t have gone far. Let’s split up.”

George had already heard the commotion and appeared at Alex’s side. “You lost Yn?” he asked, voice tight with concern.

Alex could barely breathe. “I should’ve never left her. What was I thinking?”

“Alex,” George said firmly. “We’ll find her. Let’s go.”

Within minutes, it felt like the whole paddock was mobilized. Charles jogged off toward the hospitality area, Max checked around the back of the garages, even media members paused to ask what was happening. Word spread fast when it came to the drivers' kids.

Then—Alex heard a familiar laugh.

His head snapped toward the far end of the paddock, where a small figure in a Williams shirt was skipping along beside Fernando.

“Yn!” he called out, his voice trembling.

She looked up and grinned. “PAPA!”

Alex ran to her, scooping her into his arms and holding her close, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

“I was so scared,” he whispered into her hair. “Don’t ever wander off like that again, baby. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just wanted to see the flowers.”

He pulled back enough to kiss her cheeks, again and again. “You scared me to death.”

“She was perfectly fine,” Fernando said gently. “We were talking about petals and bees.”

Alex looked at him with teary eyes. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Fernando raised his hands. “She’s a lovely little girl. Very brave. Very curious. Just like someone I know.”

Alex turned to Yn. “From now on, flowers only when I’m with you, okay?”

“Okay, Papa,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “But can I say bye to Fernandito next time too?”

Fernando laughed. “Any time, little flower princess.”

Alex held her tight, grateful beyond words as the panic finally ebbed from his chest.

And for the rest of the weekend, Yn stayed by her papa’s side—though she did convince him to visit the flower patch together before they left Suzuka.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

Also, thank you for 1K followers. You guys are the best. 🥰😘

-🩷🎀

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lilyinmysoul · 4 months ago

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When The Night Ends

DarkJackson!Joel x F Reader

WC: 2k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected piv, somno (sorry not sorry), dubcon, dark Joel like I said, Joel is dominant, breeding kink, kinda forced breeding but she's into it, Joel palming himself

Note: This is based on a request I got, reblogs help so much. If you like it, tell me, so I can write more. If it's not your thing, shoot me a request so I know what is.

Joel isn’t sure how Jackson has so much damn alcohol, or where it all comes from, really. That hardly matters, though—all that matters is that it’s there, and he will drink it.

Regretfully, he couldn’t overdo it. He had patrols to go on, responsibilities to attend to—but nearly every Friday, without fail, he would take to the Tipsy Bison. Whether it be alone, with his brother, or the occasional patrol partner, he would be there.

You are, of course, aware of this. And even if you did have a say in the matter, it wouldn’t bother you much. There was a complete absence of a label regarding yours and Joel’s relationship; maybe it was because you both knew that he wasn’t cut out for such a role, or possibly how you knew that to bring it up would be to run the risk of disturbing a very concise system—his temper. Really, it appeared that you took what he gave you, and it seemed to be enough.

In any case, it is yet another Friday night. The double doors of the Tipsy Bison swing open, and the cool air on his skin mixes with the alcohol’s hazy embrace of his conscience, and Joel wants to see you. The winds are rough, hence why he is nearly the only man in the streets (paired with the time—it’s the dead of night). His brow furrows a bit harder when a man passes by with his son, and he begins his trek back to… wherever he finds himself. He’s too inebriated to make much sense of it.

It had been too long, it appeared, since he’d seen you. You had noticed this too, and frankly, it seemed to be the nature of involving yourself with Joel Miller. As of late, he had increasingly withdrawn himself from your company; but tonight, he seemed emboldened in his sense of longing for you.

Although it is cold, the winter snow has since cleared, leaving only the occasional melting puddle of slush under his feet. Those same feet lead Joel all across town. He passes rows of closed up shops and blocks full of houses. Warm houses, he assumes. Houses occupied by families, maybe. Husbands, wives, children… alcohol makes him sentimental. Angry, even. He continues to trudge.

What’s interesting is that drinks seem to both aid and worsen the hole in Joel’s chest. They deliver some sort of tranquility, and also, a comparable and equally as intense sense of abhorrence. This isn’t something he contemplates as he nears his house, and when he sees it, he doesn’t slow. He continues to walk. After all, there isn’t much for him there; and so, his home is going, going, gone to a sea of other, almost identical ones. Ones with more to offer than a few half-built and boring guitars.

And when he arrives on your doorstep, it’s like second nature. He’s been here enough to know where you keep your spare key, but never long enough to find the one that opens the back door. Tiredly, he kneels and his hip pops as he reaches underneath the flower pot (he believes he gave this to you, but he really can’t remember) and slides from under it the key.

He turns the knob—not slowly or carefully, but rushedly—and it twists and opens. You had left it unlocked—God, he hates when you do that.

The door creaks open and gives way to Joel’s figure—you weren’t around to notice; it couldn’t be any earlier than midnight, and you had long since gone to bed. He fishes around on the wall in the pitch blackness for the light switch. It takes him a moment, but he flicks it on. The kitchen is illuminated by a few twenty-year-old lightbulbs and cluttered by everything you couldn’t bother to put away. Each item thrown upon your table was a fragment of your life—not enough of which included him, which fueled his irritation.

His shoes don’t come off, and instead he climbs the stairs, his heavy boots leaving wet footprints on each step and 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 on the wood but not loud enough to wake you. His every pace is slightly swayed, his balance influenced by many glasses of whiskey, downed alone in a corner of the bar.

Your door is slightly askew, and its hinges squeal as he pushes it open. Joel’s eyes fall upon your sleeping figure, your limbs lost among the sea of blankets tossed atop your bed. Your work clothes had been haphazardly strewn across the floor, and you wore only a bra and panties. This was a spectacle of your everyday life, he realized; one that he didn’t know much about. Another pang of displeasure gnaws at his heart—he isn’t sure of its origin, but he knows that it’s disturbing him.

The way he kicks off his boots is slightly more hostile; a loud, dull noise that rings through the room. The old, hollow walls reverberate the sound, and you stir—but don’t wake. Once his old and beaten shoes rest against the wall, his feet carry him to the edge of your bed. As he takes in your sleeping face, your head resting in your hands and legs stretched wildly on the mattress, he feels almost proprietorial of you.

Only you know that Joel’s vexation often turns to arousal in your presence, and the two often blend. There is something about your still and sleeping face, the plush curves of your body made visible by your clothing (or, lack thereof)—or, it may simply be the fact that Joel is frustrated and he needs it taken care of. As he stands above you, his hand—as if on its own—snakes down to the bulge protruding from his worn jeans. His fingers rub and squeeze, his eyes running over you as you twitch and stir unconsciously. You seem to mesmerize him momentarily as he stands, his roving eyes concluding that they want more.

Soon enough, his drunkenly clumsy fingers are fumbling with his belt, pulling at its leather and clanking its buckle, pulling open the suddenly complex contraption. Next, the silver button of his jeans is popped and the zipper undone as your firm mattress dips under his weight when he sits. For a few moments, he looks at you. And with an almost uncharacteristic gentleness, his fingers reach out to touch you. The graze is tender as it glides along your side, your stomach, your chest—though maybe only an effort to adjourn your waking.

His calloused fingers reach the band of your underwear—a faded blue pair from however long ago. They roam over the soft fabric, cruising over its front and halting when they skim over the spot you like so much—it makes you tense; but your eyes don’t open. Two of Joel’s fingers trace circles for a moment. He watches your still face and glances down when your thighs squeeze. With a few more circlings, his patience has run dry and his captivation with you has turned to necessity.

He does as he can to be gradual with his movements as he lays over you on the bed, his hair tousled and his jeans halfway down. An elbow props him up, his face adjacent to yours as his glazed eyes search your closed ones. His free hand hastily frees himself from the confines of his boxers and rubs fumblingly over the damp fabric of your panties again before pushing aside its material.

His mind is slightly empty from the alcohol, and his head a bit achey, but he knows what he is doing. For no more than a split second, he looks down, aligning himself with you. He pumps his cock a few times before finally notching himself in—a hiss leaves his mouth, and as his hips begin pushing into yours, he looks back up. Your eyes are open.

Your eyes widen, surprised as sleepiness refuses you any sense of understanding.

“Shh,” Joel insists. “Baby, it’s me.” His voice tapers off when he says this, his head slouching to rest on your shoulder.

“Joel…” when his voice registers with you, familiar and low, your muscles relax a bit. “What… are you doing here?” You ask, and as soon as the question leaves your mouth, you understand its stupidity. His hips are moving now, in and out… ‘Why else would he be here?’ and you’re half asleep.

“This okay…?” he asks, but it doesn’t seem like he cares greatly about your answer; he is very much out of it. You smell it on him. On his skin, on his breath. Everywhere.

“Um, I…” His eyes are glassy and focused on yours, and his hips are getting faster. The room is black, and you’re not sure what to think, but you’re glad that he’s finally here again. The only sounds in your ears are the old radiator and the wet sound of skin on skin. “Yeah.”

His head dips to your neck, nipping and biting in a way that’s a little too primal. You wrap an arm around him, your hand resting on his back and when Joel begins to grunt, you let sounds escape your mouth, too.

“Shit…” his voice wavers, and he might be even more drunk than you thought he was. But as sloppy as his movements are, they are persistent.

“Joel.” His name passes your lips. As a question, or as a statement, you aren’t sure. You don't get an answer. The moon outside is the only thing allowing you to see him, the accentuated lines across his face and the greys littering his hair. Your legs wrap around his hips now, seeking some sort of comfort, or reassurance.

He wasn’t ever particularly chatty during sex, but he is even quieter now. His energy, it seems, has been dedicated to pushing his hips as firmly and deeply into you as possible. He looks almost focused, determined. Or maybe distracted.

Joel is clearly working himself up. His movements rougher, his voice louder, and he’s close. You always know, with the way he tenses, the way he speaks. This is the only fact that registers in your mind; everything else is lost on you. So, when he says; “I’m not stoppin’,” you blink.

“What?”

“I’m gonna cum,” a thrust. “And I’m not pullin’ out, I’m not stoppin’.”

“Wh…” you start. A groan on both of your ends sounds when he hits a particularly good spot. You yourself are getting close now, your back arching slightly off the bed, your mind still cloudy as you try to make sense of Joel’s words.

A few of his fingers come down to rub your clit, circling onto you your own wetness before coming to rest on your stomach. His hand caresses the skin on your tummy. “Imagine that…” he mutters in an almost slurred tone. “Just imagine that.”

You look down at his hand, and then back up again. You meet his eyes, and you understand very clearly what he means. You don’t have the will to fight it–at least, you don’t think you do–so, you hold him tighter and closer, letting each thought fade from your mind as he continues to bliss you out. How he holds you so possessively, how he looks at you so rapaciously… you don’t mind at all.

A few more erratic thrusts, and you’re coming. A few more, and Joel is, too.

You hear it—a low grunt and a groan from Joel—and then you feel it; a deep, warm sensation— a release and movement of liquid that you’ve never felt before. He’s never done that. You can’t help but, in all your weariness, think about the weight of what has just taken place.

To claim you had never mulled over the thought of a child—Joel’s child—would be a lie. The thought was welcoming, sweet… but Joel was not. He was neither. What he had just made was either some kind of commitment, or a grave mistake.

“You’re mine, y’know.” He grumbles into your hair.

“Am I?” You ask.

“Y’are.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Thanks for reading! Lmk if you like

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natalianovnas · 14 days ago

Text

༄ `. 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 & 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒

summary: natasha romanoff’s two-year-old daughter, nova, is just like her—guarded and slow to trust— but when nova's longtime pediatrician is replaced by the younger, warm-hearted dr. Y/N L/N, gaining nova's trust quicker than any other stranger did, something shifts.

genre : single mom!natasha, pediatrician!reader, non-red room past au. (age is non specified but reader is not past twenty-five)

warnings : fluff, slow burn(?), strangers to lovers, emotional intimacy & warmth, hurt/comfort, death mention (no need to freak out here, just read), fussy mini-widow.

word count : 3.2k // masterlist

an : pleeeaaaseee tell me i haven't been the only one craving for full fluff lately so im serving y'all some. also stan mama nat 100% !

