#and that's a wrap for chapter 23! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cadelinhadaromanoff · 2 months ago

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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

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

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

Word count: 11615

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

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

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

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then her phone rang.

And everything—everything—shifted.

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

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

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

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

There was a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn Clint.

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

Great. They’re using the Divergent crap tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

She clenched her jaw.

It was brilliant. Brutal. Effective.

And right now?

It was a colossal pain in the ass.

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

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

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

It was working. Too well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clint winced.

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

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

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

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

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

The minutes dragged by like hours.

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

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

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

“He has a grenade on his belt.”

“I think he forgot.”

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

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

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

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

“That one’s sharp,” she admitted.

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

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

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

Natasha stared.

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

“He armed the hostage.”

“Strategic empowerment?”

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

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

But only for a moment.

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

“You’re unusually grumpy tonight.”

She didn’t look at him. “Am I.”

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

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

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

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

Clint grinned. “So, cuddles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

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

She let the word hang, fragile and heavy.

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

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

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

Her voice cracked, barely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded, once. Slow. Painfully slow.

Clint tilted his head. “Then ask her.”

She blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“I don’t want to ruin it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Her voice thickened—not with regret, but awe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha peeked at him through her fingers.

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

Natasha blinked, slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

Natasha didn’t even blink.

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

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

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

Then his phone buzzed.

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

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

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

“I’m kicking you out.”

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

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

She gave him a look—flat, unamused.

Clint grinned. “Go home, Nat.”

“Clint—”

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

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

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

She stared at him. He stared right back.

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

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

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

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

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

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

When the doors opened, her brows furrowed instinctively.

Her living room.

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

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

Italian takeout.

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

And then she felt it—before you touched her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her walls didn’t fall all at once.

But they shifted.

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

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

“Where’s Ana…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So will I.”

“You’ll get tired of me.”

“I won’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She pulled away just enough to look at you fully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled. “Yeah. But only for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not as a spy and her secret.

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

But as fiancées.

As home

720 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 3 months ago

Text

Redline. (Bonus) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, 18+! MINORS DNI! (Fingering, begging, strap on use (r receiving), rough, overstimulation)

Word count: 7,4k

A/N: First side chapter! I hope the connections work well because this one includes five requests in one…so fingers crossed 🫶🏼

Thick sheets of water poured from the sky, turning the track into a hazardous mess. The FIA had delayed the start once, then twice, and now, the red flag was officially out before the race had even begun.

Cars sat motionless in the pit lane, engines off, tires cold, drivers waiting. The mechanics lingered by the garage doors, their radios crackling with updates from race control, but everyone already knew the truth.

The race wasn’t happening. Not now. The downpour was relentless. And that left you waiting. Your mind had been running through every possible scenario, memorizing every corner of the track, picturing every overtaking opportunity. And now? Now you were sitting in the garage, watching nothing happen.

The delay meant everything was on hold. No formation lap. No lights out. No adrenaline. Just the sound of rain hammering against the roof and the distant, muffled voices of team members discussing if the race would even start today.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Your body was tense, your mind restless. You needed to shut it off. With a quiet huff, you grabbed your headphones, untangling the cord with slightly trembling fingers. You needed music, something to settle your nerves. Something to drown out the endless waiting.

That’s when you noticed it. A black jacket was draped over a chair nearby, thick and warm-looking. Without a second thought, you grabbed it. The moment you wrapped it around yourself, a familiar scent surrounded you. Leather. The faintest trace of expensive perfume.

And Natasha.

You sank further into your seat, pulling the collar up, breathing it in, letting the weight of it calm you. It was warm. Safe. Comforting. And before you knew it, you were out. The exhaustion won. Headphones still playing softly in your ears, Natasha’s jacket wrapped around you, you slipped into sleep.

Natasha had just finished arguing with race control, demanding to know when an actual decision would be made. The waiting was killing her. Everything had been meticulously planned for today. She had planned for weather strategy, tire strategy, race pace, everything, but not this. Not sitting in the garage for hours, staring at a rain-soaked track, waiting for the FIA to make a call.

Her body was cold, the wind seeping into the open garage, and her frustration grew. She needed her damn jacket. She walked toward the chair where she had left it earlier. Except..it wasn’t there. Instead, another jacket was draped over the back. She sighed and grabbed it. Only the moment her fingers curled around the fabric, she froze.

The scent hit her instantly. It wasn’t hers. It was yours. She clenched the jacket tighter, bringing it closer as if to confirm it. Yeah. It was yours.

And now, for some reason, it smelled like you and only you. Natasha’s lips parted slightly, her pulse kicking up just a little. It was a ridiculous, pathetic reaction, and she knew it. But God..she liked it. The idea that something of yours smelled like you. That you had worn it, had made it yours, had left a piece of yourself in the fabric.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shake herself free of the ridiculous warmth spreading through her chest. What the hell was wrong with her? She cleared her throat and looked around, until she found you. Curled up in the corner of the garage, head tilted slightly, lips parted, headphones still playing faintly.

And wrapped around you, her jacket. She had seen you in hundreds of moments. On the track, at press conferences, in the paddock, in her home, in her arms, but never like this.

Never this soft. Never this unguarded. And wearing her jacket like it belonged to you. Something deep in her chest tightened. It was undeniably, disgustingly adorable.

“Oh my God.” Yelena’s voice shattered the moment. Natasha sighed. Here we go. Yelena stepped beside her, arms crossed, grinning like she had just found the best gossip of the year.

“Are you seeing this?” she whispered dramatically. “Is this what love looks like?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Yelena.”

“No, no, no..I’m serious! Look at her!” Yelena gestured wildly toward you. “That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s literally cuddling your jacket. Like a lost puppy.”

Natasha huffed, shaking her head. She refused to entertain this conversation. “She was tired. Let her rest.” She turned back toward you. You were still sleeping, still curled into the warmth, still completely oblivious to the two Romanoff sisters staring at you.

And before she could stop herself, Natasha stepped forward. She crouched down next to you, carefully, silently, watching you breathe. The jacket had slipped slightly from your shoulders.

She adjusted it without thinking, tucking it back around you so you wouldn’t get cold. Yelena let out an exaggerated sigh behind her. “If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Natasha shot her a glare that could kill. Yelena grinned. Natasha shook her head. And then, she let you rest. Because, for once, you looked peaceful. And she wasn’t going to take that from you.

A few hours later, you woke up slowly. For a moment, the world felt muffled, the low hum of voices in the background, the occasional sound of footsteps against wet pavement, the ever-present drumming of rain against the garage roof.

With a quiet sigh, you pulled off your headphones and rubbed your eyes, blinking against the dim lighting of the garage. Most of the crew was still huddled around monitors, waiting for updates from race control, but no one seemed particularly hopeful.

You needed to move. Still wrapped in Natasha’s jacket, you pulled yourself out of the chair, rolling your stiff shoulders. Your legs ached from sitting too long, your body craving motion.

So you started walking. The paddock was quieter than usual. Drivers, engineers, and team members were scattered across the grid, waiting for an update that refused to come.

As you strolled past one of the hospitality lounges, you spotted a group of drivers gathered, laughing and joking like schoolkids on a rainy day. They saw you approaching and immediately smirked.

“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I was literally asleep for like an hour. What’s the big deal?”

“Oh, nothing.” A driver grinned. “Just that you were knocked out in Romanoff’s garage, wrapped in her jacket like a baby bear in hibernation.”

Laughter erupted around you. You felt your cheeks warm slightly but kept your expression neutral. “You’re all obsessed with me. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Another driver raised an eyebrow. “No, we’re obsessed with the fact that you’re basically the only person who’s ever tamed Natasha Romanoff.”

You scoffed. “Tamed? Please.”

“Admit it.” A driver smirked. “She lets you get away with things no one else could.”

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Really?” Another driver tilted his head. “Because last time I saw, she didn’t even let her engineers breathe wrong during race briefings, but when you interrupt her? She just sighs like you’re a mild inconvenience.”

The group chuckled. “Yeah, like a cat knocking things over and the owner just accepts their fate.”

You pretended to think about it. “Hmm. Maybe I’m just her favorite..”

A few of them groaned playfully. “Unfair.”

“Okay, but seriously,” one of them leaned in. “How is it? Dating your boss?”

You paused for a second, feeling the weight of the question. How was it? It was Natasha grilling you in strategy meetings, pushing you harder than anyone else, expecting nothing less than perfection. It was also Natasha leaving extra food in the fridge for you after late-night training, bringing you coffee exactly how you liked it, running her fingers through your hair when no one was watching.

You exhaled, shrugging. “She’s…Natasha.”

The group groaned. “Oh, come on, give us something!”

You smirked. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but you do kiss?” One of them grinned.

You laughed, shaking your head. “You guys are worse than the media.”

“We just want to know if she’s as terrifying off-track as she is on.”

You thought about it for a moment before smirking. “I’ll let you wonder.”

Groans filled the air again as a few of them shoved you lightly.

“You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Romanoff’s favorite.”

Just as you were about to tease them back, a voice crackled through a nearby intercom.

“Y/l/n.”

You froze. You didn’t even need to see the name attached to the comm. That voice alone was unmistakable.

The drivers around you all stiffened slightly, exchanging glances. You grabbed a spare earpiece, clicking the receiver. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence. Then, Natasha’s low, firm, unmistakably authoritative voice came through. “Where are you?”

Your stomach flipped. You cleared your throat. “Just walking around.”

“Come back to the garage.” A few of the drivers grinned.

“Ooooh.”

“She’s summoning you.”

“Better go before she sends a search party.”

You shot them a glare. “You guys are ridiculous.”

A driver smirked. “We’re not the ones being personally requested by Natasha Romanoff.”

You sighed, shaking your head but unable to hide the small smile on your lips. “I’ll catch you guys later.”

As you walked off, you heard one last parting joke from behind you. “Tell your girlfriend we said hi!”

You didn’t turn around. But as you entered the garage and saw Natasha waiting, arms crossed, green eyes locked on you like she had been tracking you the entire time, you couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through your chest.

You barely had time to process before Natasha uncrossed her arms and tilted her head ever so slightly, her lips curling into an amused smirk. “Comfortable?”

Your brows furrowed. “Huh?”

She gestured toward you with a lazy flick of her fingers. More specifically, toward her jacket. The one still wrapped snugly around your body. Your stomach dropped as you glanced down, realizing exactly what she meant. Shit.

You had completely forgotten you were still wearing it. Before you could even attempt to play it off, Natasha took a slow, measured step forward.

“That’s mine.” Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was something else in her tone, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You cleared your throat, shifting on your feet. “Uh… it was cold?”

Natasha hummed, clearly enjoying this. “So, what? You just decided to steal my jacket?”

You crossed your arms, trying to regain some level of control in this conversation. “You weren’t using it.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, stepping even closer. “That doesn’t mean it’s yours.”

You met her gaze, refusing to back down. “Finders, keepers.”

The smirk on her lips widened. “Is that how we’re playing this?”

Your heart skipped when she reached for the collar of the jacket, tugging it just slightly, just enough to make you stumble a step closer.

Your breath hitched. “Maybe.”

Natasha studied you for a long moment, her fingers still curled around the edge of the fabric. Then, before you could process what was happening, she tugged again. This time, harder.