Natasha stood in the middle of her living room, holding one tiny crumpled pair of pastel pink socks. Across from her was her two-year-old daughter sat on the floor in her diaper and nothing else, arms crossed, bottom lip out, expression fierce.

“Don’t want pink,” Nova declared, enunciating each word like a threat.

Natasha exhaled through her nose with all her will patience. “We’ve been through this, milyy. All the purple ones are in the laundry. The pink ones are clean, soft, and objectively non-threatening.” (sweetie)¹

“No!” Nova shouted. “Pink is ugly!” Though, the word sounded more like 'ugwy'.

“You said pink was beautiful yesterday.” Natasha squatted down beside her, her voice still calm — or, well, calm-ish. “You told Steve it was your ‘princess color.’”

Nova looked her straight in the eye. “I changed my mind.”

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something in Russian.

“We’re already fifteen minutes late, malen'kiy, and I will not let a pair of $3 Target socks be the reason we miss your check-up.”

The mini redhead, clearly unfazed by her mother’s internal spiral, picked up a stuffed giraffe and began chewing on one of its ears.

Natasha knew this battle. She knew it oh so well.

She’d fought aliens with less resistance than her daughter gave her over anything remotely involving clothes. But she also knew that at the end of the day, she was a puddle for this kid.

A helpless, hopeless puddle.

“Okay,” The elder sighed, standing up. “No socks. Go rogue. But you have to wear something, baby. Can we at least agree on pants?”

Nova considered this. “Dinosaurs.”

Recently, most things she liked where boy-ish due to constantly being around Nathaniel at the Barton's. He and Nova were bestfriends in the whole universe at this point and wherever Nate went or whatever he did, Nova followed.

Not even half an hour in the car :

“I swear on all that is sacred, Nova Rose Romanoff—if you throw that juice pouch one more time, I am turning this car around.”

A dramatic little sigh came from the backseat.

“No!” Nova shrieked.

“That's your third one,” Natasha muttered through clenched teeth, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Third. And it’s not even 9 AM. What happened to the child who loved apple juice yesterday?”

“Changed my mind,” Nova declared, legs kicking against her car seat like a storm.

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose at the red light. “You're two. You don’t have a mind to change.”

But Nova only huffed, her lips put in that usual exaggerated pout with crossed arms that amused the Russian. Nova was a sweetheart but could also be stubborn at times. And she didn't hesitate to be hard headed with her mama just to get the last word.

Oh Natasha cursed at herself from how excited and eager she was about getting a mini version of herself two years ago.

She regretted that now because it just seemed like fighting herself but a younger version.

This was her morning. A typical Wednesday. Natasha Romanoff, former top SHIELD agent and current certified toddler negotiator, on her way to what should’ve been a quick pediatric check-up—Nova had other plans.

“No juice, no socks, no talking,” Nova added firmly from the back. “Only Mama.”

Natasha glanced in the rearview mirror. “I am Mama.”

Mini Widow blinked, “Then just you. No Doctor Lady.”

Natasha frowned. “Since when do you not like Helen?”

“Don’t want.”

“Too bad. You’ve got a check-up.”

Nova crossed her arms. “Nova will bite her.”

“You will not bite your pediatrician. Biting doesn’t earn you candy, volchitsa.”

But Nova wasn't taking the interdiction. They arrived at the clinic a few minutes later — Nova attached at her mom's hip, hands gripping Natasha's shirt sleeve because her tantrums switched to her being clingy now.

The receptionist at the front desk greeted the Russians with a cheerful smile.

“Miss Romanoff, Nova, it's good to see you two again.” Natasha gave a small polite smile in return, only so because she was familiar to that receptionist. “Just a heads-up, Dr. Helen’s on leave for a few months. You’ll be seeing Dr. Y/N L/N today.”

Natasha blinked. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Dr. Y/N. Helen’s niece.”

Natasha’s mind stuttered. Helen had always been steady. Older, gentle, just clinical enough to keep Natasha comfortable. Nova had barely warmed up to her. The idea of a new doctor, without warning, had Natasha’s protective instincts spiking like wildfire.

“Right,” She muttered. “Fine.”

“Romanoff?”

And here appeared someone who was definitely not Dr. Helen L/N like she, nor Nova, expected.

Natasha turned toward the soft voice — and her defenses faltered.

You, younger, fresher-faced, stood in the doorway wearing light blue scrubs covered in little whales, a clipboard in hand and an apologetic smile on your lips.

Despite so, she followed you after you nodded toward the consultation room and made your way back inside, the door left open for them to come in.

The consultation room looked the same as always — seafoam green walls, a faded Captain America poster on one side, a low exam table with crinkly paper.

“Sorry to surprise you,” You said. “Helen let me take over while she’s recovering. You must be Natasha — and this is Nova?”

“She’s...not great with change,” Natasha said, her voice dry.

“She doesn’t have to be,” You replied gently. Then you crouched down. “Hi, Nova. I know I’m not Dr. Helen, but I’m gonna take care of you today. Would it help if I let you pick the color of the stethoscope?”

Nova didn’t speak. She narrowed her eyes and Natasha held her breath.

You pulled a drawer open just enough for a rainbow of stethoscopes to peek out — bright red, yellow, purple, even a glittery one.

“This is a trap,” Nova whispered.

You grinned. “It’s not. But it is sparkly.”

And instead of doing so much as hiding behind her mother's leg or start to pick a tantrum over not wanting to be approached by a stranger, Nova crept forward slowly, like a suspicious cat, catching Natasha off guard. She pointed. “That one.”

“The purple one?” You asked.

Nova nodded.

“Solid choice,” You smiled. “I think purple’s the color of royalty.”

“She is that,” Natasha muttered under her breath.

From that moment on, Nova was suspiciously cooperative — by her standards. She tolerated the stethoscope, allowed you to check her ears (with some bribes). She even answered your questions, one-word at a time and even insisted on holding your hand instead of her mother’s.

However, threw a tantrum when you checked her heartbeat too long.

But you never flinched. You just worked around it, speaking softly, giving her control in little ways.

It worked.

She made you sit against the wall, clumsily dragging the tape along your arm.

Natasha watched it all from the corner. Her expression unreadable — but her eyes didn’t miss a thing.

“She’s spirited,” You said once Nova finally sat still, cheeks flushed from all her fuss and fun.

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Natasha replied. “Most people call her a gremlin.”

“She’s two,” You stated. “Being a gremlin is part of the job.”

Natasha raised a brow. “You have kids?”

“No. But I’ve been around enough toddlers to know they run the world.”

The Russian’s mouth twitched. Just slightly. It wasn’t a smile — not quite — but it was something close. “Not many people handle her like that.”

“She’s not difficult,” You added honestly. “She just needs to know I'm not faking it.”

That got Natasha’s attention.

Your eyes met hers, and for a second, the air shifted. So you kept going,

“Kids like her? They read people. If I'm not real, they won’t trust me. She trusted me today. Not fully — not yet, at least. But she didn’t bite me.”

“She did threaten to,” Natasha deadpanned.

You chuckled. “Progress.”

Nova suddenly climbed into Natasha’s lap, curling up against her shoulder with an exaggerated yawn. Natasha automatically wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her unruly curls.

“Tired already?” she murmured.

“I bite you later,” Nova whispered.

Natasha smirked. “Looking forward to it.”

You turned back to them with the updated chart. “She’s doing great. Still on the taller end of the spectrum, but healthy. Oh, and the sparkly band-aids? She can take two.”

Nova perked up immediately.

“Three,” She countered.

You leaned in, voice conspiratorial. “Only if you promise not to bite your mom.”

Nova considered. Then nodded once.

Natasha watched the exchange, something warm blooming behind her ribs. And when you handed Nova the band-aids — purple, sparkly, with tiny bears — she watched her daughter’s face light up, and for the first time all morning, she felt her tension ease.

Natasha looked down at the toddler in her lap. Nova was peeling a band-aid and trying to stick it on Natasha’s cheek.

Nova Romanoff was a different child now. Well—not different. She was still dramatic, stubborn, and suspicious of anyone who came too close to her cereal bowl. But ever since she met you, she had decided that pediatric visits weren’t all that terrible.

Which both impressed and annoyed Natasha.

Impressed, because Nova wasn’t exactly the trusting type.

Annoyed, because—well. Because Natasha wasn’t sure why it annoyed her.

Two weeks after that first visit, Nova skipped into the clinic wearing matching socks (a rare feat) and handed you a crumpled sticker she’d saved from home.

“It’s a giraffe,” She declared. “Because your neck is long.”

Natasha almost choked on her coffee. You just laughed like it was the best compliment you’d gotten all day.

A month later, Nova insisted on drawing you a picture. It featured a vaguely human blob and Natasha didn’t ask questions.

By the third visit, Nova was sitting calmly on the exam table, letting you check her ears while humming some nonsense song she’d made up.

“Do you bribe her?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes as Nova happily let you touch her hair (which she never let anyone except her mama do).

You gave her a look. “Just magic,” You replied with a small smile. “The good kind.”

Natasha hated how easily you smiled.

No—she didn’t hate it. She just… noticed it too much for her liking.

She noticed the way you talked to Nova like she was a person, not a checklist, not an obligation.

The way you remembered little things—like that Nova hated cold stethoscopes and loved green lollipops. The way you never looked at Natasha like she was some intimidating figure with a history, but just a mom trying to juggle a complicated toddler and too much coffee.

The crush snuck up on her. Quiet. Persistent. Inconvenient.

She told herself it was just admiration or professional respect.

Hormones, maybe.

But it was a week later when the random run-in happened.

Natasha wasn’t planning on going into the bookstore while it was raining, but Nova had seen a plush unicorn in the window and launched into a full dramatic plea to “rescue it from the loneliness.”

So there they were—Natasha in jeans, a hoodie, and a ball cap pulled low. Nova bouncing beside her with the unicorn clutched tight to her chest.

They were turning down an aisle when the elder redhead heard your voice.

“I know I said one book, but it’s three for two. That’s like financial responsibility, if you think about it.”

You were talking to yourself. Or to your basket. Either way, it made Natasha pause.

You hadn’t seen her yet.

She watched you for a moment longer than she meant to—sleeves pushed to your elbows, your face lit up softly by the overhead light, hair always pulled up in that lazy but somehow flawless ponytail. There was a little crease between your brows as you tried to decide between two picture books.

Nova didn’t hesitate. “DOCTOR GIRAFFE!”

You got startled, almost dropping the books. Then you turned—and grinned.

“Well if it isn’t the Romanoffs,” You spoke up. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Unicorn emergency,” Natasha deadpanned.

You nodded solemnly. “Those are the most serious kinds.”

Nova marched forward. “Look! Her name is Rainbow Power. She needs to read books or she’ll be lonely.”

“Sounds like she’s going to need at least two stories a night,” you said, crouching to eye-level.

Nova lit up like a lantern. “Three.”

“Now you’re just negotiating like your mother.”

Natasha, from behind, cleared her throat. “She gets that from someone else.”

You stood and gave her a knowing look. “Right.”

There was a pause. A quiet, soft moment that neither of you filled immediately.

“I didn’t know you liked this place,” You said after a beat.

Natasha shrugged. “It’s close. And Nova likes the kids’ section.”

You glanced at the overflowing display of picture books and then back at her. “Well, next time you come, let me know. I’m here more often than I’d like to admit.”

Nova tugged on your sleeve. “Can Rainbow Power and I read with you?”

You looked at Natasha.

She blinked. “Oh. I—”

“I mean, only if you don’t mind,” You stated, voice easy. “We could grab the little beanbags in the corner. No pressure.”

Natasha looked at Nova. Then at you.

Then at Nova again, whose face had the kind of hopeful look that could shatter steel.

“…Sure,” Natasha said slowly. “Why not.”

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a few pages read in quiet voices, with Nova nestled between you on one side and Natasha on the other. The sound of the rain outside softened everything.

You let Nova “help” you turn the pages and didn’t correct her when she misspelled an unknown word you read because, yes, the little one picked-up on words and expressions very fast for her age. Natasha noticed the way you smiled, the way you listened. Really listened.

It wasn’t dramatic or heart-pounding. It wasn’t some movie-worthy lightning strike.

But by the time Rainbow Power had been tucked into Nova’s arms and three books had been read twice, Natasha realized something kind of terrifying:

She wanted to see you outside that clinic again. For no medical reason whatsoever.

And for Natasha Romanoff, that was a problem.

Natasha had faced aliens, robots, espionage, and near-death missions.

But nothing —nothing— was as nerve-wracking as standing outside a pediatric clinic with slightly sweaty palms, wondering if she should pretend she just forgot to reschedule a check-up for Nova. Again.

“She’s not even going to be in today,” She muttered to herself, leaning against the wall with her phone out, pretending to scroll. “This is dumb.”

Because ever since the bookstore run-in, Natasha hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

It wasn’t just the way you made Nova feel seen and safe. It was the way you talked to her, too. Like she wasn’t broken or sharp-edged. Like you liked her just the way she was, awkward silences and all.

So yeah. Maybe she wanted to see you again. Not as Dr. Y/N. Not as Nova’s pediatrician.

Just you. Y/N.

She exhaled slowly and walked toward the clinic doors before she could talk herself out of it. Again.

You were at the front desk, head tilted toward the receptionist as you scribbled something down. You looked up when you heard the soft chime of the door.

Your smile appeared instantly. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite mother.”

Natasha blinked. “You... say that to all the moms?”

You grinned. “Only the ones who have daughters with opinions about giraffes.”

She didn’t know what to do with that, so she nodded like that meant something.

There was a beat of silence. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaned slightly on the counter.

“Everything okay with Nova?” You questioned gently.

“Yeah,” Natasha said quickly. “No check-up today.”

You arched a brow. “Then what brings you in?”

Here it was. The moment.

Natasha had practiced this. Sort of. She’d stood in front of the mirror and said ‘Hey, do you wanna grab coffee sometime?’ about six different ways, all of which made her sound like she’d been hit on the head recently.

But now?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing came out.

“Uh...” She started, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to your face.

You waited, patiently soft.

“I was just—nearby. And I remembered that Nova left one of her, um… plushies. Here. Maybe.”

You blinked. “Oh? Which one?”

“Uh. The… purple one?”

You turned to look behind the desk. “Do you mean the sparkly goat that she tried to trade me for three dinosaur stickers?”

“…Possibly.”

You retrieved the plush and set it gently on the counter. “She’s been safe and sound. We gave her honorary staff status.”

Natasha huffed a laugh. “Good. She’s a tough negotiator.”

Another pause.

You tilted your head. “Was that all?”

She had to ask. Now or never.

Natasha cleared her throat. “Actually—there was something else.”

You straightened slightly.

“I was wondering,” She said slowly, cautiously, like the words might turn and bite her, “if… sometime soon… if you wanted to get a coffee.”

You blinked again.

Then smiled.

Natasha panicked. “For Nova. I mean. Obviously.”

Natasha pushed on. “Like—for Nova to be around other adults. Or whatever. She needs social enrichment, and you’re good with her, and you like books, and—coffee—do you like coffee?”

You nodded slowly, huffing a chuckle. “Yeah. I do.”

“Great,” Natasha said, as if she’d just run a marathon. “That’s good.”

There was a moment of silence. Then your lips quirked.

“Natasha,” you said gently. “Are you asking me out?”

Natasha froze.

You watched her, head tilted, kindness glowing in your expression. “Because if you are, you don’t have to make it about Nova. I’d say yes.”

Natasha stared.

“You would?”

You laughed. “Is that surprising?”

“I don’t—usually do this.”

Your voice dropped an octave. “Ask people out?”

“Yeah. Especially not doctors.”

You leaned closer, resting your elbows on the counter. “Especially not ones your daughter wants to share juice boxes with?”

“She never offers juice to no one,” Natasha said solemnly. “Not even her aunt.”

“Wow,” you teased. “I’m honored, then.”

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “So... uh. Saturday? Coffee?”

“Saturday,” you confirmed. “Text me?”

She nodded. You handed her the sparkly goat plush and slid a small card with your number across the counter.

“I’ll see you then,” you said, smiling like you already knew it would go well.

Natasha turned to leave, goat in hand, face slightly flushed.

From the car, Nova clapped her hands as soon as Natasha opened the door.

“Did you ask?”

Natasha sighed. “Yes.”

Nova leaned forward with wide, expectant eyes. “Are you gonna kiss her face?”

“Not yet.”

Nova slumped dramatically. “Then what was the point?”

Natasha had changed her shirt three times.

And by changed, she meant stood in front of her mirror and stared at herself in increasingly uncharacteristic sweaters before giving up and putting her black leather jacket over a soft green tee that Nova called “the nice one.”

“You look like a sandwich,” Nova had declared, munching toast in her pajamas. “That’s good.”

“Thanks?” Natasha muttered.

Now she was sitting across from you in a cozy, not-too-loud, not-too-crowded coffee shop tucked beside a bookstore. You were already there when she arrived — somehow both casual and radiant in a dark wool coat and soft scarf. You’d greeted her with that easy smile that made her forget basic words.

She’d brought Nova’s sparkly goat plush in her bag, just in case she needed a conversation starter.

So far, she hadn’t needed it.

“I’m glad you called,” you said, sipping your drink, warm mug between your hands.

Natasha glanced at you. “Yeah. I, uh… I’m glad you said yes.”

You gave her a look that was kind and teasing at once. “I don’t make a habit of saying no to smart women with adorable daughters and terrible flirting skills.”

Natasha huffed. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You tried to blame your attraction on a plushie.”

“I panicked!”

You grinned, and Natasha couldn’t help but return it. This was easier than she thought it would be. Less terrifying.

You talked. About Nova, about books, about how you once tried to volunteer at a wildlife rescue and got bitten by a duck.

Natasha laughed out loud — not just the quiet breathy laugh she gave people who expected her to be human. A real one.

You looked at her like the sound made your chest warm. And maybe it did.

“I think she likes you,” Natasha said quietly, eventually, her coffee going lukewarm in her hand.

“Nova?”

She nodded.

“She doesn’t like many people.”

Your smile softened. “I noticed. She reminds me of you. The way she watches first, then chooses. The way she doesn’t pretend to like people she doesn’t trust. But once she’s in… she’s in. Loyal. All heart.”

That made something tight and tender twist in Natasha’s chest. She looked down, unsure what to say.

“I like her,” You added gently. “A lot.”

Natasha looked up.

Your expression was soft. Honest.

“I like you, too,” You continued, voice quieter but honest.

And just like that, she wasn’t nervous anymore. She was just—warm. Surprised by how easy it felt to be seen like this. Genuinely.

She opened her mouth to say something — she didn’t know what yet — when your phone buzzed on the table.

You glanced at the screen, the easy light in your face faltering.

Natasha caught it instantly.

“Everything okay?”

You didn’t answer right away.

The phone buzzed again. Same name. You swallowed hard.

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, already reaching for it. “It’s the hospital. Where my aunt—where Helen is.”

Natasha sat straighter. Her voice was steady, low. “You should answer.”

You did.

“Y/N L/N speaking,” you said gently. Then a pause. A longer one.

Natasha couldn’t hear what was said, but she didn’t need to. She saw it in your face — the slow, unraveling expression. The way your hand clutched the phone just a little tighter.

Natasha sat up slightly, noticing the change in your posture — the way your shoulders drew inward, bracing.

Your face froze.

The warmth of the café blurred into the background. Natasha could hear the blood rush behind her own ears as she watched your expression fall.

Your voice cracked, so quiet. “What?”

Another pause.

Then, shakier, “When?”

Your hand, gripping the phone, trembled slightly. Natasha reached out on instinct, her fingers brushing yours across the table — steady, grounding.

You finally nodded, though your eyes were wet. “Okay. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll be there.”

You hung up slowly.

Natasha didn’t pull away. “Y/N?”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. Just a few seconds of shallow breathing. And then, quietly, as if afraid saying it out loud would make it more real:

“It was the doctor...”

Natasha’s chest tightened.

“Helen, She—” You blinked quickly, trying to hold it together. “She passed. A few minutes ago. Complications from the surgery last week. It wasn’t supposed to be—she was recovering—she was—”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha said softly, voice low, warm.

There was a beat of silence. Then you stood abruptly, grabbing your coat, your phone. “I have to go. I need to—tell my mom. I need to be with her. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Natasha said, rising with you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

You shook your head, head spinning. “No—no, it’s fine, I can—”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

That silenced you.

You nodded, eyes glossy.

“I didn’t—” Your breath hitched. “I wasn’t ready.”

Natasha reached across the table without thinking, hand finding yours.

You didn’t pull away.

“She was stubborn,” you said quietly, blinking fast. “She’d been sick a while. But she kept joking about living to a hundred. I really thought we had more time.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said again, and she meant it with everything she had. “I can drop you wherever you need.”

You smiled, shakily. “Thank you.”

She drove you in silence, the kind that wasn’t empty — just soft, full of understanding. When you reached your apartment, she put the car in park and turned toward you.

“I’m here,” she said. “Okay? If you need anything.”

You nodded. “I know.”

A beat of quiet passed.

Then you leaned in and hugged her — not long, not lingering. Just real.

You stared at her, eyes glossy and wide, and then nodded. You exhaled, shaky and heavy.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“It was a good coffee,” she said, softly.

You gave a tiny nod. “I’m sorry the date ended like this.”

“It didn’t end,” Natasha said gently, watching you. “It just paused.”

You looked at her, startled.

“I’ll wait,” she added. “As long as you need.”

For the first time since the call, something warm flickered in your eyes. You reached out, pressed your hand lightly to her arm.

“Thank you, Nat”

Natasha sat in the car long after you left, staring out the windshield, her heart caught somewhere between grief and something softer.

The funeral was small.

Helen had never wanted something grand. She hated pomp, avoided big parties, and always joked that if more than twenty people cried at her funeral, she’d come back and haunt them out of embarrassment.

Still, when you saw the turnout—old colleagues, a few former patients, your mother with red-rimmed eyes clutching tissues in one hand—you wished she could see it. The quiet reverence. The soft way people spoke her name.

The flowers were lavender, her favorite. The casket simple. She would’ve liked that. No drama. Just love.

You stood at the front with your family, hand squeezing your mother’s as the minister spoke.

But your eyes kept drifting back.

To Natasha.

And Nova.

The redhead sat near the back, dressed in quiet black. Her expression was unreadable to most, but you could tell—there was softness in the way she held Nova close on her lap, fingers gently stroking the girl’s back as she clutched a small bouquet of lavender sprigs in her chubby hands.

Nova had insisted on bringing them. Said they were “for the nice lady who always smelled like books.”

Natasha had tried to explain death to her. The finality of it. But Nova, being Nova, had decided she didn’t like final things.

“She’s just sleeping in the stars now,” she told Natasha with a frown. “We should still bring flowers.”

So they did.

After the service, you moved outside with the others. The overcast sky had held off for most of the morning, but a light mist had begun to fall. It wasn’t cold—just gently mournful, like the weather knew not to shout on a day like this.

Natasha approached as the crowd started to thin.