You yelped as she used the leverage to pull you flush against her, your chests nearly touching. Your hands instinctively shot up, gripping onto the jacket as she hovered way too close, her breath fanning against your cheek.

Her voice dipped into dangerously low territory. “You look good in my clothes, detka.”

Your stomach flipped. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. Natasha’s smirk deepened, clearly satisfied with herself.

Then, as if nothing had just happened, she released you. You stumbled backward slightly, heart hammering, your brain still trying to catch up with what the hell that was. And then she delivered the second bombshell.

“The race is canceled.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Natasha leaned against the workbench, arms crossed again, completely unfazed. “The FIA just called it off.”

Your stomach twisted. “They did?”

Natasha nodded. “The storm is only getting worse. No point in waiting it out.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. “So… we just go home?”

Natasha shrugged. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the garage.”

You shot her a look, but she was already grabbing her things, clearly ready to leave.

She paused by the exit, glancing over her shoulder at you.

“Are you coming?”

The car hummed steadily, the open road stretching out ahead as the last remnants of daylight cast golden streaks across the sky.

You sat in the passenger seat, one leg tucked under you, absentmindedly playing with the zipper of her jacket.

Natasha, on the other hand, was completely at ease, one hand resting on the wheel, the other lazily draped over the gear shift.

You sighed, stretching slightly. “The new car is nice.”

Natasha smirked slightly, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” You ran your fingers over the leather seat. “Sturdy. Strong. Feels…reliable.”

“That’s the point, dorogoy (sweetheart)”.”

You hummed, pretending to consider something. “I bet you could do all sorts of things with a car like this.”

Natasha’s fingers tapped idly against the wheel. “Like?”

You hesitated for half a second before shrugging, trying to sound casual.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, staring out the window. “Like… maybe someone could get bent over the hood or something, Ha! imagine..”

Silence. You immediately regretted it. You could feel Natasha’s eyes flick toward you, even if just for a second. You swallowed. “That was just a thought-”

“Huh.” she mused, way too relaxed, way too amused. “Interesting idea.”

Your face flushed instantly. “Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Natasha-”

“No, no, I think you were onto something.”

You groaned loudly, covering your face. “I WAS JOKING!”

“Mhm.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, her smirk now fully intact, her eyes practically glinting with mischief.

“You think about that a lot, huh?” she teased.

“Oh my god!”

“Aerodynamics. Can’t have too much wind resistance.” she mused, completely ignoring you.

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Do you?” she smirked. “Because I think you’re flustered, sweetheart.”

You whined, hiding your face in your hands. “I AM NEVER SPEAKING AGAIN.”

“Shame.” Natasha exhaled through her nose, smirking. “Because now I really want to see what happens when you win the next race.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!!”

“Win the next race..” she said, completely nonchalant, eyes on the road. “And maybe we’ll see just how sturdy this car really is.”

Your brain short-circuited. “I-”

Natasha just smirked wider, shifting gears effortlessly. “What’s wrong, baby?” she teased, glancing at you. “You were just joking, right?”

You whimpered, staring at her. And Natasha? She just kept driving. Like she hadn’t just ruined you completely.

——

The moment she stepped in her garage, days later, she halted. There, in the middle of the garage floor, was a group of mechanics, all hunched over, intensely focused on something.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. It took her a second to register what the hell was happening. They were racing toy cars.

Tiny remote-controlled cars zoomed across the floor, weaving through obstacles made from spare parts and stacked tires. The mechanics were completely absorbed, cheering each other on, and right in the middle of it..

You.

You were crouched low, gripping a tiny controller, your eyes locked on the miniature car speeding ahead of the others. Natasha stared. Before she could say anything, one of the mechanics spotted her.

“Shit, boss is here!” Instantly, the whole group scattered like guilty schoolchildren. Some grabbed tools, pretending to be busy. Others straightened up, wiping their hands on their uniforms. One guy even picked up a clipboard and nodded like he was taking notes.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, watching them all awkwardly shuffle away. Then, her gaze landed on you. You hadn’t moved. Instead, you were grinning.

Natasha exhaled, crossing her arms. “Really?”

You shrugged. “We had time.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t let the smirk form. “And this is what you do with it?”

You held up a spare controller, wiggling it between your fingers. “Wanna play?”

Natasha deadpanned. Silence. “No.”

You just kept grinning. “Scared you’ll lose?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. You smirked. Checkmate. With an exasperated sigh, she snatched the controller from your hand. You tried to hide your excitement but failed miserably.

The game was on and fifteen minutes later…Natasha Romanoff, feared Team Principal, was fully immersed in a miniature race. Her forehead creased in concentration, fingers pressing the buttons with sharp precision, eyes locked on the tiny red car speeding ahead.

“What?”

Your car cut her off perfectly, sliding into the lead. You let out a victorious laugh, flashing her a smirk. “Too slow..”

Natasha gritted her teeth, her competitive instincts fully kicking in. “Oh, you little-”

She pressed forward aggressively, maneuvering her car with flawless skill. The mechanics, who had initially tried to get back to work, were now casually watching from a distance, whispering bets on who would win.

Natasha was determined. She lined up the perfect overtake, waiting for the exact moment to strike. Then..Her car clipped yours. Spun out. Crashed and stopped. You burst out laughing. “DID YOU JUST TAKE YOURSELF OUT?!”

Natasha blinked. Then she stared at the tiny car, still flipped on its side. She exhaled slowly. She dropped the controller onto the table, turned on her heel, and walked away. Not a word. Just pure, silent, defeated dignity.

You called after her, still laughing. “C’mon, I’ll give you a rematch!”

Natasha didn’t look back. But as she reached the door, you caught it. The tiny, amused smirk pulling at her lips. Minutes later you were still grinning like an idiot when your phone buzzed.

Meet me outside the garage. Now.

Your smirk widened. Curious, you stretched, cracking your knuckles before making your way toward the exit. The pit lane was quieter now, most of the team either finishing up for the night or handling last-minute checks. The evening air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside..

Two cars. Both engines purring, sleek and ready. You knew instantly what this was. Natasha stood beside one of them, arms crossed, that signature smug, unreadable expression on her face. But her eyes, her eyes gave it away.

She wanted a rematch. Your mind flashed back.. Back to the moment everything had started. Back when you were lost, broken, hesitant to even step into a car again. Back when Natasha had stood in front of you, unapologetically blunt, pushing you, challenging you.

“Race me.”

And now? She was doing it again. You exhaled slowly, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Natasha raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching. “You just gonna stand there? Or are you actually gonna try to win this time?”

Your eyes flickered to the cars, fingers already itching to grab the wheel. A slow grin spread across your face. The cockpit felt smaller than usual. Or maybe it was just your nerves making the air feel heavier. Your hands gripped the wheel tightly as the lights overhead cast an artificial glow over the track. It was just a race. Just another challenge. But you weren’t going up against just anyone.

You were racing Natasha Romanoff. Your lover. Your mentor. Your damn boss. And worst of all? She was one of the best. A voice crackled through the radio. Her voice. “All set, sweetheart?”

Your stomach tightened. She only used that tone when she was either mocking you or about to ruin your day. You adjusted your gloves, clearing your throat. “You really don’t get tired of losing to me, huh?”

There was a short silence. A low chuckle through the radio. “Bold words from someone who used to be scared of getting back in a car.”

Your jaw clenched, but the teasing lilt in her voice told you she wasn’t trying to bring up the past to hurt you. No, she was pushing you.

Just like she always did. “Don’t hold back.” She continued, her voice dropping into something more serious. “I’ll know if you do.”

And she would. You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. The track ahead was empty, quiet, waiting for the storm to begin.

“Three…Two…One…Go.”

Your tires screeched against the asphalt, the car lurching forward with an aggressive jolt. Your heart slammed against your ribs as the sheer force of acceleration pushed you deeper into your seat.

Natasha’s car was right there, pulling ahead as expected. Your fingers twitched. You knew she’d try to control the pace, make you react instead of setting the tempo. Typical Natasha..

But you had learned. You weren’t just following orders anymore. You shifted gears, pushing the throttle harder, and Natasha’s car loomed just ahead, her rear wing practically taunting you.

Her voice returned over the radio. “You’re awfully quiet back there. Getting nervous?”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too soon.”

Natasha let out a soft huff. “Cute.”

The first corner approached, and Natasha braked late, forcing a tight defensive line. You reacted instantly, shifting inside, but she covered it.

Of course she did. Her driving was calculated, ruthless, frustratingly efficient. You gritted your teeth, the familiar challenge igniting something in you. She wants me to play safe. To respect her lead. No chance in hell. The next set of corners came fast, left, right, hairpin..each a perfect opportunity. You faked a move to the outside, making her defend hard.

It worked. The instant she adjusted, you cut inside, braking later than you should have. Natasha realized it too late. Her car twitched, caught off guard. And then you were ahead. The rush hit you all at once. You overtook her. You overtook Natasha Romanoff.

Her silence over the radio was deafening. “…Huh.” Just that. No anger. No irritation. Just surprise. And that fueled you.

The adrenaline surged through your veins as you floored the throttle, pushing the car faster than you had all night. The next corner approached, a high-speed sweeper that demanded absolute precision.

You didn’t hesitate. You sent it. The car gripped perfectly, the g-force pinning you to the seat. It was exhilarating. The radio crackled again. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Your breath was heavy, pulse erratic. “You told me not to.”

A short laugh. “I did.” Then her tone shifted. “Alright, Detka.”

A shiver ran down your spine. That was a challenge. And you knew, Natasha wasn’t holding back anymore. You barely had time to react before her car loomed in your mirrors, closing the gap with terrifying efficiency.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you checked your mirrors, Natasha was right there. She wasn’t holding back anymore.

Her car was gaining, inch by inch, the headlights glaring in your mirrors like a predator stalking its prey. You swallowed hard, tightening your grip on the wheel as the track blurred past you.

You had her, for now. But Natasha wasn’t just any driver. She was calculated. She was ruthless. And worst of all? She was faster than you.

The next corner approached, a long, sweeping left-hander. You knew what she was about to do before she even did it. She dived inside, taking the more aggressive line, forcing you wide.

Shit. You had two options, fight her for the space and risk a collision or play smart and get her back on the next sector.

Your pulse spiked. This wasn’t a championship race. This wasn’t about points. This was about beating Natasha.

You feigned giving in, easing off the throttle just enough to let her pull ahead, just for a second. And that’s when you struck.

You tucked in behind her, riding her slipstream, your car practically glued to her rear wing. The second she cleared the turn, you darted right, flinging the car into the racing line before she could defend.

Natasha saw it, too late. She had to lift off the throttle for just a fraction of a second. And that was all you needed.You shot past her, taking back the lead with authority.

The radio crackled. “Y/n, Y/n...”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

A sharp laugh from her end. But then, a shift. Her tone dropped, lower now. “Alright, baby. No more playing nice.”

A chill ran down your spine. And then she was gone. Or rather, she was everywhere. Natasha went from defensive to absolute attack mode. Her car was flawless, her aggression relentless.

Every corner you took, she was there. Every straight, she gained. She was forcing you into mistakes. And worse? It was working.