“Hey,” she said softly.

You turned. The moment your eyes met hers, the grief cracked your composure. You didn’t sob, but you blinked too fast and clutched your arms like they were the only thing keeping you upright.

Natasha didn’t hesitate.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you.

You sank into her without thinking. She was solid. Quiet. Steady.

Nova reached up with her little bouquet and pressed it gently to your arm.

Your throat burned as you knelt to her level, taking the lavender with trembling fingers.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you said, voice breaking.

Nova hugged you, small arms warm around your neck. Natasha watched her daughter with something soft in her eyes, like she couldn’t believe how easily she’d chosen you.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” Nova whispered. “You’re my doctor friend.”

You smiled through the ache. “I’m really lucky to be your doctor friend.”

Natasha gave you time, didn’t push, just stayed by your side as people offered their condolences. She was your anchor without trying to be.

Eventually, when only a few people remained, she touched your shoulder gently.

“Want me to walk you to your car?”

You nodded.

The walk was quiet. She carried Nova, who had started yawning, cheek pressed to her mother’s collarbone.

“I wasn’t sure I should come,” Natasha admitted, keeping her voice low.

You glanced at her.

“I’m glad you did,” you said honestly.

“She meant something to you.”

You nodded. “She raised me. My parents were around but… Helen was constant. She’s why I went into medicine. Why I even thought I could do it.”

Natasha didn’t say anything at first, just listened.

“She must’ve been proud.”

You looked at her.

“She was,” you said. “She told me that. But I don’t think I ever told her how much she meant to me. Not really.”

“She knew,” Natasha said quietly. “Because I see the way Nova looks at you. And the way you look back.” Natasha offered a small smile. “It’s the same way you probably looked at Helen.”

Your eyes filled again. But this time, they didn’t spill. You breathed through it.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” you asked softly. “Just for tea or something. Nova can nap if she wants.”

Natasha hesitated. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’d like the company. And I think Nova wants more cookies.”

Nova stirred on her shoulder at the word cookies but didn’t protest. She just murmured, “Only if she makes the round ones.”

You smiled. “I always make the round ones.

And just like that, you left the funeral behind — not the grief, not the loss, but the moment — stepping slowly toward something that felt a little like healing.

A few weeks after Helen’s funeral.

Grief wasn’t loud. It came in stillness. In the half-sipped tea you forgot on the windowsill. In the voicemail you kept replaying just to hear the voice again. But it didn’t stop life.

You had gone back to work. Your patients needed you. Nova needed you. And — though you never said it aloud — you needed them too.

Especially Nova. And her mother.

It had started with Natasha picking Nova up after a check-up and asking if you wanted to grab lunch — “for Nova,” she’d said, like it wasn’t obvious she needed the pause too.

Then a few shared weekends — trips to the park, early brunches where Nova smeared syrup on both your sleeves. Movie nights with blankets and popcorn and a fussy two-year-old who always ended up asleep in one of your laps.

And slowly, quietly, without much fanfare, you and Natasha just fit.

Not in a whirlwind. Not in a fairytale.

But in the way you leaned toward each other when you laughed.

In how Natasha always texted you when Nova said something funny — she just told a pigeon to “get therapy” because it kept pacing.

In how she learned how you took your latte and always handed it to you without asking.

And in the way your apartment now had Nova’s favorite cup and spoon in the cabinet.

On a quiet Sunday evening, the three of you sat on your couch. Nova was curled between you, cradling a stuffed dinosaur you’d won her at a spring fair. She was almost asleep — half-lidded, thumb in her mouth, one hand tangled in your sweater.

Natasha’s voice was quiet.

“She didn’t used to be like this.”

You looked over.

“She hated new people. Didn’t even let Clint hold her until she was almost two.”

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Nova’s cheek. “She’s still selective.”

“Exactly. That’s what gets me.” Natasha tilted her head slightly toward you. “She trusts you. Just clicked with you. It scared me at first.”

You blinked. “Scared you?”

“I’m not used to… things happening easily. Or quickly. Or softly.” Natasha looked down at Nova, then back at you. “You were soft with her. Patient. The kind of love that doesn't ask anything in return.”

Your heart ached in a good way.

“I liked you too before I even realized I did,” she said, almost like a confession. “And then you lost Helen, and you let me be there — even when you didn’t want to talk. That meant something.”

You watched her. “You mean something to me, too.”

Silence settled again, but it was warm.

Nova shifted in her sleep, turning into Natasha’s side with a little sigh. Natasha reached over and gently covered her with a throw blanket.

“She asked me last night if you were family,” Natasha murmured.

Your breath caught.

“And I told her… ‘not yet.’”

You smiled. “What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Then you better ask her fast.’” Natasha looked over at you, the corners of her mouth lifted. “So… I’m asking.”

You tilted your head, heart thudding softly. “Asking what?”

“To be part of your life. For real. Not just parks and tea and polite texts. I don’t want to just orbit around you anymore.”

You studied her — the nervous flicker in her gaze, rare and raw. The honesty. The slight tremble of her fingers as they brushed against yours.

“I don’t want that either,” you whispered.

And then, quietly, with Nova fast asleep between you, Natasha leaned in.

It wasn’t a movie kiss — no swelling music, no dramatic lighting. Just lips that found yours like they’d always known the way. Slow. Sure. Finally.

When you pulled back, Natasha rested her forehead against yours, exhaling something like relief.

Nova stirred.

Natasha blinked down at her, and you both waited — but all she did was mumble, “Can I have pancakes for dinner?”

You both laughed.

“You spoil her,” Natasha said with affection.

“She spoils me,” you replied.

And with Nova snuggled safely between you, the three of you sat in the dim, quiet room.

Not quite perfect. Not quite healed.

But together.

And that was enough.

an : oh, i love nova soo much already :((

#𓂃 ๋ ࣭ 𔘓 natalianovnas #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #mama nat #avengers #natasha x reader

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girl-lostconnection · 5 months ago

Text

A little addition to this. Shout out to @sundaescreamcheese because they’ve guessed right.

Warnings: Banished knight!Ghost x Witch!Reader x Bloodhound knight Soap, Elden Ring AU, Johnny is a bit of a dog, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, smut at the end, biting

“Hail, witch”, gruff low voice would have startled you if your wards didn’t tense the moment he stepped onto your territory.

You don’t know what he’s doing here, this deep in the woods, this far from his usual duties and this far from Stormveil Castle.

But you aren’t going to be rude to the man in full armour, with a sword taller than you.

If whatever he seeks can be found without much hassle and he could get off your territory that would be great.

“Hail, knight”, you muse back, careful distance from him. Your wards won’t let him step much closer to the cottage, not unless you specifically grant him entrance and for now…for now you aren’t sure you should.

The man looks at you — someone’s skull now adoring the front of his helmet, his horse a menacing thing that huffs out cold air in agitation. Yeah, it’s no easy journey to get here.

That’s why you live here.

The man in front of you is tall and absolutely huge, more monster than a knight. Makes you wonder what happened for someone like him to become Banished.

What brought him to your doorstep.

You sigh, a little grateful that Johnny is too busy fussing over chickens in the backyard because gods know he can’t stand strangers. Even more than you so.

“You seek refuge or favour?”, you tilt your head to the side, eager to get rid of him faster. Johnny may not be able to run like he did before but he’s still one very good Bloodhound. You don’t have much time until he will stalk outside to see what’s going on in front of your house.

(The previous visitor that had a gall to grab your hand before leaving was hunted down by Johnny. Hunted down and brought back, the hand that gripped you resting on the first step of your porch)

Banished knight looks at you for a few very long moments but if sensing your agitation, gets off his horse — landing on his feet with grace, that sends shivers down your spine.

He’s not just big.

He’s in a very good control of his body and he’s very aware of his size.

He’s dangerous.

Your wards tense up, not letting him through when he steps forward and he freezes as if he forgot about them. Though who knows, maybe he did forget.

Knights did have tendency to feel like they are owed entrance wherever they go, perhaps this one is no different.

“I need to find another knight. Bloodhound”, his voice is low, muffled by the helmet he doesn’t take off — dark eyes boring into you, staring you down from the high of his height.

Your brows furrow at the strange request, heart thumping faster. There’s only one knight who has been around these parts of the woods.

And he’s no longer Bloodhound. You are not giving him back. You are not going to let anyone take him away and rip him off everything you and time out here have been slowly restoring.

“I can’t help you”, you voice sharp, unusually so and Banished knight tilts his whole body forward as if trying to press himself through the wards, his fingers curling and uncurling — leather of his glove creaking.

“I don’t need much, witch. Just tell me where he went. And I will leave”, Banished presses further, shoulders tense and voice curling around your throat like a grip.

He takes a breathe before stepping back, raising his hands in half-hearted placating gesture.

“I mean no harm. I can pay if you need. Just tell me if you saw him”, he sounds almost gentle, head tilting down so he can look in your eyes without you having to crane your neck at him. “I’m…a friend”, he adds reluctantly, like he needs to physically tear the words out of himself.

Your brows furrow further and coincidentally Johnny couldn’t find a moment to show up better than now, sound of his walking uneven — still a limp to his step.

He rolls out of the house, picture of faux nonchalance, despite the sharp edge to his eyes.

“Hen, you alright? I heard-“, words die on his tongue when he sees the Banished knight, eyes widening. There is a strange kind of hunger in his gaze.

You don’t like it.

Because Banished knight sees Johnny and almost lunges himself in his direction, the only thing stopping him are the tethers of your wards, curling around his throat, forcing him back, forcing him out.

Air smells like ozone, air cracks with pressure, your fingers quickly warming up with a spell because you were right.

This man is dangerous. He saw Johnny.

You can’t let him leave now. He will need to disappear.

But Johnny grips your shoulders and shakes his head, eyes mad and desperate, an anguish to his face that you don’t quite understand.

“Nae, hen. It’s Simon. Don’t”, he breathes out, fingers digging into your skin, eyes boring into yours.

You glance back at Banished knight and he’s sitting on his knees now, tethers forcing him down, still tightly wrapped around his throat.

He’s dangerous. You don’t know him.

But Johnny’s nose presses to your cheek, breathing shuddering and he doesn’t let go of you. He doesn’t pull away until you give him a slow tentative nod.

Your fingers flick, soft popping of tethers letting go audible in the air and Johnny actually lunges himself at the Banished knight, sending them both tumbling in the snow.

Knight holds onto him with such hunger something in you churns uncomfortably. What if he will take Johnny away?

Your fingers warm up with the subconscious desire to push the strange man (Simon, his name is Simon) out. Out of your territory, out of your woods, out of your life.

But Johnny looks genuinely happy to see him so you let it go, just sitting yourself down nearby. You’ll be damned if he gets injured just because you looked away for a second.

But Simon grips Johnny like he’s the lifeline and answer to his prayers. Simon’s palms slide all over Johnny’s body, stroking sides, checking for wounds or tethers (your lips practically curl in snarl when you notice. Who the fuck does he think you are?).

He pauses at Johnny’s bad knee, touch getting more careful, eyes expectant and suddenly on you.

“Old injury”, you tell him for some reason. Not like you actually have to. You don’t owe this man anything, he’s unwelcome guest in your home. “I did what I could. If I found him later, he’d probably be without leg by now. Infection practically ate him alive”

Banished knight holds your eyes for a very long moment and then melts back into Johnny, murmuring something under his breath — too far for you to hear.

Doesn’t matter. The man isn’t staying in your home. He’s dangerous.

You tell that yourself and finally go back into the house to put kettle on. It’s too cold to stay mad out in the open. He’s not staying here anyway, so there’s no need to get too riled up.

He’s not staying but Johnny still shifts his weight from one leg to another in the doorway, Simon looming over his shoulder. They both look like a pair of big, wet from snow dogs.

You look at Johnny unimpressed but he tilts his head to the side, grown out strands of hair falling over his forehead. It should be illegal to be that bloody handsome.

You sigh and gesture for them to get in.

Okay, tea never harmed anyone. You’ll let this man warm up and he’ll be on his way before the sundown.

With or without Johnny.

The thought makes bile rise in your throat but you force it down focusing on the task at hand.

You can’t keep him if he’d want to go and you won’t humiliate yourself with begging him to stay.

But Johnny, so attuned to your moods by now, so used to having you chat for both of you steps closer — hands wrapping around your waist, part of his weight leaning on you to give a break his healthy leg.

“Yer not happy”, he notes, nose pressing to your ear, huffing out air and you can’t help but relax, letting him lean on you. He’s warm, heat rolling off him in waves, seeping through the sweater you made for him. Your head tilts back on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“He’s dangerous”, you muse quietly and ignore the chuckle Simon lets out. Banished knight is now sitting in front of your fireplace, cloak taken off and hanged on the chair to dry out.

Johnny just nods, calloused fingers rubbing idle circles on your solar plexus. It’s a long moment before he speaks again.

“I’m dangerous”, it’s said almost causally, his breath ghosting over your neck and you suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

“It’s different”, you snap back immediately.

Simon huffs behind your back and if Johnny wasn’t leaning on you, you’d have probably thrown something in the man. He’s not going to laugh at you in your own bloody house.

“Simon’s not bad, hen”, Johnny breathes out, tone softer, teeth grazing over sweet spot behind your ear, heat dripping down to your abdomen. Bastard. He knows what he’s doing.

“And Simon is not staying here”, you grumble, pouring herbal blend in three mugs, suppressing the urge to shiver when Johnny bites your neck.

“Hen”, he starts and you already know where it leads, you head shaking quickly.

“No”, you cut him off and nudge him with a shoulder to step back so you can move. “Move, I need to give this Banished his bloody tea”

Johnny grumbles but peels himself off you, less than happy to lose the comfort and warmth your body provides. Less than happy to let you slip out of his grasp.

“He can stay in the barn”, Johnny offers and just grins when you send him a glare. His teeth itch to sink into the nape of your neck, press you into the bed, lick the fight and agitation out of you, make you soft and pliant.

“I said no”

“Hen”

“He’s dangerous”

“Hen, have mercy”

Simon watches the way you two bicker, enjoying that none of you even noticed he took the helmet off to drink the tea you placed on the table with more force than necessary, some of it trickling down the rims of the mug.

Simon huffs out a dry chuckle when Johnny tries to pull you back into his hands and you sidestep, smacking his hands away. Leaving Bloodhound almost pouting.

“Cruel”, he complains to Simon, hands crossing over his chest. But despite everything…Johnny looks good. Better than Simon remembers him.

He’s wider now, there is bulk to him that Bloodhound Knight Johnny didn’t have. His eyes are brighter.

He is talking.

Simon didn’t even know Johnny could fucking talk, thought all Bloodhounds are mute. Courtesy of the profession.

“I understand you want to sleep with your Banished in the barn today?”, the witch arches their brow at Johnny and groans when his eyes light up.

Like a bloody dog catching the whiff of blood on the hunt. Old habits die hard, evidently.

“You can stay”, Johnny announces to Simon like it’s his personal victory, like he brought his master a good game after the hunt and is waiting to get his ear scratched.

His grin so wide it’s a miracle his face doesn’t crack. Witch rolls their eyes but Simon sees the way their lips twitch.

Seems not only he has a soft spot for Johnny.

Maybe it should’ve made him feel uneasy but if anything he feels satisfied, like something finally clicked in place. Puzzle finally unlocking in his hands, showing him the reward.

Simon tilts his head to the side, scar crossing his lips stretching when he smiles down at you.

Yeah, he’s staying.

A day turns into a couple days and then into two whole weeks because of the blizzard, Simon pushing further and further.

Eyes heavy and dark when he’d catch a glimpse of your throat or Johnny’s bites — purple bruises on your neck, soft creaking of the bed upstairs whenever it happened.

Simon doesn’t tell you that he moved from barn to the cot in the kitchen and you pretend that you don’t know he’s been sleeping there for the last week.

Simon pretends in return that he doesn’t strain his ears, catching the smallest sounds Johnny tears out of you. That he doesn’t lean on the cold wall of the kitchen, thighs spread wide, his eyes closed. That his hand doesn’t find its way to touch himself, stroking at almost lazy pace.

After all, Johnny is not starving Simon of little love here and there, eyes electric blue, mouth slick on the inner side of Simon’s thighs — your taste still on his lips.

Simon worms himself into your life and starts moving bloody furniture so he can position himself more comfortably, clicking his tongue when you hiss at him — tilting his head at you the same way a heavyweight horse would at the farm’s cat.

His fingers catch your jaw when you grumble that he rearranges your kitchen again, his lips pressing to yours.

You take a step back just to feel Johnny’s warm chest pressing into you, breathing heavier than usually, hands wrapping around you.

Simon angles your face so he can slip his tongue in your mouth, groaning appreciatively when you let him in. When you tilt your head up, allowing his fingers to curl over your neck.

Here we go. Finally.

Simon licks your lower lip, finally pulling away and reaches for Johnny just to give him a kiss just as wet, now grinning like a well-fed creature. Satisfaction dripping out his every pore.

Johnny nuzzles into your hair, breathing out a low “think Simon can sleep with us now, hen?” and you just nod. Your legs jelly that don’t hold you properly, head stuffed with cotton, skin tingling from the heat of their stares.

That’s…an unexpected turn. You were ready for Simon to leave. You were ready for Johnny to leave with him.

But this…this is a surprise.

Simon presses a short kiss to your forehead and walks away to feed the livestock. There’s a new spring to his step, as if something just depressurised his spine, letting him grow a few inches up.

The issue arises only when it’s time to actually sleep because Johnny is insatiable and he refuses to move anywhere from between your thighs, not reacting to anything.

Especially not to Simon walking in.

You feel hot, Johnny’s tongue sending white hot sparkles down your spine, your eyes meeting Simon’s whose pupils blow wide and god, he’s more monster than a knight.

He’s the solide presence when he crawl in bed to pull you into his lap, big palms holding you open for Johnny, fingers sinking in the meat of your thighs.

“Eager today, aren’t we, sweet’eart?”, Simon sucks his own mark in your skin, teeth grazing your throat, his grip on your thighs getting stronger when you make the prettiest needy sound.

Music for his ears.

“It’s okay. Gonna take good care of ya. Gonna take care of both of you”, he practically purrs, sliding his fingers down your body to find the fluttering hole, dipping in it just to marvel at your body swallowing his first knuckle.

Johnny whines, his tongue circling lower, curling around Simon’s fingers, making you choke on your own breathing because too much-too hot-too wet.

Simon presses a kiss to your jaw, grin wicked and dark, stubble on his cheek scratching your skin.

“Be good, luv”, he murmurs, eyes heavy and hungry when Johnny sucks his fingers in, practically gagging on thick digits. “Open up for us”

Johnny bites on the fingers in his mouth before pulling away, dropping back down between your legs, sinking his teeth in the meat of your thigh.

Marking.

Simon smiles wider and adds a second finger, pushing in deeper, cooing in your neck when your hips buckle.

There’s no rush, love. They aren’t going anywhere.

After all, you already let them in. They might as well make themselves at home.

Johnny‘s tongue traces the bite mark on your thigh, his eyes fixed on another one he left on Simon’s knuckles that are currently sinking inside of you. Wet squelching sound sending a heatwave through Johnny’s whole body.

So welcoming to them. So sweet, hen. It would be their pleasure.

#elden ring au #call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soapghost #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader

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crescenthistory · 7 months ago

Text

You Too, Silly

Pairing: Bartylus x Reader (Starkiller x Reader)

Summary: When your two best friends fall in love and make it official, you try to be happy for them despite your heartbreak. When they keep flirting with you, though, things grow complicated.

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, use of y/n, poly relationship obvi, miscommunication trope, pining & yearning, hurt/comfort, (some) angst with a (very) happy ending, your pov and you think your love is unrequited, it is not!, all three of you are stupid but you're in love so it's fine, kissing while crying, some slight suggestiveness but overall safe for minors, light drinking at a slytherin party

Note: this is my hard launch of romanian!barty mwah – if you don't like it sorry not sorry, this is my barty now!

Being in love with your two best friends hurts.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other hurts perhaps even more.

Being in love with your two best friends who are in a committed relationship with each other, yet for some reason seem hellbent on jokingly flirting with you at any given moment could be considered a form of torture.

And for the past few weeks, Barty Crouch Junior and Regulus Black have been putting you through nothing short of torture.

As any relationship either boy has sustained throughout their lives, your friendship with them was complicated. When you and your dorm mate Dorcas first began integrating yourselves in the friend group that consisted of Barty, Regulus and the elusive Rosier twins, you had both said you might come to regret it. You remember clearly sitting up one night and talking about it – you both thought it would end in flames, yet somehow you couldn’t help but poke the bear. You would prefer to fly under the radar, avoid any more pain than you had already had to grapple with, but you also craved a sense of belonging and figured it was worth the risk.

And oh, were you rewarded.

No friend had treasured you the way Barty does. The second he decided he “liked your vibe” as he put it when he cut you off mid-sentence during your first proper hang-out, you had a loyal guard dog who would kill for you and then demand cuddles as payment. Almost overnight, wherever you went, Barty wouldn’t be far behind, no questions asked. He was fierce in his love, uninhibited and wild. It made you feel important in a way that sizzled over your skin.

In Regulus, you found a quiet understanding no one else had been able to give you before. He was both a mirror held up to your face and a cushioned bench to share during your turmoils. It seemed like he could read your every thought, every experience, like the books you would bond over. Silences shared with Regulus often gave you more than long conversations with others ever could. While he didn’t declare your friendship in the same way Barty did, he still had this simple way of making you feel seen and known.

They quickly cemented themselves at the root of your heart. They were your best friends, and you theirs. Your boys; with their respective green and white strands in their curly hair, who were misunderstood in each their way yet were never a mystery to you.

Perhaps naively, you had always thought there was a certain tension there, that something ran deeper below the surface. Barty was physically affectionate with all his friends, but the way he reached out for you felt differently charged. The only other person he held as long as he did you, was Regulus. It felt right. Likewise, you had yet to be in a room with Regulus without feeling his eyes on you, and you often absentmindedly compared the feeling to when Barty hugs you – they were equivalents, those gazes were the former boy’s version of affection. When you played spin the bottle during an after-party in the boys’ dorm one night, Barty’s grin had widened brilliantly when it landed on you and Regulus. You had sworn you had seen a hunger in his eyes when he watched you share the brief kiss, and you could still hear the soft sigh Regulus breathed against your lips. Again, it all felt so right.

It went unspoken, but you thought that was because it did not need to – not because it was not there.

You knew, of course, that you had been stupidly delusional when Barty hauled Regulus with him into the Great Hall a month ago, hands intertwined, and announced with his signature Cheshire cat smile that he “finally got the boy”. You saw them making out – rather publicly – at the quidditch victory party the night before, but at the time it had only made you smile. It was odd, how you hadn’t realised that kiss was proof that all this tension really was just the two of them. Not before the words left Barty’s mouth did it hit you that this was a part of them you were not involved in. That felt decidedly wrong, but you shoved it down and joined in on the wolf whistling and congratulations, pushing your plate away in the chaos, unable to take another bite.

Since then, you have just tried to be happy for them. Or at least seem it.

Tried to smile through it all as Barty made sure their honeymoon phase was as public as humanly possible, much to Regulus’ ongoing chagrin. Tried to laugh at the quips your friends made, the “get a room you two”s and the “lovebirds”s, though you were never able to dish them out yourself, instead just humming along in agreement whenever Dorcas or Evan did. Tried to stiffen your mask to the point where it could not crack underneath the pressure of emotion, perfectly polished as you originally intended for it to be. All those years ago, before they had ensured you would not need it – you gave yourself a silent thank you for your previous doomsday caution.