You felt your rear tires struggle for grip, just barely keeping traction as you fought to maintain control. Your breathing was ragged. Your fingers twitched.

She was pushing you to the edge. And yet, you loved it. The thrill, the chase, the sheer intensity of it all. This was what racing felt like. This was what you lived for.

Your body burned with adrenaline as the final sector approached. Three more corners. One chance.. You threw the car into the braking zone, the tires screeching under the force. Natasha was right behind you, just waiting for you to slip. The exit was critical. You braced yourself, prepared for one last push, but then, she was gone.

You blinked. Checked your mirrors. Nothing. Your radio crackled. “Checkmate, detka.”

Your stomach dropped. You snapped forward, eyes widening as you saw it, Natasha had switched her line. She had let you overcommit to the inside. And now..She had the perfect exit. Her car shot forward like a bullet, flying past you before you could even react.

The finish line loomed ahead. She was too far ahead. You gritted your teeth, pushing with everything you had, but it wasn’t enough. Natasha crossed the line first.

You slammed your hands against the wheel, frustration and admiration mixing into a wild, heated mess inside your chest. The radio crackled again. “You’re fast.”

You exhaled, jaw clenched.

“But I’m faster.”

Your breathing was erratic, your pulse hammering. You had lost. But God, you had never felt so alive. You pulled into the pit lane, your hands still shaking as you climbed out of the car. Before you could even process what had just happened, Natasha was already there.

Leaning against her car. Arms crossed. Smirking. Smug. Smug as hell. You pulled off your helmet, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

Natasha tilted her head. “Not bad, rookie.”

You glared. “Rookie!?”

She pushed off the car, stepping closer. Too close. Your breath hitched as she lifted a gloved hand, tracing her fingers lightly along your jaw.

“You’re getting better.”

Your pulse spiked. Her gaze was intense, heavy, scorching. Your lips parted, your voice barely a whisper. “You planned that the whole time.”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”

A dark chuckle. “No, you don’t.”

And then, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours, just barely, just enough to make your knees weaken. Your breath hitched. Natasha smirked against your mouth, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.

“Now let’s go insid. I’m not done winning tonight.”

The couch was warm beneath you, the soft hum of the TV in the background a comforting buzz. Natasha was next to you, arm draped lazily along the back of the couch. Close enough that the heat of her body soaked into yours, her fingers grazing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Because somewhere between laughter and quiet conversation, her hands had found your skin. And yours had found hers. You were straddling her lap now, your fingers tracing the sharp lines of her jaw, her strong shoulders, while her hands roamed lower, gripping your hips, fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt.

You sighed into the kiss, letting her pull you closer, heat building, slow and intoxicating. Then, Natasha shifted. Her fingers dipped beneath the fabric, slowly pushing your shirt upward. Your breath hitched. And before you even registered it, your body tensed.

Natasha noticed immediately. Her hands stilled. Her lips hovered over yours, her green eyes flickering with something unreadable as she pulled back just enough to study you.

Her brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Your pulse hammered. The words sat heavy in your throat. You didn’t know how to say it. But Natasha could read you too damn well. And in that moment, her eyes darkened. Her hands slowly lowered from your shirt, like she thought she had done something wrong.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, softer this time. “Did I..Did I push too fast?”

The uncertainty in her tone made something twist painfully in your chest. She thought you were rejecting her. You immediately shook your head, reaching for her hand, gripping it tightly. “No, Nat. No, it’s not that.”

Her gaze searched yours. “Then what is it?”

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your own shirt, your breath uneven as you finally forced yourself to say it. “We’ve never..never done this in the light before.”

Natasha blinked. You could tell the words caught her off guard. Her grip on you softened. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, looking away for a second before murmuring, “I don’t… I don’t like showing my back, Nat..”

Natasha understood immediately. She was quiet for a moment, her gaze unwavering. Then, carefully, she lifted one hand, tracing the back of her knuckles along your arm in a slow, soothing motion.

“Why?” Your throat tightened. “Because I hate it.” Your voice was quiet, raw. “It..it reminds me of everything. The crash, the pain, the months.. It’s ugly, Natasha.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper now.

Natasha exhaled slowly. Not in frustration, not in impatience, but in understanding. Her hands moved carefully now, not under your shirt, not near your back, but to your face. She cupped your cheeks, her thumbs brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate strokes.

“You think I would see you any differently?” she murmured. You didn’t answer. Because part of you did. Part of you thought she would look at you and see it first.

See the damage before she saw you. Natasha must have sensed it, because her grip tightened slightly, grounding. “Y/n,” she said, voice steady, certain. “There is nothing ugly about you.”

Your chest ached. You tried to look away, but she didn’t let you. Her thumbs brushed over your jaw, tipping your chin slightly, forcing you to meet her gaze.

She was so damn close now. Close enough that you could see the sincerity in her expression, the unwavering truth in her eyes.

“I love you.” she whispered. “All of you.”

She let her fingers trail down now, still slow, still careful. She traced your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, then skimmed her fingers over your waist, but she never pushed. Never forced.

You realized then. She was waiting. She was waiting for you to make the next move. Your heartbeat pounded. And then, finally..you moved. Your hands trembled slightly, but you reached down, gripping the hem of your shirt.

Slowly, you lifted it. The scar, raised and jagged, stretched along your lower back, a permanent reminder of the crash that nearly took everything. You couldn’t look at her. You stared at the wall, waiting for something, anything.

Then, she touched you. Not in fear. Not in hesitation. But with reverence. Her fingers ghosted over the scar, tracing it so softly it almost tickled. You shivered. And then, her lips. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss right above the scar.

Your breath shuddered. Natasha pulled back just enough for her voice to reach you. “This?” she murmured, her fingers still tracing lightly. “This is a part of you.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against your shoulder now, then up along your neck, whispering against your skin.

“And I love every single part of you.”

Something inside you broke. The walls, the self-loathing, the years of hating that part of yourself, it all cracked under the weight of her words. You exhaled shakily, leaning forward, pressing yourself into her. She didn’t hesitate. She held you. Not just in a way that meant comfort. But in a way that meant everything.

For a moment, you just stayed there, pressed against Natasha, her arms wrapped securely around you. You felt the shift before she even spoke, the way her body relaxed slightly, the tension from earlier bleeding away into something softer, something unspoken but understood.

And yet… you couldn’t ignore it. The atmosphere had changed. It wasn’t bad, not uncomfortable, but the weight of what just happened still lingered in the air. You pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. Natasha’s hands remained steady on your waist, holding you in place, anchoring you.

You bit your lip, hesitating before you spoke. “…I’m sorry.”

Her brows furrowed immediately. “What?”

You exhaled, feeling foolish. “I just..” You glanced away, rubbing at your arm. “It felt like I ruined the moment.”

Natasha was silent for a beat. Then, suddenly, she laughed. It wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t dismissive. It was soft. Amused. Fond. You blinked up at her, confused. “What’s so funny?”

She shook her head slightly, still smiling. “You think I need sex all the time?”

Your face heated instantly. “No, that’s not what I-”

Her fingers curled under your chin, gently tilting your face back up.

“I don’t need anything from you, Y/n.” she murmured. “Not tonight. Not every night.” Her thumb brushed over your jaw, tender and deliberate. “You’re mine, with or without that.”

Her eyes were softer now, not demanding, not teasing, just full of something deeper. Something that settled inside you. You exhaled, finally allowing yourself to relax, your forehead dropping to rest against hers. “…I love you.” The words were quiet, but certain.

Natasha’s fingers tightened slightly on your waist, like she was holding on just a little harder. “I know.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “Say it back.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “I love you.”

There was a gentleness in the way she said it, a sincerity that made warmth bloom in your chest. Then, suddenly, she shifted, lifting you effortlessly as she stood up.

“W-What are you-”

“Movie night.” She declared it like it was final, carrying you toward her room as if you weighed nothing.

You huffed. “I can walk, you know.”

“I know.” she replied, grinning as she dropped you onto the bed. “But this is more fun.”

You shot her a look, but the amusement in her eyes was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile. Natasha grabbed a blanket, throwing it over both of you before settling in beside you. You instinctively leaned into her, her arms finding you again, pulling you close.

“Alright.” she murmured. “Pick a movie.”

You tilted your head. “You pick.”

Natasha hummed in thought before flicking through the options. “What about something mindless?”

You scoffed. “You mean an action movie?”

She smirked. “Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You just let yourself relax into her, feeling her warmth, feeling safe. The movie started, but neither of you were really watching. She ran her fingers through your hair absentmindedly, and you sighed, eyes fluttering shut. Maybe another night, you’d continue what had been interrupted. But for now, this was enough. Just her. Just you.

1 Week later, your team had cheered, cameras had flashed, hands had clapped against your back in congratulations. You had done it. You won the race. And somewhere between the press interviews and the champagne-drenched celebration, you’d completely forgotten the joke you had made in Natasha’s car just days before.

The drive after your victory had been smooth, quiet, almost too quiet. Natasha sat behind the wheel, calm, unreadable, in control. You were too exhausted to question it, your body still buzzing from the race, your muscles sore, adrenaline still wearing off.

So when the car slowed, pulling off to the side of a dimly lit stretch of road, you barely blinked. It wasn’t until she put it in park and exhaled slowly that you finally looked at her.

“Something wrong?”

Natasha hummed, tapping her fingers against the wheel. “Feels like something’s off with the car.”

Your mechanic instincts kicked in instantly. “Want me to check?”

She smirked, already stepping out. You followed, stretching slightly as you stepped into the warm night air. She stood in front of the hood, lifting it slightly, pretending to inspect something. You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Nat, I used to be a mechanic, let me-”

Before you could finish, she turned to face you fully, smirking. “Actually, sit up here for a second.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

She patted the hood. “Come on.”

Something about the way she said it sent a shiver through you. But you didn’t argue. Didn’t question it. You pushed yourself up, perching on the warm metal, your legs instinctively parting slightly for balance.

Natasha stepped forward, standing between them. “You really forgot, didn’t you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly.

Your stomach flipped. “Forgot what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Natasha chuckled. Her fingers trailing up your thigh, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You won.” she murmured, voice smooth, controlled. “Which means…I get to keep my promise.” You blinked. And then it hit you. The joke. The stupid, stupid joke.

“Win the next race..and maybe we’ll see just how sturdy this car really is”

Your mouth went dry. “Oh..” you breathed, barely a whisper. Natasha hummed, her smirk deepening. “Oh.”

And then, her hand slipped between your legs. You gasped the second she pressed against you, her fingers teasing, exploring, but not giving. Your knees weakened, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “N-Natasha-”

“Shh, sweetheart.” she murmured, her breath warm against your jaw, your pulse. “Relax.”

Her fingers brushed over you again, slow, testing, cruel. “Fuck..!”

“You like this, huh?” she whispered, dragging her lips along your throat, her pace still unhurried. “I haven’t even started yet.”

Your hips shifted involuntarily, chasing friction, chasing anything. Natasha chuckled, her grip tightening, keeping you exactly where she wanted.

“So desperate already.” she murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Thought this was just a joke?”

“I-I don’t-f-fuck..” Her fingers pushed inside you, slow, deep, devastating. Your head tilted back, a gasp breaking past your lips.

“That’s it..” Natasha groaned, her pace still infuriatingly controlled. “Take it.”