You even tried not to avoid Barty and Regulus, to be normal. Why should they be punished by losing one of their best friends because they had the audacity not to fall in love with her too? While you thought yourself generally successful in not showing disdain for their new relationship, this was the one aspect you struggled the most with. Your instinct was to run away and it physically pained you not to. In the few weeks they had been together, you had not been able to stomach being alone with just the two of them and confront their relationship in such close proximity – but you knew you could not avoid them altogether. Instead, you tried to always attach yourself at Dorcas’ hip and always invite the rest of your friends if Barty and Regulus wanted to do something with you. They ask you to study out by the Black Lake? Fantastic, you, Dorcas and Pandora have an Astronomy project you need to work on anyway. They want to visit that one store in Hogsmeade with you? How convenient that Evan was discussing how he needed something from there earlier, and if he goes, then Pandora goes and if she goes Dorcas can’t be the only one left behind, can she?

To offset any accusation that you were not spending time with them alone, you still spent time with them one on one when you knew the other would be busy – just seeing Regulus or Barty was not too bad, it was seeing them as a couple, knowing it did not include you, that you could not withstand. If you were alone with one, you could just pretend nothing changed.

You made sure you focused on these ‘rules’ in your mind, the carefully constructed plan on how to make it through the year. Somehow you did not have it in you to wish they would break up and put you out of your misery – you wanted them, not just one – so instead you set your sights on graduation day. What you would do afterwards, you did not yet know. Disappear off the face of the earth? Become an Unspeakable as an excuse not to ever see them again? Endless possibilities. You zeroed your focus on your coursework and these measures you must take to protect your heart and sanity – if you filled your mind like this, maybe you could distract yourself from the pain that leaked through your body.

Barty remaining his flirtatious self whenever he was around you and Regulus’ simmering dedication to you seemingly only building, was decidedly not helping your case.

Which is how you ended up in this admittedly awkward cat and goose chase.

“There you are!” Not only did you hear Barty’s screech the moment he laid his eyes on you – everyone else in the library did as well, going by the shushes and ugly glares you both received that Barty paid zero mind to. “Dragă, I have been going crazy without you, where have you been?”

He plopped down on the bench beside you instead of any of the readily available chairs around the table, thigh flush against yours. “Good morning, B,” you whispered, hoping to lower his volume with yours.

The ever-growing grin on his face told you he likely understood your attempt. His hair was still damp from his morning shower and hanging slightly in front of his eyes, but you could see the sparkle there you thought was reserved for you. “Good morning,” he stage-whispered dramatically, to show his abiding of library law. Then, he pressed a smacking kiss to your cheek before pulling up his books. “Tell me, why are we studying on a weekend morning?”

This was the kind of activity that caused your delusion. It was early on a Sunday, arguably too early, and you had snuck out of your dorm to the library before anyone else woke so you would not be roped into any heartbreaking hangout. Yet, upon your absence, Barty went looking for you before doing his hair or anything – and when he found you studying, as he likely assumed you would be, he just joined you. There was no reason for him to.

You had been staring at him a tad bit too incredulously for a tad bit too long, so he gave you a cheeky sideway glance while he readied his books. “Too early for you too, baby?”

You shook your head, but couldn’t stop the laugh escaping you. “Maybe I’m just shocked at seeing you voluntarily in the library. I usually have to drag you here.”

“Yeah, because usually I have you with me somewhere more fun when you try to go to the library,” he explained to you matter-of-factly. “Now that you are here from the get-go, I accept my fate that this is where we’ll be. For now.”

“Lucky me.” You poked him lightly in the side to emphasise your sarcasm before you tried to return to your books, though your attention was thoroughly divided.

“I reckon I am the lucky one who gets to spend time with the fittest babe in the castle.”

You snorted at the same time as your heart shattered further – an odd reaction none other than Barty could draw from you. Those comments are not only how you got in this whole emotional mess to begin with, but felt like genuine ice shards spearing through your flesh. You were guilt-ridden as you revelled in them, and begged the gods he would stop.

“And I reckon,” you teasingly copied, hoping to sound level-headed and not agonised, “that Regulus would not appreciate having that title taken away from him.”

“Regulus is a fit babe,” Barty said dreamily, unaffected by your correction. “But he would agree that the title belongs to you, Dragă.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Barty was incredibly particular in how he showed affection, and flirting with you explicitly was not at all out of character for him. You just, perhaps bitterly, hoped that maybe he would stop, if he was to be in a monogamous relationship with one of his two best friends.

“What’ll you be working on?” you asked, hoping to redirect the conversation.

Likely entirely unaware of your attempt, Barty allowed you, delving into a longer rant about what extra assignment Professor Flitwick had assigned him because he “saw potential in you, young man”, which he of course found to be utter “trollpiss”. It was familiar, working side by side while also not studying at all, gossiping like the two best friends you are. It should be lovely, and you kicked yourself for being hung up on it just being friendly, when friendliness in itself is a gift you should be grateful for.

While you tried to allow yourself to enjoy Barty’s company and not be guilty for how hard you noticed where his body touched yours, you kept your eye on the clock. Regulus had prefect rounds on Sunday mornings, but as soon as he finished them, he would seek the two of you out.

You had to get away from Barty before then.

“While this was lovely,” you said with a forced airy tone, “I have to get going now, B.”

“Cool, where’re we goin’?”

Your pageant winner smile wavered slightly as he immediately began to pack up his belongings, considering it a given that he would join you in your endeavours. “I don’t think so. I’m heading to meet with the Hufflepuff third years I tutor, and I believe it would be considered a crime to introduce them to you when they’ve just stopped being scared of me.”

Not technically a lie. You picked up a massive amount of extracurriculars after Regulus and Barty became official, and tutoring Hufflepuffs was part of it. Though you had no scheduled study session with them today, you knew at least two of them were still too much of a pushover to say no to you if you headed over there. Innocent casualties in your escapades.

Barty immediately pouted. “No fun,” he whined, sitting back down before you. He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush to him so he could rest his forehead on your stomach in defeat. “Why do you have to be such a swot? I miss you.”

You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart flutter at the sentiment. You brought a shaky, selfish hand up to card lightly through his hair, separating the green from the black. “Sorry, B. Duty calls and you know how much I love to be a hero.”

“No hero would leave such a perfect victim like me destitute and alone.” He moved his chin to rest against your flesh so he could look up at you in faux misery.

“Good thing you have Regulus, then.” You feared your voice was more pointed than you wanted it to be. It did not go with the pleasant mask you tried to wear, but the mask never fit quite right around Barty.

Something odd flashed across his eyes at your words and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. Whether he wanted to say something that would explain it, you would not find out, because you gave his hair one last ruffle before patting his cheek lightly and pulling away.

“I’ll see you for dinner, alright B? Don’t worry about me.” You turned around and walked away without waiting for a response.

It still came behind you, sounding too much like the ache in your own chest. “Counting down the minutes!”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You survived the rest of the Sunday with little to no incident; as in, you avoided being alone with Regulus and Barty, ensuring the friend group ate together and sat together in the common room afterwards. When Pandora retreated to head to bed, you immediately used the excuse to slither away too, lest you end up trapped with just the two of them by the fire.

Dorcas opened the door to your dorm just a few minutes after you had settled down on your bed to reread your comfort novel. You looked up with a warm, small smile to greet her, but it slipped away as you saw her eyeing you carefully. Neither of you said anything before she was sat on her own bed opposite you, studying you. There was this crackling ferocity to Dorcas’ silences that would make even the strongest man cave – and you were not feeling particularly strong lately.

“Spit it out.” It was all she said.

You sighed and put your book aside, straightening up in your previously comfortable position. “What is it, Cas?”

She gave you a stern but not unkind look. “You’re different. Why?”

“Different how?” You stalled.

She indulged you. “You’re not yourself, babe. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you act like you’re programmed and not like you’re living. I want to know what’s wrong. I want to help.”

The staggering, almost fragmented way she spoke was in part to spoon-feed you her concern so that you might actually answer her truthfully and in part how Dorcas was with emotions. She had not been raised to speak of them, but she was loyal and smart, so she knew when it was needed, even if you wished she wouldn’t.

You looked at her with heavy eyes for a moment before sighing once more and bringing your hands up to roughly rub at your face. “There is no way for you to help right now, I’m sorry. Except maybe be my shield.” The last part was added as a joke, but it fell flat.

“Shield you from what?” Protectiveness flared in her tone and you knew you had to soothe it with the truth.

“Not what,” you said softly. “Who.” You pleaded with your eyes for her to understand.

It took but a few seconds before her face scrunched up in pity – and something that would almost looked like amusement, had you thought her cruel enough to laugh at you. “Barty and Regulus.”

It was a statement, not a question, yet you nodded in affirmation, shutting your eyes in humiliation. “It’s bad, Dorcas. It’s so bad.” A tired heave for breath. “But I will get through it. I just need a little bit of distance without any drama around it and to get my shit together.”

Dorcas looked like she was weighing up her next words carefully. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I would have told you to talk with them. Alas, I know you won’t. But I hope you somehow end up having to.”

Cryptic and confusing; just how you knew her to be.

When she realised you would not answer her first sentiments, it was her turn to sigh and give you a rueful smile. “I assume this is why I suddenly have been roped into so much lately? Marlene misses me.”

You laugh at her teasing tone, happy for her to not dig too much into your feelings. “Sorry about that, babe. Just for a little while longer, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she repeated with a tilted head. “If it’s any help, I get it.”

“Considering you got the girl, I don’t think you do.” There was no malice in your words, just a bit of longing. It was bittersweet to indirectly admit your loss.

“That’s not what I meant.” She waited to continue before you met her eyes once more. “I can’t say I understand your heartbreak exactly, but I share your confusion. I also thought you would be part of it.”

The look you gave her must have been nothing short of gobsmacked, yet she had the kindness to not laugh at you. It was unclear whether you were most surprised by her knowing you were in love with both of them, or her having shared the same assumptions as you once. Both floored you.

“I–” you tried, but your voice failed you. All you were able to do was whisper a small, “Thank you.”

This time, there was nothing but pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry babe. I’ll shield you to the best of my ability.”

You shared small, knowing smiles and you decided to end the conversation there, lest it get teary. Reaching over, you carefully switched off your light and placed your book on your nightstand, abandoning any attempt at being comforted for the night. When you laid your head on your pillow, there were phantom indents on either side.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The one place you had no opportunity to shield yourself from or avoid either of them was during classes.

With your timetables for the year, you and Regulus ended up sharing more than half of your classes, while Barty was in at least a third of them. When you first saw the allocations, it felt like painfully little, and the thought of scraping by so many classes without them felt like a punishment you did not deserve. Now, you almost wished it was less.

Almost was the key word though – because Regulus’ presence by your side at your shared Herbology station was somehow melting the tension that had settled in your bones and making your chest heave all at the same time.

His elbow bumped lightly into yours. “You alright?”

You looked up from the notes you were pretending to study for the depotting you two were currently attempting, giving him a brief smile. “‘Course. Ready for the next step?”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long, flickering over your face carefully before nodding almost imperceivable. You shifted your focus towards the Venomous Tentacula on the bench before you, reaching out to carefully manoeuvre the prickly leaves away so Regulus could attend to the roots when his hand stopped yours.

“These aren’t tight enough.” His voice was but a whisper as he took off his gloves to tighten yours where the velcro was hazardously slapped on top of each other. With long, cold fingers he elegantly realigned the straps and made sure there was no gap between your skin and glove. “Don’t want my best girl getting hurt, right?”