You were trembling, your legs weak, your body burning up. She moved with purpose, her fingers curling, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans cracked, your hands gripping onto her. “g-god-”

“Come for me, baby..” she whispered, commanding, knowing. “Right here. Right now.”

And fuck. You shattered. Your body arched, a wrecked moan breaking past your lips as you came undone in her hands. Natasha groaned, watching you fall apart, watching you completely lose yourself. But she wasn’t done. Not yet.

You barely had time to recover before Natasha was pulling you in, kissing you deep, slow, consuming. Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, your thighs, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

You whimpered against her mouth, your body still shaking, oversensitive. And then..You felt it. A bulge. Hard. Firm. Pressing against your inner thigh. Your breath hitched, your body tensing slightly. And Natasha? She felt you freeze.

And she smirked. “Finally noticed?”

Your eyes widened, your brain catching up to what your body had already felt. She’d been wearing it. The entire time. The entire fucking drive.

“You..”

She chuckled, low, dark, amused. “What’s wrong, baby?” she murmured, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You were so eager to be fucked on this car.”

Her hands trailed lower, gripping your hips. “So let’s see if you can handle it and turn around.”

Her voice was low, steady, dripping with command. You blinked, chest rising and falling too fast, your mind spinning.

“Nat, I-”

“I said, turn around.”

You shuddered. And you did. Because you always fucking listened. Your palms pressed against the warm metal of the hood, your breath coming out uneven, shaky.

Natasha stood behind you, silent for a moment, just watching, just taking you in. Then, her hands slid over your waist, down your thighs, exploring, feeling, claiming.

“Look at you.” She murmured, dragging her lips down your neck, your spine. “So good for me.”

Her fingers hooked into your waistband, tugging your pants down slow, teasing, deliberate. The air kissed your bare skin, your body burning in contrast. You whimpered, hands gripping the car for stability.

“That’s right.” she cooed, lips pressing against your shoulder. “You’ve been running that mouth for days.”

Her hand came down on your ass, sharp, making you jolt. “Time to back it up.”

You barely had a second to brace yourself before Natasha grabbed your hips and pushed in.

“Oh, F-Fuck-!” Your moan cracked, your body arching, stretching, struggling to take all of her at once. Natasha groaned, fingers digging into your skin, giving you a second to adjust.

“Take it all..” She whispered, voice thick, heavy, possessive. Your fingers curled against the car hood, your body already trembling, already overwhelmed. And then, she moved. Slow, deep, devastating.

Your head dropped forward, a wrecked moan escaping your lips as she set the pace, dragging you back onto her cock with every thrust.

“Natasha!”

“Thought you wanted this?” she murmured, voice mocking, teasing, but laced with something darker. Her hand trailed up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down further, making you feel every inch of her.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe, your body already so close, already so gone.

“Natasha..fuck—I..can’t..please..”

“Yes, you can.” she growled, thrusting deeper, rougher. “You’re gonna take everything I give you, baby.”

Your legs shook, pleasure burning through every nerve, your stomach tightening. Natasha could feel it, sense it, hear it in the way your moans turned into wrecked, breathless cries.

“Gonna come for me?” she whispered, her hand slipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles over your clit.

“Fuck! fuck, Natasha!”

“Do it.”

And fuck- You did. Your moan cracked, your entire body convulsing against the car, your pleasure hitting you like a tidal wave. Natasha groaned at the sight of you, at the way you completely fell apart for her. And yet..she didn’t stop. The Moment You Realized you were screwed.

Your fingers curling against nothing, searching for something to grab onto. But there was nothing. Just Natasha’s hands on your hips, her strap deep inside you, her pace brutal, unforgiving.

“Na-!” Her fingers dug into your waist, keeping you perfectly still as she moved, dragging you onto her cock with every thrust.

“This is what you begged for.” she cooed, her breath hot against your spine.

You whimpered, your legs already trembling, the pleasure too much, too sharp, too overwhelming. “T-too much- fuuck…”

Natasha chuckled, her hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down even further.

“Too much?” she repeated, mocking, amused. “Oh, sweetheart.” Her pace quickened, her movements sharper, deeper, taking you apart completely.

Your body was failing you. Your legs were shaking too hard, your breath ragged, broken. You couldn’t hold yourself up. You couldn’t think. Your mind was completely blank, completely fucked out. Your hands had no grip on reality, no grip on anything at all. So you stopped trying. You let go.

“Fuck, look at you.” Natasha groaned, feeling you go completely limp beneath her. You whimpered, eyes unfocused, your voice wrecked, weak.

“Ohh..” she whispered, pressing kisses against your spine. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Her grip tightened on your hips, her pace deep and devastating. “Just let me take care of you.”

And fuck, that broke you. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”

Natasha’s voice was soft, knowing, completely in control. “I know you can.”

Your body shook violently, pleasure ripping through you, your moan breaking into something wrecked, something wordless. Your vision blurred, your entire world reduced to nothing but the feeling of Natasha inside you.

She groaned, watching you shatter, feeling your body completely give in to her. “That’s my good girl.” she murmured, pressing kisses to your shoulder, to your jaw, to the corner of your lips.

Your breath came out in short, shaky gasps, your entire body completely spent, completely hers. And Natasha? She just smirked, her fingers trailing down your spine, grounding you.

“Not so funny now, huh?”

And fuck. You were never joking again.

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Text

Hold You Tight - Part 24

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 23 | Series Masterlist | Part 25

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.8k

Chapter Summary: You're ready for some answers so you can move forward.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, threats, tension, talk of assault, obsession, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby and @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Natasha didn't say a word after wrapping up the phone call with her sister. Neither did you. What was there to say? Both of you knew Zemo was outside of the club. As much as you wanted to confront him, it wouldn't be a smart move. Not alone at least. You needed Bucky.

How would he react knowing you needed him once again?

“You really should try to rest,” Natasha finally spoke.

“I can’t,” you whispered. It was too overwhelming, your mind too frantic.

“I know it won't be easy to do so and you rightfully want answers, but just try to relax as best as you can.”

It took a moment, but you curled up on the sofa and tried to quiet your mind. Your eyes drifted to the dahlia painting, remembering Bucky’s words. The man was all about loyalty, and he expected you to be loyal to him. You’d give him that. What choice was there?

“May I ask you something crazy?” you asked.

“The question may be more normal than you think, so shoot,” she answered.

“Do you think I could love Bucky?”

Love was about acceptance and understanding, but your situation wasn’t normal. Would it ever be love or a form of Stockholm Syndrome? Were you doomed to accept it at face value, or could you smooth out the path for both of you?

Natasha considered your question. “I think if anyone could grow to love him, it’s you,” she answered, leaning into the cushion herself. “But it should be on your terms, not his.”

Neither of you spoke again after that.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when the office door slowly opened. Natasha moved when you sat up, placing herself in front of you. Was she protecting you because of Bucky or was she looking out for you because she wanted to?

“It’s just me. Well, Ray and Steve are here, too,” Bucky announced, stepping further into the room. Ray and Steve hung back by the door, but both of them looked at you with concern.

Was everyone going to treat you like a porcelain doll ready to break? To be fair, it wasn’t that long ago since your attack. You would’ve looked at anyone else the same way.

You took in the sight of Bucky once Natasha moved completely out of the way. Gone was his jacket, his hair a mess. Had he changed his shirt? Your eyes searched his and you found lingering darkness lurking. The tension in his shoulders didn’t bode well either.

He either didn’t get the answers he was looking for or something was still wrong.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked.

“No,” you answered, giving him room so he could sit beside you. “Did you lose yourself?”

“Not completely. I told you I had you to come back to,” he replied, brushing a kiss to your forehead before looking over his shoulder. “Give us a minute.”

Natasha hesitated. “Zemo is-”

“Outside, I know,” Bucky interrupted, a slight edge to his voice. “Just give us a minute.”

Ray held the door open, silently ordering Natasha to leave. You managed a small smile for her before she left, the shutting of the door sealing more of your fate. “Bucky, what-”

His arms nearly crushed you when he pulled you in for a hug, his face buried in your neck to inhale your scent. Just as quickly as he grabbed you, he released you, like he suddenly remembered what you had gone through earlier and that the sudden touch may have frightened you. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“What?” you asked, telling yourself to relax. He wasn’t going to hurt you.

“He wanted to take you away from me. From your home,” he whispered. You took his hand to inspect it, half expecting to see blood. “You don’t have to worry about me. I cleaned myself up a bit, and I’m fine,” he added.

You hummed, thankful for that as your fingers touched his knuckles. Seeing blood on him may have fried your emotions once again. “What do you mean he wanted to take me from my home?”

Bucky gripped your hand when you tried to pull away and explained what Clark told him- How Clark was involved with Zemo and your instinct regarding the drugging of your friends was correct. How Clark intended to take you to Gotham, giving you a way to start over again away from Bucky. It would’ve put you in another cage.

Steel blue eyes watched you process the information, a featherlight touch on the top of your hand willing you to take a breath. “He was really going to take me away?”

The thought of being ripped away from your friends, your stability, it made your heart ache. As much as the turn of events in your life terrified you, the city was still your home. If anyone would decide when and if you left, it would be you. Except now you didn’t really have a choice since Bucky would dictate when and if you ever left.

Bucky’s jaw clenched before he nodded. “He was. He thought he’d be your hero,” he said, practically spitting out the last word.

Clark wasn’t a hero. No hero would’ve done what he did. “But my friends are okay? And Lois, she’s okay?” you asked.

The smile on Bucky’s face stretched to his eyes. “How are you so good?” he asked, rhetorically. “I still need the info on what the driver put in the drinks, but it was likely diluted and they should be okay. Lois…” He took a breath. “She isn’t in great shape, but she’s going to get the best care possible.”

You sighed in relief for your friends and Lois, though it hurt to hear that she wasn’t in the best shape, since she didn’t deserve whatever happened to her. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered. Lois wasn’t his responsibility, but it meant a lot to you that he wanted to help her heal. Maybe you could meet her, if only to see for yourself that she would be safe and sound. “What about Cl-”

“Don’t say his name, please.,” he gently ordered. “Whatever happens to him after tonight is still his fault.”

You shuddered. So Clark was still alive. For now. “And Zemo? I want to talk to him.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said softly. You were doing your best to control your temper since you knew he was trying to protect you. “You’ve been through a lot, especially tonight.”

“Partially thanks to you,” you reminded him, making him wince. You didn’t mean it as a jab, but he had to keep that in mind. “And this is my life they tried to mess with. I think I’m owed some answers.”

He sighed. “Kotyonok…”

Maybe it was a dirty tactic, but you ran a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Nothing too extraordinary or forward, but you heard the swift intake of breath. “Please,” you whispered, needing him on your side for this.

“Fine,” he conceded, turning his head to give you a proper kiss. As much as you knew he wanted to deepen it, he stopped himself. “But you’re staying right by my side, and we’ll speak to him in the VIP area. I don’t want him in my office.”

“If that’s what you want.” It was his club, his rules, but it was a small victory that he gave in.

And once the conversation took place, you could finally try to get some sleep.

“Wait,” he said, stopping you from standing. He didn’t hide the vulnerability in his expression when he uttered, “I’m going to earn your love, and I’m not giving up until I have it. Even when I have it, I won’t stop earning it. Or your trust.”

Your mouth fell open. Where had that come from? Had Clark said or done something to get under his skin?

“I haven’t earned yours,” you said, needing to say something. You saved his mother, sure, and he felt a connection after seeing and hearing you at his club, but that shouldn’t mean that his love and trust should be given so freely.

“You earned it a long time ago, but I haven’t earned yours,” he said easily, helping you to your feet. “I’ll start tonight once we’re home.”

You fell in step beside Bucky, ignoring the gazes of the group in the hall. “Ray, bring Zemo to the VIP area. Have Ari and Jax behind him. Steve, I want you there with us.”

“And what about me? I’m not leaving her,” Natasha said as she followed.

“This isn’t your concern,” Bucky said, tightening his grip on you.

“You made it my concern when you called me. She made it my concern when she asked me to be here,” the redhead argued. “And my sister is the one who followed him, so I think I have a right to stick around.”

“I think she should stay,” you said. Natasha had gone out of her way to be there for you. It only felt right that she knew what was going on.

Bucky swore under his breath. “Hang back with Ari and Jax and keep your sister from shooting him.”

“I make no promises that she won’t shoot him,” she half teased before Bucky glared over his shoulder. “But she won’t kill him.”

You tried not to tremble once Bucky brought you to the VIP area. It was strange seeing the place lit up, but with no music or a crowd. You could almost picture Addison and your friends there with you, laughing and having a good time.

Briefly closing your eyes, you allowed Bucky’s touch on your arm to soothe you. “This is where you were sitting when I saw you on camera,” he said.

“It’s come full circle,” you said. The area would become another place fully tied back to Bucky. Not because he owned it, but because you would talk to Zemo there and it would be a reminder of what happened to you.

“And soon you’ll be with me in my office, keeping me company, making memories together,” he said, happy in spite of the circumstances.

Steve placed a bottle of water in front of you. How was it that a man as dark as Bucky looked so kind? “Buck thought you’d want bottled water instead of a glass,” he said, giving you a small smile.

You nodded in understanding. If anyone had brought you a glass, you wouldn’t have seen them pour it and you may have questioned what was in it. It was… thoughtful. “Thanks.”

Your heart beat too loud when you heard footsteps, your next breath ragged when Zemo walked toward you like he owned the place. Though he looked put together and at ease, you detected the slightest bit of discomfort when he looked your way. You took small satisfaction in that.

Bucky held up a hand before Zemo could take a seat or speak to you. “If you have any weapons on you, I suggest you set them on the table,” he said, skipping the pleasantries.

Gesturing to Ari and Jax, he sighed. “Ms. Belova relieved me of my weapons, and your men did another search themselves,” he said. You couldn’t see Natasha or her sister with the men blocking your view, but you sensed them watching. “Now may I please sit?”

Bucky waited until Ray stood by your side and Steve on his. “As much as I’d like to beat the ever loving shit out of you, we do need to talk, so sit.”

“As much as I know you’d enjoy that, I’m not here to speak to you.” Zemo turned his attention to you once he sat down and carefully removed his gloves. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh, hoping your touch would keep him grounded. “So, you’re aware of what happened to me?”

“I do not know the details, but I knew something must have happened since I hadn't heard from Clark or the driver. And I thought if I hadn't heard from them that James either figured out my involvement or would find out soon enough,” he explained, relaxing in his seat. “Better to show up and explain my side than wait to be dragged in for questioning.”

It surprised you how easily he gave up that information. “I was attacked,” you stated, avoiding Bucky's gaze.

You didn't expect to see sorrow on Zemo’s face. “Where is he?” he whispered.

“Where do you think?” Bucky asked.

The man nodded. “Though I’m not the one who laid hands on you, I am sorry for encouraging Clark.” He shook his head wearily. “I warned him not to lay a hand on you in harm, but he was not one of my usual men, and I must admit I miscalculated this plan.”

“What was your plan exactly?” you asked. Did it align with Clark's plan?

“I wanted James to lose you,” he replied, stating the obvious. “James knows most of my men and he would've caught on if I sent one of them to spirit you away. I thought Clark was enough of an outsider to stay under the radar and convince you to somehow, some way, walk away from your new boyfriend.”

Of course, it all led back to Bucky. “He broke into my home when I refused to go with him and he attacked me,” you said, proud that your voice didn't crack.

“He was going to rape her,” Bucky said through his teeth. The rage in his eyes was frightening, so you squeezed his thigh. He had to stay calm.

If Zemo looked sorrowful moments ago, now he looked sick. He recovered quickly. “You must believe me when I say my intention was never for anyone to attack you.”

“But you still knowingly or unknowingly sent some sort of predator to woo me? That's supposed to make me feel better?” you asked. Did he have any shame?

Zemo sighed. “I fear nothing I say will make you feel better.”

“No, it won’t. Everything that happened is going to stick with me, and your apologies aren’t going to alleviate any of the pain,” you said, breathing a bit easier when Bucky put his hand over yours. “Not to mention, it still doesn’t make any sense to me. He came into the shop once a month and until recently he had a girlfriend. Now he stalks and attacks me? Why?”

Zemo tilted his head, amused by the question. “Why did James stalk you?”

Bucky stiffened under your touch before he began, “That’s not-”

“Clark likes to believe that he isn’t like James or I or any of the other men here, but he isn’t a good man either. He has darkness like so many of us and he didn't need much of a push to go after you.” Zemo shrugged. “Your rejection may have been the final push to bring out his darkness.”

Bucky reached for something in his pocket. “If you’re blaming my girl-”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Zemo promised, his hands raised in surrender.

Bile rose to your throat anyway. “Really? Because it sounds like you’re saying that my rejection drove him to this.” How could he blame you for Clark’s actions?

“Your rejection was a tipping point, but it wasn’t your fault,” he assured you. It didn't make you feel any better. “His facade slipped and he showed you who he really is. It is troublesome that I did not notice how far he would go before you were put in harm's way.”

“Because you let whatever hatred you have for Bucky blind you,” you accused. What other explanation was there?

“Perhaps you are right.” Zemo swallowed, but didn’t spare the man beside you a glance. “But as much as I hate him, I still did not intend for you to get hurt.”

“Why does it matter if I'm hurt?” you asked. It wasn't like any of them cared for your opinion regarding your own life.

“Because it wasn’t about harming you. I just wanted James to be without you,” he admitted without shame. “I wanted him to lose the thing he cherished the most, that’s all.”

You exhaled. He wanted to destroy Bucky. Not through his club, his money, or anything of that sort. Zemo wanted to destroy him by removing you from the equation.

“It wouldn't have been enough if I took you myself,” he continued. “No, I wanted him to see you thrive with someone outside of our circle. To show him money and power can't buy him what he so desperately desires. I wanted him to suffer knowing how happy you were without him.”

Bucky audibly exhaled, anger rising in both of you. “That's insane,” you whispered. Another puppet master trying to control the strings of your life. “And you really think that Bucky would have allowed that?!”

Zemo finally looked at the club owner with a blank expression. “I’d like to think James would give you anything that would make you happy. That if you truly found happiness with another man, he would let you go. Even if it killed him.”

You almost crawled into Bucky’s lap when you thought he’d stand up. “There will never be another man,” he gritted.

“He won't let me go. You have to know that,” you said, uncaring of who nearby heard it since they knew the truth anyway. “My freedom is the only thing he won't give me.”

“Is it really love if he won’t let you go?” Zemo asked.

Bucky made a sound like he got punched. “I love her,” he stated, turning toward you. “I love you.”

“I know,” you whispered. He believed so desperately that he did. “Zemo, even if Bucky let me go, do you really think I could give my heart to someone else knowing he will always watch over me?”

If there was even the slightest chance that you’d ever leave him, you’d forever look over your shoulder and wait for him to drag you back.

“Bruce Wayne wouldn't let the likes of James into his city,” he said.

Bucky had mentioned the name Bruce to you in his office. You hoped you never met him. “And if he went to Gotham anyway?”

“I wanted to believe that he would start off watching. That if there was a moment where he could swoop in and take you back he would, but would ultimately resist. That over time, it would hurt him too much to keep his eye on you and he would have eventually let you go.” The smile on his face unnerved you. “Your rejection of Bucky and choosing someone else would destroy him from the inside out. He would fall, and his empire would fall with him because why would he want to rule without you by his side?”

“She isn't rejecting me, and I’m not letting her go. Ever,” Bucky spoke for you, that stark possession shining through. “Our souls are entwined. She’s meant to be with me forever.”

A scowl crossed Zemo’s face. “I loved someone like that once.”

“And you lost her,” you said. He lost his wife, and his child. “If revenge was something you wanted, why not just kill me? An eye for an eye.”

He sighed, picking at one of his gloves. “I thought about killing you with my bare hands. To watch the life leave your eyes,” he said, dispassionately.

Your eyes widened when Bucky got to his feet and took out a knife. Ray tried to shield you when you jumped up, but you grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could move. “Bucky, please, don’t,” you begged. Hearing that Zemo had wanted to kill you scared you, but he was unarmed and you didn't want more blood shed because of you.

“Listen to her, Buck,” Steve urged.

“I’m done talking and listening, and I’m going to slit his fucking throat for even thinking about killing her,” he growled. He was going to kill him if you didn’t stop him. And Zemo… He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch or try to move away. Did he want to die?

“Boss?” Ray questioned. If Bucky ordered it, they would kill him. You had no doubt in your mind.

“Please,” you whispered, putting your hand over his so he’d lower the knife. “He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t. He didn’t even want Clark to put a hand on me,” you pointed out. Zemo’s thoughts shifted at some point. That had to mean something.

“Because the more I thought about it, I realized that you’re a victim, too. Innocent. Another soul tainted by the Barnes family,” Zemo said, making you think of his family again. They were victims. “Death may set you free from his grasp, but I suspect death is not what you're looking for or what you deserve. Killing you wouldn't have brought me peace either.”

It was clear that he was in a lot of pain and projecting it onto others, but killing you wouldn't have filled the void in his heart. “What happened with your family?” you asked. It wasn’t just collateral damage. It was enough to drive him to this.

“Oh, James didn’t tell you?” The scowl was back on Zemo’s face.

“She doesn't know the whole story,” Bucky said after a moment.

Your nails dug into his hand. “You said he blamed some of the men you worked with for what happened.”

“Oh, I do blame them and James because it was their fault. They heard about a deal that I made with some dangerous people that would’ve made us all a lot of money. James didn’t like that, so he tipped off the police.” You could see Bucky and Steve hang their heads briefly out of the corner of your eye and Ray blinked a few times, but their shame didn’t lessen the fury in Zemo’s eyes. “For retaliation, these men took something priceless from me- my wife and child. And they didn't just take them. They made them suffer before they died.”

Tears filled your eyes. You couldn’t help it. It was an innocent woman and child. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He looked touched, but it didn't outweigh his anger. “But you see, if James didn't call in that tip and his men hadn't informed him of the deal in the first place, my family would still be alive.”

You glanced around through your tears. No one spoke, but you saw the guilt. And it made sense why Bucky said they were lost in a deal gone wrong, but he left his part in it out of the story. Was it to protect you or himself? “They didn't deserve what happened to them,” you said. No one deserved that.