Regulus looked up to meet your eyes, a small smile playing over his lips. With his striking grey eyes locked on yours, you feared your emotions were too clearly pasted across your face. His loose grip remained on your bare skin, thumbs brushing carefully above your gloves.

“Right,” was all you offered him curtly, pulling your hands back to yourself.

Together you navigated the plant meticulously from one pot to the other you had pre-prepared. Propagating, maintaining and harvesting from the plant was one of your major projects in Herbology for the term and you and Regulus had been dedicated to your so-called coparenting to begin with. Now, to have his body half pressed to yours as you covered the plant’s teeth and angled its venomous leaves away while he extracted and cleaned its roots, it was almost too much. You breathed in and instead of being overwhelmed by the smell of dirt, your nose was filled with Regulus’ shampoo and cologne. You were suddenly thankful your part of the job was rather stationary, as you feared your hands trembling.

Regulus took a laboured breath as he settled the plant properly within its new home, packing the potting mix carefully around the roots. “Right there, perfect,” he murmured, presumably to himself, yet you fought the shiver down your spine. You noticed him glancing at you in the corner of his eye with what can only be classified as a smirk growing on his lips. “Amazing work, amour.” That was unmistakably to you.

You lightly shook your head to clear your thoughts. “Are we done?”

“Unfortunately,” Regulus replied, dusting the remaining dirt off his gloves as he took a small step back from the plant – and closer to you. “Gregory has been successfully assimilated to his new environment.”

You scoffed a laugh, to which his smile grew genuine. “You’ve got a flare for the dramatics, Black.”

“Only comes with being close to one Bartiemus Junior, doesn’t it?”

His eyes were crinkling from his smile and adoration, but you took the comment for what it was – a reminder. A warning. Albeit a confusing one, giving his amorous words just a few moments ago, but one you most certainly needed. “That it does.” Your tone was drier than you intended, but you did good; the smile didn’t slip.

Regulus’ did, and he tilted his head while regarding you. “I almost slipped up a few times there, though. Was a tad distracted.” There was an undeniable cheekiness dripping from his words.

“Yeah?” was all you managed to say.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, leaning against the desk. You had time to small talk, giving as you were finished long before anyone else. “Pretty girls like you really shouldn’t be allowed in here; it’s a safety hazard.”

“You would know all about safety hazards,” you mumbled, fighting yourself from going red from the sentiment or seeing red from the audacity.

Regulus’ laugh seemed more guarded than usual.

“Speaking of,” you said, trying to get the conversation to safer grounds, “who do you think will definitely kill their plants at last today?”

If there was one thing you and Regulus did well, it was gossip, and you managed to derail him into chattering quietly with you instead of doing some weird dance of pushing the limits and then drawing them clearly. As you spoke, you took small, careful steps away from Regulus to put some physical distance between you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

If you had looked him in the eye even once more before your separation to go to your next periods, you would have seen that he did.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You would have thought the Quidditch game on Friday to have been a blessing.

The tension had been growing more and more between you and your best friends, and it seemed that the more you volleyed around their pretend flirting, the more fired up they got, in each their own way. It didn’t seem sustainable anymore.

Even Dorcas had grown weary of you, though she tried to remain supportive while urging you strongly to speak with them about it.

“And say what exactly? What could I possibly say that would not make the situation ten times worse?”

Dorcas levelled you with a look that spoke volumes, but she seemed unwilling to verbalise any of it in response. Instead she just offered you a vague, “It might go better than you could imagine.”

You must admit you had grown weary of her cryptic remarks as well.

A quidditch game gave you the perfect opportunity to have a small break from them guilt-free, seeing as they were all playing for Slytherin. In turn, you believed you gave Dorcas a break from working overtime to shield you and keep any awkward situation at bay.

With you in the stands, cheering for your little makeshift family who were all involved in the game somehow – Regulus as Captain and seeker, Barty and Evan as beaters, Dorcas as a chaser and Pandora as commentator – you thought you could finally breathe for a moment.

Any such hopes were shattered when Barty came chasing up beside you before you could ascend the wooden stairs to find your seat.

“Dragă! Hold up!”

The pet name sent warmth up your spine, but the sigh that escaped you was not a happy one. You turned regretfully on your heel to take in Barty’s form as he jogged up to you. His quidditch gear was tight, much more than it had any business being, seeing as he could easily make them larger with a quick spell if he wanted to.

You didn’t ask what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to mind, grin permanently plastered on his face in your presence.

“Do I not get a kiss for good luck?” He threw you a cheeky wink with his comment as he came to stand in front of you, breath slightly laboured.

“Sure you can. Regulus is right over there.” You hoped your voice sounded a bit lighthearted even in your sternness of correcting his flirting. Even more, you hoped the heat in your cheeks had not turned into any noticeable redness.

A look at Barty’s wicked smile told you it might have. “I’ve already gotten plenty from Reggie. Now I just need my girl and I’m golden.”

You knew he didn’t mean it, at least not like that. You knew he meant a kiss on the cheek, and you knew he asked to make fun – not of you, but of the concept of good luck kisses and of your closeness as friends being read as anything else. He likely didn’t even know that you had been among those reading it as something else, this was a joke the two of you were in on, as all best friends should be.

Still, you couldn’t help but wince at the sting in your heart.

“I think you’ll do just fine without it, B.” You pressed your lips together in the same way you would if you were fighting a smile and not a frown.

He tilted his head at you, a mix of black and green strands falling into his eyes. “Have I done something that would make you want me to fall to my death? Because that is what will happen without you as my good luck charm.”

You shook your head, taking miniscule steps towards the stairs; away from him. “I’ll be a shining bright good luck charm in the stands. You’ll see me after, at the party.”

“I sure will,” he replied salaciously, but you caught the flicker in his eyes. “Wear a pretty little thing for me?”

“You know I’ll wear jeans.”

“And aren’t they a pretty little thing?” His smile grew more affectionate. “And you look good in anything, Dragă.”

“Sure.” You cleared your throat, stepping more confidently away from him. “See you later, B. Play well.”

“Just for you, baby!”

It was as if he was laying it on even thicker the more you turned his compliments away. While you never got quite used to his outspoken praise, it had been years since you embraced it and stopped fighting him on it – he didn’t seem quite pleased that you suddenly had started. Then again, Barty never liked not getting his way, so it shouldn’t surprise you.

You turned and walked back up the stairs, not turning to see whether he jogged off too or remained watching you like usual; you didn’t feel like having the pieces of your heart jumped on, and both alternatives would have resulted in nothing less.

In the stands, you settled into your usual place by the railing, seated beside Lily and Marlene, who were there to cheer on Dorcas. The two girls were the only Gryffindors you tolerated, not due to any of your own sentiments, but simply as a form of hatred by-proxy from Regulus and Barty – they were also a great opportunity to slowly edge Regulus closer towards reconciling with his brother. Though you knew in your heart that was a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race type of situation.

The game flew by and while you were relatively certain you cheered in the right places and sat with baited breath at the tense moments, you felt you were never truly present. Pandora’s voice in your ears was lulling, allowing your soul to drift out of your body and float up into the skies. You wondered if maybe you should take her up on her offer of teaching you how to meditate. Maybe that is how you end your torture rather than trying to change Barty and Regulus’ ways of being, even if it sent terribly mixed signals.

You were somehow exhausted by the time the whistle blew to announce Slytherin’s victory, despite not having done anything.

Victory was a guarantee for a rowdy party, which, if you didn’t watch yourself, was a guarantee for mistakes. You could not risk slipping up and confessing your feelings to either boy – though some part of you whispered that perhaps some liquid courage is what you needed to tell them to stop flirting with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

If the game had gone by in a blur for you, the party was nothing less. You lost Dorcas to Marlene’s wicked laugh just a few minutes in, and had since drifted between your many groups of friends. Shots with Evan, braiding with Pandora, armwrestling with Emmeline, gossiping with Amelia and Regulus. Throughout the whole night you had managed to keep things light, floating through the crowd and keeping someone by your side at all times. It made it bearable to be near the both of them when you had others to keep up appearances for. It also was a great distraction from the joint envy that bloomed in your heart whenever Barty paraded Regulus around like he ought to.

He tried to parade you too, but you slipped out of his grasp before he ever could.

The closer the night got to being over, the more intimate the atmosphere in the Slytherin common room grew. People migrated from standing around to sitting huddled together, there were quiet conversations and card games instead of yelling and butterbeer pong. There were less of the other house colours, and more of just the familiar greens and faces.

Meaning, it was your cue to slip out and away for a minute.

You, Regulus and Barty always ran off into some corner towards the end to do a debrief of the night, perhaps a bit tipsily. If there was one thing you couldn’t take right now, it would be that.

It was easy to distract the both of them by starting a conversation with Evan and Pandora – whether torture methods has improved or worsened since the dark ages – that would have them in a chokehold. You used the opportunity to slip out through the common room door and walk down the hallway.

It was rare you were grateful for the gloomy dungeons and their cold stonewalls, but this was one such moment. You walked slowly, alone at last, taking deep breaths. Somehow the air felt fresh despite being several metres below ground; anything was better than the stuffy post-party air that clung to the common room.

You let your right hand graze the wall as you walked, texture rough and freezing beneath your fingertips, and tipped your head back with closed eyes. You knew the way like the back of your hand.

At the end of the hall was a rarely-used classroom that functioned more as a storage room these days – your favourite place of refuge. The desk in there was the perfect size to lay down on to close your eyes and relax, feet just barely hanging off the edge. Along the top of the wall was a narrow window that gave an obscured view of the Black Lake, distorted light spilling through to make the most beautiful shapes along the ceiling.

You could stay here and relax and by the time you went back, everyone would have gone off to bed already and you wouldn’t have to face anyone until the morning.

“... Amour?”

You flinched so violently you almost fell off the desk, sitting up by propping yourself onto one elbow and clutching your chest with your other arm. “Gods, Regulus, you cannot fucking sneak up on people like that!”

“Sorry, love.” He offered you a half-hearted smile from where his head popped in through the crack in the door.

Barty’s head appeared just below his, as if he had crouched down to get the comedic angle. “I’m not, what the fuck are you doing here?”

You could hear the light squaffle behind the door as Barty presumably tried to push Regulus aside so he could walk in, while Regulus tried to hold his own to walk with grace. It resulted in them more or less tumbling in, the latter boy straightening up to close the door carefully behind him.

“Whatcha mean?” you asked dumbly, deciding to remain in your half lounged position on the desk at the top of the room.

The boys exchanged a quick look that you didn’t have the time to decipher.

Barty was the one who spoke. “I mean, how come you’re hiding out here? We have very important matters to discuss, you know.”

Your lips tightened slightly. You looked between them quietly while they came up to settle in front of your desk, Regulus deciding to lean his weight against a smaller one behind him while Barty jumped onto it without hesitation, settling into some odd position.

“Needed some fresh air. Party got too hot for me.”

“So you decided to lay down in this dusty room?” Regulus asked humorously, lifting a brow at you.

At the same time Barty commented, “I cannot imagine anything being too hot for you, baby.”

You ignored them both, fighting not to meet their eyes. This was going worse than you imagined.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run off on you.” You aimed for a light-hearted tone, if a bit tired. “Want to do the debrief in here?”

Regulus hummed questioningly, as if he wanted to probe more, but Barty clapped his hands together. “Yes. You’re simply not getting out of this love, lest my bleeding heart become public knowledge as I wail at your absence.”

“Stop it, Barty,” you whispered. He didn’t hear you, in one way or another.

“Okay, so we all agree Dorcas and Marlene are shagging?”

You sit more up at this, realising you truly would be doing the whole debrief here, and that you would thus likely be here for a while. Also well aware that you know more than both of the boys on that matter, as Dorcas' dorm mate. “Well, duh,” you offer. “But did you see anything tonight?”