Zemo blinked, erasing the ghosts behind his eyes. “No, they didn’t. And I can’t change the past or bring them back.”

“Neither can I,” Bucky said, touching your cheek. He looked hesitant, like you’d hate him for this. “I should’ve told you the whole story. I’m sorry for that.”

But Bucky hadn’t. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't told you everything. It was another hurdle to get across. “So, where do we go from here?” you asked. You weren’t going to continue to be a pawn in their game.

Bucky still had his knife out. “I want to kill him, but I can’t,” he said, grinding his teeth. You raised an eyebrow. That would be another conversation for later, but you suspected it had to do with their shady politics or whatever they dealt in. “But I also can’t let this go.”

“You want to retaliate,” Zemo said.

“Yes,” Bucky said. He wanted blood. You could practically smell it.

“No. No retaliation,” you said, looking at all of the men. “I mean it.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared, but one more glance at you and he nodded. “No retaliation for now.”

“I’m in your debt,” Zemo said not to Bucky, but to you. It surprised you to say the least. “Name your price.”

All eyes were on you and it made you feel faint. You couldn’t be weak since you were in this world now. “You paid the driver to turn on Bucky?” you asked, waiting for him to nod. “Whatever you paid him, I want you to double the amount and donate it to the hospital. The wing that Winifired Barnes stayed in.”

Bucky inhaled, gazing at you like he fell in love all over again. “Kotyonok,” he said thickly.

“And Lois, Clark’s ex-girlfriend. I want you to cover her medical expenses, and throw in a little extra so she can recover in peace once she’s out,” you said. It was the least the woman deserved.

“Done,” Zemo agreed, a smile touching his lips. “Is there anything else? Perhaps your own flower shop? The things you asked for aren’t for you, but for others.”

“Because that’s the kind of person she is,” Bucky proudly said, slipping an arm around you. “And if anyone’s going to get her her own shop, it’s me.”

“Please, stop with the dick measuring contest,” you said. Even when it was about you, they made it about themselves. Regardless, the truth was you didn’t want anything from Zemo, except for him to leave you be. “Just leave Bucky and me alone, and anyone close to me. If you two have to work together, fine, but don’t interfere with our lives,” you said.

“And that’s it?” he asked.

“That’s it,” you replied. You didn't need much, but you deserve a bit of peace from one of Bucky’s enemies.

“You have my word.” Zemo slipped his gloves back on and stood up. If he didn't keep his word, you were sure Bucky would make him pay. “But I still owe you a debt. When you’re ready to cash in, James can tell you how to get in touch with me.”

Bucky finally put his knife away. “I still want to kill you and I still have questions for you,” he said. You should’ve known he wouldn’t be satisfied, but at least no blood was shed in front of you. “Because you had no right to go after my girl.”

“Be thankful she’s still alive and beside you,” he said with subtle longing. “Truce? Perhaps we can talk next week and bury the hatchet for good? No retaliation. You agreed.”

Bucky didn't offer his hand. Just a smile without any semblance of warmth. “Next week,” he said, his fist flying before you could blink. You gasped when Zemo stumbled back and clutched his jaw. It took him a moment to straighten up, a mark already forming on his face as he lowered his hand. He didn't look at all surprised by the punch, and he was lucky his jaw wasn't broken. “Now get the fuck out of my club.”

“I appreciate your compassion, and I look forward to your call one day,” Zemo smiled at you through the pain. “I truly am sorry for what transpired,” he added in a sincere tone.

You nodded, not accepting or rejecting the apology, and slowly exhaled while Jax and Ari led him away. He hadn't gotten his revenge, but at least it was over. You had answers. Maybe you’d sleep easier.

Maybe not.

You finally spotted Natasha in the distance standing beside a blonde woman. That must be Yelena. And neither of them looked impressed as they stared after the man who put Clark in your path.

“You sure I can't kill him?” Yelena asked.

“I appreciate the offer, Yelena, but not today,” Bucky said, turning toward you. Why did he look nervous? Was he expecting you to scream? Hit him? “Are you okay?”

You buried your face in his chest before you could stop yourself, and he took the opportunity to hold you against him. Were you okay? No. But you’d heal. You had to. “I will be.”

But was it really the end of Zemo? What kind of favor would he do for you? Would you take him up on any sort of offer after everything?

“I’m sorry, too. For all of this,” he whispered low enough for only you to hear. “But now we can move forward together.”

Bucky sounded like he wanted to close this chapter and move on, but it wasn't up to him to turn the page. It was your decision. “I might stumble along the way.”

“I'll catch you,” he promised, pulling away and taking your hand. “Are you ready to go home?”

You weren't sure if you’d ever be ready, but you had to believe this chapter of your life was over. Zemo would leave you alone. Clark wouldn't hurt anyone else. It had to be enough for today.

You could figure out the next step tomorrow.

“Sure,” you whispered, letting Bucky lead you away. “Let’s go home.”

A moment to breathe. Maybe? I view this as an ending (not the story, I wouldn't do that to you lovelies) and a beginning. Eager to hear what you think will happen going forward! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 23: Regrets

Summary: Depression: a common mental health condition characterized by a low mood or loss of pleasure or interest in activities for long periods of time.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,940

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, angst, mental illness, depression, very heavy emotionally, angst, Johnny gets his feelings hurt (but only for a moment), angst, everyone is having big emotions, Bella Swan-esque sad montage, angst, kissing, slight suggestive content, angst

A/N: Did I completely rewrite part of this during the editing process? Yes. Are you going to thank me for that? Also yes. I'm trying something a bit different with this chapter, so let me know what you think. It probably won't be a regular thing, but I just thought I'd give it a test and this chapter was the perfect time to do that.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

They say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.

They’re right. There’s a hole in your chest, an empty void. The squeaking of your shoes on the tiles sounds far away as you numbly walk back towards your room.

“Ye alright, kitten?” Johnny asks cautiously as you pause in front of your door long enough to turn the handle.

You turn to look up at him, his brows pinched and his eyes shining with concern. “He's gone.” Your voice cracks and shakes, breaking over the words like you're speaking the finality of the situation.

You are.

“I know.” Johnny reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your arm. “I wish there had been more warning, but this is usually how his solo assignments go.”

You swallow thickly. “He'll come back, right?”

Johnny grimaces. “Ye know I can't promise that. But, there's no one quite as capable in the field as him, except maybe Price.” Johnny squeezes your arm gently. “He’s been doing this for a long time, kitten. Have faith in that, and his skills.”

Johnny’s words do nothing to help the turmoil inside you, the fear and anxiety. One split second mistake, one wrong decision and you know it could be over. Everything could be over before it even started. Why didn’t you confront him sooner? Why didn’t you pick up on his true feelings, his emotions as quickly as he seemed to decipher yours? It’s not fair that they can be taken from you so easily and so quickly. There’s no room for argument, no room for any begging or pleading for them to stay. They have a job, and they’ll always choose that job over you.

“Ye gonna be alright?” Johnny asks, letting his hand fall from your arm as you push open your door, entering your room before closing it in immediately, clicking the lock into place. You lean against the door for a moment, biting your lip to try and stop the tears as you begin to shiver from the dampness of your clothes.

You leave your shoes in a pile next to the door before you pad silently to your bathroom, stripping off your clothes once you hit the tile. You’re shivering, a cold chill starting to seep into your very bones as you start the tub, letting it fill with water. The tears blur your vision, dripping into the steaming water as you sink into the bath. You can’t stop the tears as you sit there, not caring how hot the water is, not caring how it makes your skin feel like it’s on fire. You’ll take the pain, the discomfort. Anything to ease the pain that’s ripping your chest wide open.

It hurts, he won’t lie, when you close the door in his face. Well, it wasn’t entirely in his face. He was a foot away from the door, but it still causes a little ache in his chest, a little upset in his mind that you just cut him off like that. The click of the lock is like a finality, the gavel falling on your decision to distance yourself for now.

The rejection of his offer for comfort has his beta stirring uncomfortably in his mind. Tears fill his own eyes as he stares at the handle of your door, wishing he could reach out and grab it, fling it open and take you into his arms and hold you until you stop crying, until the pain of Simon’s sudden absence goes away.

“Come on.” John says quietly, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. “Give her some time.”

He lets John lead him away from your door and back towards the rec room. He shouldn’t be so hurt by your abrupt dismissal. You were quite obviously upset, upset enough to run out into the rain after Simon. He saw you race out the door, his stomach clenching in worry, but thankfully the rain had forced most inside. There was little threat to you, not with Simon there, but he had been worried you might not be able to catch him, that you might run blindly into the rain to try and find him.

He had spotted the tears trailing down your cheeks as you walked back to the barracks, mixing with the rain that soaked straight through you. He’s used to his alpha having to leave suddenly, the distance and the worry are second nature now thanks to their jobs, their lifestyles. You’ve never been through this before with him, though, and so soon after the two of you were finally beginning to give in. It’s like a curse. They begin to get close to you, and then suddenly they’re ripped away.

He almost feels guilty, like he’s responsible for your pain. If he hadn’t forced it, if he hadn’t put you both in that position, maybe you wouldn’t be so upset. He couldn’t have known, though, that Simon would be called away like that. It could happen at any time, they all know that. They always have to be ready, always have to be prepared to be called out. Even on leave they can’t guarantee there won’t be an emergency. It’s just the nature of their job.

It wouldn’t have bothered any of them before you.

“She didn't take it well, did she?” Kyle says as John guides Johnny to sit on the couch next to him.

“Christ, she's so upset.” Johnny says, leaning his head in his hands. “If I hadnae pushed them, then this wouldn't have happened.”

“You couldn't have known this was going to happen.” Kyle says, squishing Johnny between him and John to try and comfort the upset beta.

“We didn't even know until a couple of hours ago.” John says, draping his arm across the back of the couch.

“If she's this upset at one of us leaving...how upset was she when we all left?” Johnny says, his stomach churning at the thought. No wonder you were so shaken when they came back.

“The best thing we can do right now is leave her alone and let her do what she needs to do.” John says, pulling Johnny so he's resting against his chest. “She'll come out when she's ready.”

The afternoon comes and goes, the rain slowing to a light drizzle. You still haven’t left your room, sealed inside, secluded from them. Johnny casts the closed door a wistful look every time he walks down the hallway, half tempted to try the knob and see if it’s been unlocked, but he stops himself. The last thing you need is to be scared by someone trying to get in. John is right. You’ll come out when you’re ready.

John knocks on your door as they get ready to head to dinner, waiting a moment for some type of response. “We’re going to dinner, sweetheart.” He says through the door when there’s no answer to his knock. “Do you want us to bring you something?”

There’s a quiet noise from your room, some muffled response to John’s question.

“We’ll be back soon.” John says, somehow able to make out what it is you said. Or maybe his plan was to bring you something regardless of whether you agreed or not.

It feels strange, just the three of them walking to the mess. It’s not the first time they’ve gone just the three of them, but it feels different this time. It’s not Simon’s missing presence that weighs so heavily, it’s yours.

There’s a tenseness that’s settled over them as they sit at the table, avoiding eye contact with each other. Simon’s empty space at the table wouldn’t have felt so much like an empty chasm if you had been there to fill some of it.