You look at Barty as he speaks, but can feel Regulus’ gaze burning through the side of your head, and you wish he would stop trying to scrutinise you. You look over to meet his gaze, hoping to give him an I’m fine smile that would divert his attention. However, when his eyes meet yours you see they are sparkling with that mischief that only Regulus can pull off, the kind that is equal parts elegant and dirty. He winks at you, and you really, really wish he wouldn’t.

You shift your gaze back to Barty, further assuring his claim. “Don’t push it with Cas, though,” you warn. “She will tell you when she feels like."

“But it is so much fun to push it though,” Barty pouted, making his eyes comically big.

“It’s even more fun to not be skinned alive by Dorcas in our sleep.”

“Fine,” he groans, throwing his head back theatrically before settling you with a gaze. “But only because you asked, beautiful.”

You hum noncommitedly, fighting any prickling tears. Don’t be such a fucking twat. Let your friends speak to you.

“Oh,” Regulus said, as if he just remembered a piece of drama to share. “Amelia flirted with me earlier.”

“She what!?” Barty’s voice was not much unlike a banshee’s. “Have I not made it clear that your arse is off the market?”

Your heart plummeted and you had to fight not to let your shoulders grow into your ears.

“Right?” Regulus said through a laugh. “I think she was just too pissed, though. Would have flirted with anything that walked.”

“What did she say?” you asked somewhat meekly.

“Oh, something about gorgeous curls and tight shirts and whatnot.” Regulus made a waving motion with his hand, as if physically brushing it off. “You know, the usual. Called me baby.”

“Only we get to call you baby,” Barty said through a pout.

We?

“I know, amour, I told her as much.”

Barty nodded emphatically. “Good. I don’t like picking fights with birds, but I would if she can’t keep her hands off the goods.”

Regulus gave his leg a light kick with his own. “Down, boy.”

Your stomach was turning over and you desperately wanted to leave. A comment about being tired and wanting to discuss the rest over breakfast tomorrow died on your tongue when Barty turned his attention to you, pout giving way for a scrutinising look.

“What about you, Dragă? Anyone else flirt with you?”

Any turning in your stomach was replaced by an irritation seeping into your bloodstream, one that had been fighting with heartbreak and anxiety for your attention for almost a month now.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, B.” You’re not sure quite what possessed you to say it, but there was no denying your dry tone.

Barty looked equally puzzled, head actually reeling backwards ever so slightly. Still, he pushed his luck. “Am I not allowed to be concerned for my girl?”

You looked at him incredulously. “I am not your girl.”

That was the whole point. That was the whole heartbreak. That was all you could think about. They were each other’s and you weren’t theirs and you most certainly was not their girl.

Regulus’ stance shifted quickly, tensing in weariness. “Amour, what he meant–”

“I know what he meant.” You sighed, making no effort to hide your pain anymore. You could not take this. “I know what you both mean.”

“Baby–” Barty began, sliding off of his desk and moving towards you, but you cut him off.

“No! Stop it, Barty, please.” He looked as if you had punched him. “I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I am so, so happy for you and I’m glad you’ve found each other like that. But now that you have, I just can’t take you flirting with me or, or doing the play pretend. It’s not fun anymore.”

The room was laid in silence.

You had been defiantly staring at the wall behind them both, but after practically being able to hear the crashing out in their minds, you slid off your own desk and made your way towards the door without sparing them a glance. “I need a moment.”

“No, no, hey, hey, hey,” Barty chanted as he ran up behind you, hand circling loosely around your wrist. Enough to ground you, but not enough to trap you should you want to wrestle free. He slowly came up around your stopped form. “Shit, Y/N, I–” This time he cut himself off, running his free hand through his hair and looking over at Regulus, whose footsteps you could hear stop right behind you.

You stared at the door over Barty’s shoulder. This was your worst nightmare.

“Amour, we’re sorry,” Regulus whispered behind you. His hand came up to ever so slightly trace the side of your arm.

You felt ganged up on where you stood between them and you cursed your body for loving it, even as they were rejecting you more explicitly than ever. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault that you don’t– you know.”

“No, no, no,” Barty chanted yet again, hands coming up to grasp both of your cheeks and bruising away a few tears you only now realised had fallen. You would never stop revelling at how Barty’s touch could be so painfully gentle even when his voice was frantic and passionate. “That’s exactly it, Dragă, we do. We do. I do.”

You met his eyes and furrowed your brows at him. “Barty, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

He had the audacity to laugh quietly at you. “I don’t think you understand what you’re saying. In what world could I, Barty Crouch Junior, not be obsessed with you?”

“Lovely girl,” Regulus whispered as he inched forward into your field of vision, hand growing more confident in its touch on your arm. “I’m sorry, we’ve gone about this all wrong. We realised it quickly, but didn’t know how to fix it. The whole... getting together part happened naturally between Barty and I, and we figured it would with you too immediately after, but it proved, uh, more complicated.”

At last, your brain caught up with you, and your instinctive reaction was to jerk backwards out of both of their grasps, not even feeling the impact of your back hitting the desk behind you. Both boys hissed at the thump that sounded.

You finally looked at both of their eyes and found layers of insecurity and guilt there, along with…

“Are you saying…” you started, but trailed off, unsure how to formulate the words.

“I’m obsessed with you, consumed by you, enthralled by you, whatever word you please, it’s yours. I’m yours.” Barty’s face was almost impassive despite the volumes behind his confession. More tears welled in your eyes, by confusion still more than any relief – you didn’t dare feel that yet.

“What he’s saying is that – well, that we love you.” Regulus smiled and you saw the quiver of his lips at the unfamiliar words.

You let out a half-choked sound. “I don’t understand? But then why– how come–”

Regulus took a careful few steps towards you once more, hand held out between you in a show of safety. “Even as it happened, I remember thinking you would laugh at us for it. Really what happened a month ago was just that we didn’t really think at all.”

“Which you rightfully accuse us of a lot,” Barty added.

“Right. Barty and I were together and drunk and that tension we’ve all had, I guess it finally spilled over for us. By the time we had admitted our feelings physically, we didn’t really need words for it, which is what we both struggle with the most. And you weren’t close by to be dragged into it. When we told everyone we hoped to just… smoothly join you in. Wouldn’t be difficult right, it’s always been the three of us anyway?”

“Turns out it’s not so bloody simple,” Barty grumbled.

By this point, tears were streaming clearly down your face. Regulus reached out a hesitant thumb to wipe them away. “We were stupid, amour. And by the time we got our wits about us, we didn’t know how to reign you in, other than by… continuing being us. Us three.”

“How could I feel like it was us three when it was so clearly you two?” you all but sobbed.

Barty had grown too impatient by Regulus’ easing you in and closed the gap in two long strides, grabbing at your hand fiercely. “You couldn’t, we were just stupid wankers and absolute boys. You’re perfect, it’s not your fault you fell in love with us sods.”

You laughed a bit wetly, bringing grins out on both of their faces. “Bold claim you have there,” you said, some teasing making its way into your voice.

“But an accurate one?” Regulus’ tone was void of humour, just quiet and nervous and hopeful.

“Of course,” you breathed and Barty’s hands tightened around yours. “I always thought it was us three… when it seemed like it was just you two, I– I didn’t really know what to do with myself.”

“So you ran and you hid,” Barty concluded with a nod. Upon your almost offended expression he hastily added, “as is understandable, and as asserted, we are wankers and you are perfect.”

“Stop saying that,” you whispered.

“But it’s true,” Regulus added in the same cadence. Then, a sparkle settled in his eyes as he regarded you. “Can I prove it to you?”

Your breath hitched at the implication but you nodded, ever so hopeful smile growing on your face. You dared tighten your own hold on Barty’s hands – they were delightfully warm.

Regulus’ smile matched yours and he took a final step towards you to bring the two of you together. His lips covered yours in the sweetest of kisses, slow and smooth and exactly how you had guiltily pictured. He breathed in as he kissed you and you felt the air move across your skin, tickling and tingling. When he pulled back he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek too.

“This whole thing should have never played out this way,” he started. “But this is exactly where I always wanted to end up.”

Barty bumped lightly into both of you, giving you a conspiring smile. “It’s true – he tried to brag to me that he had been picturing us three together since fifth year, which is embarrassingly late for him. I’ve pictured this since the fifth week of knowing you both.”

You huffed a laugh, feeling your entire face still burning from the confessions, neck aching from the whiplash and lips tingling from the kiss. “Then you’ve both got eons on me. I only really realised, like, last term.”

“See, that’s because you are sane,” Barty provided, circling his arms around your hips to pull both you and Regulus closer to him. “A sane beautiful girl who balances us out perfectly and who completes my heart.”

“One we will spend eons making up lost time with,” Regulus added somewhat cheekily.

You brought your hands up to properly wipe at your face, hoping to remove redness and giddiness with the wet. “It’s barely been a month.”

“A month you spent confused and hurt, Dragă. That cannot slide. I would have hexed anyone else who did that to you.”

“No one else could have broken my heart,” you said then, intending it to be romantic.

The horrified looks on their faces said otherwise. “You were heartbroken?” Barty exclaimed in intense frustration, pulling his wand up and handing it to Regulus. “Reggie, baby, I need you to Avada me right now. Use my wand so they can’t trace you and send you to Azkaban, because you need to be her personal servant to repent for us.”

“Barty!” you laughed, quickly plucking the wand out of his hands before any shenanigans could occur. “It’s fine, really–”

“Nope, absolutely not,” he cut you off. “I must fix this. Kiss it better?”

Before you could even really respond he brought his hand up to the back of your neck, pulling your face gently albeit quickly towards his. Millimetres before his lips could crash with yours, though, he paused. Giving you the opportunity to back down. His thumb was ghosting carefully across the baby hairs at the nape of your neck.

With a delighted sigh, you leaned your chest against his and brought him the final way in for the kiss.

His lips were softer than they looked, fitting exactly within the narrative that usually followed your relationship with Barty. He quickly opened them for you, bringing your bottom lip in between yours and kissing you passionately, tongue sliding over delicate skin. One of your hands curled into his shirt by his collar, wand long since discarded on a desk, while the other found Regulus’ neck, massaging it not much unlike Barty did with yours.

Barty’s skillful lips trailed happy kisses along your jaw, turning into a smile at the breathy laugh that escaped you at his ministrations.

Your eyes met Regulus while Barty practically attempted to bury himself beneath your skin, smiling and sighing against you – kissing it better. The former boy’s smile was at its widest and most sentimental, encircling the both of you within his arms.

“Y/N,” he said, almost seriously. “We will do right by you, as we always should have. I’ll start by asking, will you please legitimise our feelings by becoming our girlfriend?”

Before you could reply, Barty added against your neck, “And will you please take back your demand we stop flirting with you, because I don’t think I can.”

You were afraid your smile was almost dreamy – everything you believed out of reach just a few minutes ago was not quite literally cradled in your arms. “You are both so unbelievable. Yes, I’ll happily be your girlfriend and yes you may flirt with me.”

Barty popped his head back up from your neck, lips somewhat swollen despite being stretched wide. “Fucking finally.”

“You say that as if I was the one holding back,” you teased, poking him in the chest.

“And while I will lay down and take a sword to the chest for ever believing I was not mad about you,” Barty began. “I think there is also something to be said about little miss run away and completely shut away any and all feelings and compliments.”

You hummed as if in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Regulus snorted in that way he only ever did around you two. Then, he reached out and gave you two, three kisses in a row, grinning all the while. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too cute.”

Barty, tactile as ever, was cradling your cheek in his hand, tracing the side of your nose with his index finger. “I want the court to know that I am absolutely mad about Regulus,” he started, smiling all the while. “But it was always you too, silly.”

Emboldened, you leaned forward and gave him a sweet kiss. “Glad to know it.”

“Now let’s make sure everyone else does too, yeah?”

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