They’re not sure what to do, the feeling similar to what they felt upon their return. They knew it would be bad, but they hadn’t expected you to be in shambles like you were. Their pack mate is hurting, their omega is hurting, and there’s nothing they can do. They don’t know what to do. Johnny wants to kick in your door, rush into your room and envelop you in a hug so tight you’ll complain that you can't breathe. He just wants to help you, but that’s not what you want, what you need right now.

He knows it’s his beta instincts, his need to comfort and soothe and support. If Kyle is feeling the same way, which Johnny knows he has to be, he’s hiding it well. Though, perhaps that’s just for his sake and John’s. He can’t even imagine what John is going through, knowing his omega is suffering in such a way.

All because Simon is gone.

How easily one missing piece could tear the pack apart. If something happened to one of them, or god forbid something happened to you, they might not be able to recover. They had always assumed their training would win out, that they could move past it in the way they would had there been nothing but the bonds of camaraderie between them.

How silly that idea had been.

It’s no secret death disrupts pack stability, shakes the bonds that tie a pack together. He remembers how his Grannie’s death had shaken his family for weeks and it had taken months to return to what could be considered normal after a partially expected death of a member of the pack. What kind of damage would an unexpected and sudden death do to a pack?

Johnny shakes the thought from his head. There was always a risk. They all knew that, they all agreed to that when they signed up. He knows Simon is highly skilled, well accustomed to working alone, to completing solo assignments successfully. The risk of something happening was always high, but he trusts Simon and puts faith in his skills.

John goes back through the line once they finish, making a tray for you and piling it high as usual. It always makes him happy to see how well cared for you really are. Despite the circumstances of you being added to their pack, he knows it could have been so much worse. There’s worse packs, worse alphas out there. At least with them, you’re an equal. You’re their precious omega, and they’d make anyone who threatened you regret that decision.

John is surprised the handle turns when he tries it. You’ve gotten up at least, but he’s not surprised to find you back in the same place you’ve likely been all day. He closes the door behind him before moving to your bed, setting the tray of food down on your nightstand. You squint as he flicks the lamp on, reaching up to rub your eyes. The bed dips as he sits on the edge, a quiet sigh leaving his lips.

“I know this is hard for you.” He says softly, brushing his fingers across your bare arm. Your skin is warm, likely from being burrowed under the blankets. “I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now.”

“He's gone.” You say quietly, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Just for a while.” He says. “He’ll be back.”

“But you can’t promise that.” You argue, pushing yourself up to sit. Your cheeks are still damp with tears, eyes red and lips still trembling.

“There’s always a risk,” He says softly. “But you have to trust Simon. He’s not going down without a fight.” He sighs quietly as your gaze drops to your hands, your fingers picking at the skin around your fingers. He slips his hand into yours, stopping you from continuing. “What’s eating you?”

“I should have told him.” You sniffle, your eyes on his hand as your fingers close around it. .

“Told him what?” He prods gently, curiously.

“That I love him.” You say, lifting your gaze to look at him. “I should have said it but I didn’t and now what if he doesn’t come back? I love all of you, and I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The words end in a sob, tears sliding down your cheeks again.

Your words take him by surprise. It’s no secret how they feel about you, how their feelings have grown from curiosity to companionship to attraction and now to love. All of them have come to love you in their own ways, even Simon in his resistance wasn’t immune to his feelings, to their shared feelings towards you.

“Look at me.” He cups your face gently, his thumbs wiping the falling tears. “I wish things didn’t have to be this way, I wish they hadn't picked us to be first for this. It's not fair to you, it's not fair to put you through this. I wouldn't change having you as my omega, but forcing you to live like this, to be left behind with the worry over something none of us can control.” He shakes his head. “It was a selfish decision by those who created the initiative.”

“What...what happens if the initiative fails?” You ask softly.

“We’re not giving you up.” He says, holding your gaze. “We wouldn’t want to, and we wouldn’t let it happen. You’ve been part of this pack since the day you stepped foot on this base. We wouldn’t have let you go then, and we sure as hell won’t now.”

Your breathing is shaky as you stare at him, and he can see the wheels turning in your head, the hesitation as you debate whether you want to speak. He hates that you still feel this way, that you have to hide your thoughts from them out of fear or worry that they might be angered by them. He’s not sure there’s anything you could say that would anger him.

“Would you ever leave for me?” You speak the words slowly, hesitantly, like they might bite you if you're not careful.

He's not expecting it, though he has wondered if you'd ever ask it of them. If it might come to be too much and it leaves you no choice but to ask, to give them the ultimatum. He lets out a breath, all the answers he'd thought up in response gone as he sits face to face with you, as he faces this question out in the open for the first time. Tears are gathering in your eyes as you stare at him, taking his silence as second thoughts, as possible rejection.

“Please be honest with me.” You whisper shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek.

He watches its path as it slides down your cheek, pausing at the line of your jaw before it drips down onto your shirt. He lifts his gaze back to yours, the pain in them stabbing straight into his heart. He wants to say yes, that he'd leave in a heartbeat, give up what he'd worked his whole life to achieve, all for an omega. His omega.

He wouldn't be able to sleep at night, knowing the kind of evils that exist in the world, the kinds of threats that linger in the dark. The evils that may pose a threat to you and his pack. You’ll never be truly safe, not so long as there’s others who know of your existence. Very few of them he’d truly trust with the knowledge that you pose a threat to their efficiency as a team, a weakness that could be exploited.

What bloody fucking fools they were, leaving you alone like that.

“Part of me wants to say no,” He admits honestly, ignoring the flash of pain in your eyes. “But it would depend on the situation. If your life was ever in danger because of us, then without question. If the initiative fails, if we can't adjust, then we may have no other choice.”

“The job comes first.” You say quietly, sounding defeated.

“But there may come a time when it doesn't.” He says, trying to reassure you. “Don't worry about that too much right now.” He brushes a hand over your hair. “If a situation arises, then we'll talk about it further.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You lean into him, letting out a quiet breath. He pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I love you too.” He says, his lips brushing the top of your head. “And Simon knows how you feel.”

You shift in his arms, pulling back just slightly to stare up at him. Your brows are pinched as you stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Simon is very good at reading people. Their scents, their emotions, their body language. Years of training paired with his own natural abilities.” He smiles softly at you. “He knows how you feel.”

“Oh,” You say, shrinking into yourself.

“He'll likely convince himself it's not true, knowing him and how he thinks. You'll have to tell him to make him believe it.” He pats your leg under the blankets. “Don't worry too much about him. He'll be back before you know it.” He pushes himself up to stand. “Eat your dinner. We'll be around if you need anything.”

“John?” You ask, stopping him before he can leave.

He turns back around to face you. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” You say. “For everything.”

A small smile pulls at his lips. “Of course.”

You're just stepping out of the bathroom when the knock sounds on your door. You had gotten up to rinse your face with cold water, your skin starting to feel tight and itchy after nearly an entire day of uncontrollable tears. You freeze at the sound of knuckles tapping on the wood, your heart leaping into your chest. Is it one of the guys coming to tell you bad news? Has something happened to Simon?

Or is he coming back already?

You’re half scared, half hopeful as you make the short journey across your room to the door. You feel like you’re moving in slow motion as your fingers close around the handle, slowly pulling it open.

Johnny is standing on the other side, his face a mix of worry and sadness. It doesn’t help the despair already starting to manifest in you. Something must have happened to Simon. Something’s gone wrong. He’s not coming back, or they’ll have to leave to help him.

“Ye doin’ alright, kitten?” Johnny asks, his brows furrowing as he stares at you.

“Yeah.” You can’t help but wince at the way your voice cracks around the word. You sniffle, wiping at your nose with your sleeve.

“I have somethin’ for ye.” He says, his hands fiddling with the fabric he’s holding. You hadn't noticed it before now. “I was gonnae do Simon’s laundry, but I thought ye might want this.”

It’s one of Simon’s shirts he’s holding out to you, one of the black standard cotton t-shirts he often sports. Your fingers tremble as you take it, bringing the fabric to your nose. You don’t care that it’s dirty, having likely been soaked in sweat at one point. You inhale deeply, nose pressed into the fabric. It smells of soap and deodorant and him. Tears well in your eyes as you take in the scent, almost as if you’re getting it directly from the source.

You’re moving before you realize it, your arms wrapping around Johnny’s middle. He seems almost surprised by your action, his body tensing for a second before it relaxes, his arms wrapping around you.

“Thank you.” You murmur against his chest, a couple tears slipping from your eyes. You’re so tired of crying, but you can’t stop.

“Yer welcome, kitten.” He says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Ye need anythin’...”

He leaves the other half unsaid, but you know what he means. You’re hesitant to pull away from him, wanting to just stand there and cling to him until Simon returns, but you know he’s busy. Eventually he’ll have to leave you too. You’re not sure you could handle watching him leave your nest, close your door behind him as he’s forced away to do his job.

Your door clicks as you shut it, holding Simon’s shirt to your chest. You’re tempted to wear it, to slip it over your head and bathe yourself in your scent, but you know if you do that, his scent will just fade faster and become overwhelmed by your own. The desire to bury yourself in it is strong, let his scent sink into your body and overwhelm your own.

Your eyes pass over the giant bear sitting in your desk chair before snapping back to look at it. An idea begins to form in your head as you set the shirt on your bed.

You grab the bear, hauling it to your bed and sitting it on the edge. You pull the shirt over its head, stretching the neckline slightly. The shirt is slightly baggy on the bear, but you don’t care as you maneuver it so it’s laying on the bed, trying to picture Simon in its place. It would be a tight squeeze, but then again it always is with any member of your pack. Their bodies don’t leave much space on the narrow mattresses by themselves, much less with you curled up with them. You can’t help the stirring in your chest, the yearning for more space, for a bed big enough to fit all of you at the same time. Big enough for Johnny to starfish himself comfortably, for you to escape the inescapable suffocating heat of their bodies that will build up inevitably.

Tears burn behind your eyes as you crawl onto the mattress, draping yourself across the giant bear. Simon’s scent wafts up around you as you press your face into the shirt, pretending it’s Simon you’re laying against. You can almost feel his arms wrap around you, holding onto you like you might disappear if he lets go. You squeeze your arms tighter around the bear, letting Simon’s scent seep into your mind and take away your fear and your worry and your pain for a little while.

It’s two days later when you finally leave your room. You’ve managed to stop the onslaught of tears, calming down enough to exist without being a weepy mess. There’s still an ache in your chest, though, the gaping hole that won’t close. A piece of you is missing, a piece you hadn’t even noticed was there until it was ripped out of you suddenly and violently. Your hug with Johnny had been the first time it had felt less intense, the aching abating just slightly.

They’ve just returned from their afternoon training, earlier than usual meaning they have some downtime before dinner. You can almost tell where he is before you leave your room, following the sounds of the TV. Your steps are slow and quiet, the cold tile biting into your bare feet as you approach the rec room.

He’s seated on the couch, spread out as usual. His eyes flicker to you as you hesitate in the doorway, tugging at the hem of the baggy shirt you’re wearing. You’ve long forgotten whose it is, the name on the tag worn off and all hints of scent erased by the many times you’ve worn and washed it. The thought tugs at the hole in your chest. Eventually Simon’s shirt won’t smell like him anymore, faded and rubbed away by time and your own scent.

“Hi kitten,” He says, breaking the silence between you.

You let out a shaky breath before entering the rec room, approaching him. You can tell he’s expecting you to sit next to him, to curl up against his side by the way he moves his arm, but instead you straddle his lap, all but throwing yourself against his chest. He grunts quietly in surprise, his arm instinctively wrapping around your back. You lay your head on his shoulder, going limp in his hold.

It doesn’t fix the hole, doesn’t remove the ache entirely, but you can feel it start to lessen as you sit there, getting as close to Simon as you possibly can through his beta. You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers twisting the fabric of his shirt. He wraps his other arm around you, holding you tightly as his scent begins to project around you. Nothing is said, but nothing has to be. He knows what you need, and he doesn’t even have to use his instincts to figure it out.

A week goes by without a word from Simon or even about him and how he’s doing. You return to your normal routine in a numb, almost dazed state. You follow the rest of your pack around like a lost puppy, going to meals and following them to training when John allows, withdrawing back to your room like a recluse when you can’t. You sit in the rec room with them in the evenings, but you feel far away, distant from them and reality. You stare at the TV, but all you can see are blurry moving shapes. You can’t even read, often finding yourself staring at the cover until the words mesh and blur into something else.

You never thought the distance could feel like this. You almost miss the fear of them all being gone. At least that had made you feel something.

You see Dr. Keller twice as usual, both appointments unproductive as you fight to force some kind of life into yourself to drown out the numbness that’s settled. You’re far away, distracted from everything. Even food tastes different, more mushy and flavorless than usual.

They’re worried about you. Even in your numb state you can tell that. John hovers closer, allowing you to follow them more than he probably should. It’s not like you’re paying much attention to what they’re doing, seated far away from anything that might put you at risk as you stare up at the sky, or off at the trees in the distance. Even when you’re inside, your gaze is far away, never quite focusing on anything.

Johnny and Kyle keep you close as much as they can, squishing you between them on the couch or when you walk to meals. They’re always touching you, holding your hands, brushing your skin, wrapping their arms around you. They’re trying to comfort you, and it works for a little bit, not even your numbness impervious to a beta’s soothing presence. They hold onto you like they’re trying to keep you grounded to the earth, like you might float off and disappear into space if they don’t.

You don’t sleep well, electing to sleep in your room every night. It’s a vast difference to what you had been doing, avoiding your room as much as possible. You’re seeking out the safety of your nest, a comfort only it can provide despite everything that’s happened. You feel bad for pushing them away, keeping them at a distance, but at the same time, you don’t care.

You just want Simon back.

“I’m worried.”

“I know. I’m surprised you didn’t come here sooner.”

He feels strange, sitting in Dr. Keller’s office alone. It’s not the first time he’s been here, spoken to her about you. After their return from their first assignment, he had sat with Dr. Keller and gone over everything that had happened during their absence, or at least as much as she could tell him. Anything you talked about was considered confidential, but at least she could tell him if there were any issues or incidents.

“She’s depressed.” Dr. Keller answers before he can even ask. “It’s not uncommon for omegas to become depressed after separation. Even when there’s necessary splitting of a pack into a satellite, there’s a risk for all omegas to develop depression because of it.”

He should have known. He’s seen it happen to soldiers, when the blood staining their hands grows to be too much and they begin to recluse in their own bodies, becoming empty shells of who they were before. You’ve become a shell, a body simply existing out of necessity.

“What can we do?” He asks, unable to keep the mask up, to hide his concern and fear.

“Not much more than you have been.” She says. “Keep supporting her, reminding her that you’re there. There’s an adjustment when a bond begins to weaken. Omegas are especially susceptible to it, and with how strongly connected and aware of her instincts and emotions she is, it’s going to affect her more.” Dr. Keller sighs, leaning her arms on her desk. “I don’t think anyone has ever taught her how to balance or even use those purebred instincts. Institutes are supposed to, but from what we know, they teach subservience over anything.”

John shifts in his seat. Of course no one would have cultivated those abilities. It would have made you too aware, made the risk of you being able to manipulate them too high. Your job was to serve them above all else, so why would those teaching you want to give you that ability? Those instincts would have made you a perfect omega, able to pick up on the slightest changes, the needs of your pack. Yet, if you became too aware of your own abilities, it would give you too much power over them. That’s the one thing institutes don’t want...an omega that knows how powerful they are.

“How do we teach her?” He asks.

“I can help her with balancing those instincts and emotions, but only someone who knows can really teach her how to be successful at using them.”

“Simon.” He says, the pieces beginning to come together.

“If he didn’t know how before, his military training would have cultivated those instincts. That’s why purebreds are so sought after by militaries. Of course, it’s a bit different for alphas and omegas, but you are two sides of the same coin.” Dr. Keller smiles. “She’s smart. She’ll begin to figure it out on her own once she’s aware she can do it. In the meantime, just keep doing what you’re doing. If there’s some way she can talk to him or get in contact with him, that may help alleviate some of the depression.”

He knows it won’t be likely, but if it will help you, he’s willing to take that risk. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He stands outside your door, staring at the knob. It’s late, his eyes burning from exhaustion. He’s stressed, not just from the day to day stressors of his job, but your obvious pain and discomfort has been affecting him. It’s affecting all of them. Kyle and Johnny’s times on the course have slowed, their aim is off, and he knows they’re not sleeping well either.

Even with you beginning to return to your normal routine, your distance from them has proven to affect them more than your presence. Even with you around them, your numbed, absent state has disrupted their abilities to function, to exist as a normal pack. He’s relayed the sudden change to Kate in an attempt to prove his decision not to leave you alone is the right one, and it will help his case should they decide to try and separate you from the pack.

He can’t think of a reason why they would now. The bonds are too strong. The separation of just one of them has proven to disrupt the bonds between all five of you. He can only imagine how Simon is feeling, being apart from everyone. It’s never bothered him before, but that had been before your presence. If Simon was incapable of fulfilling his duties and performing the task he had been assigned, they would have forced him out of the field and sent him back by now.

Perhaps your fears were right and Simon isn’t as in love as John thought he was.

He shakes the thought from his head. He’s seen the way Simon looks at you, the obvious change in his demeanor since your trip to town, the changes that have happened in your demeanor around him. Simon cares for you deeply, more than just as an alpha in your pack.

He tries the handle of your door, surprised again when it opens. He might have thought you’d start locking it at night again with how much you’ve regressed. Maybe this was your silent plea for help, for comfort, for something other than the emptiness inside you. He slips into the room, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of your nightlight in the corner. He can’t see you except for your arm tossed around the giant bear. It’s wearing a black shirt, likely the one Johnny had given you. It was a good decision, offering you at least an extension of the missing alpha.

He approaches the bed quietly, not wanting to startle you. He doesn’t want to climb over you either, but he knows moving the bear will wake you. Perhaps you’re exhausted and sleeping hard enough he won’t disturb you.

He picks the lesser of two evils, lifting the bear. He curses silently when your body shoots up as soon as the bear slips from your grasp.

“No!” You shout, almost like an angry child having their toy taken away. It’s a desperate sound, a shocking one, ringing loud in the silence. You’re reaching for the bear, trying to tug it from his hands.

“Easy, easy.” He says, putting his hand on your arm, your movements slowing to a stop as his touch brings back to reality. “I’m just moving him.” He shifts the bear to your other side, your body rolling to follow it.

He climbs into the bed, barely managing to fit on the mattress. It’s a tight squeeze with the two of you and the bear, but he’ll manage it. He’s slept in tighter places. He slips an arm under you, the other reaching across you to settle on the bear.

“Tight squeeze with the three of us.” He says quietly, trying to ease some of the tension.

“Need bigger beds.” You murmur, voice slightly muffled from where your face is pressed against the bear.

He chuckles quietly. “I won’t argue with that. Perhaps someday.”

You shift slightly at his words, obviously not expecting him to continue your conversation from earlier this week. He normally tried to avoid thinking too far into the future. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up for something he might never get to have. Or, at least he used to feel that way.

Things have changed.

“I used to think this job would be all I did.” He continues, speaking almost to himself. “I’d never grow old enough to retire. Someday I’d die in the field and that was good enough for me. Then, of course, things changed. Had those three other muppets to worry about.” He slips his arm from the bear to wrap around your stomach. “Then another little muppet got added. Now I’m thinking about a nice little cottage by the sea, big enough for five, with a nice flower garden in the front. Just a short walk to the beach, where we can sit and watch the sun set.”

“White picket fence dreams.” You say quietly.

“Or at least the British equivalent of that.” He says, a smile tugging at his lips.

You shift slightly in his arms, pressing back against his chest as you turn as far as you can. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” He says, his thumb gently rubbing your stomach through your shirt. “Things have changed. Priorities have shifted, and not just for me.”

He presses his forehead against the side of your head, breathing in the soft scent of your strawberry body wash and the new vanilla scented shampoo Johnny had gotten you. There’s a faint hint of leather beneath your scent, the smell rubbing off from Simon’s shirt you dressed the bear in. He can almost imagine Simon in place of the bear, both of their arms tangling around you as they surround you and keep you safe from the outside world. Just a moment of peace in the hectic violence and chaos of their lives.

“John?” You say quietly, pulling him from the edge of sleep that had settled in his mind.

He hums quietly in response, forcing himself back to consciousness again.

There’s a moment’s pause, a second of silence, and for a moment he wonders if you’re going to speak at all. “Don’t let go.” You finally say, your voice quiet and broken in the silence.

“Never.” He says, tightening his hold around you.

John's phone ringing drags you from the light sleep you had managed to slip into. It hasn't been long since you drifted off you think, but then again, it's hard to tell. It's still dark out, and you're still in the same position. John lets go of you to reach for his phone on your nightstand barely managing to grab it at the awkward angle he’s at.

His voice is rough with sleep as he answers. “Hello?”

It's quiet for a moment. You can't hear much aside from a male voice on the other side. You can't tell who it is or what they're saying.

“Good to hear.” He says, slipping into the Captain again.

Something stirs in your stomach as you try to listen, try to catch who it is. Just one word, just one hint.

“I'm sure.” There’s another pause, this one feeling like a lifetime. “I have someone here next to me that would like to talk to you too.”

You nearly elbow John in the stomach in your frantic attempt to turn over. You yank the offered phone from his hand as you lean the top half of your body on his stomach. “Hello?” Your voice wavers as you say it, the emotions beginning to stir within you again.

There's a second delay before you hear it. “Hello, love.”

You nearly cry at finally hearing his voice again, the pet name causing a fluttering in your stomach. You've never heard him call you that before. “I missed you.” You finally say, managing to get the words out.

“That's what I'm hearing.” He says, and you can imagine the lifting of his cheeks under the mask, the slight crinkle of his eyes as he smiles.

“When will you be back?” You ask.

“Soon. Won't be much longer.” He says.

“Be careful.” You say, your breathing shaky. “You better not come back hurt.” You're not sure you could handle it if he came back on a stretcher, or even with a single bandaid.

“Yes ma'am.” He says seriously, but you can hear the humor in his tone. “I'll try my best.”

“Good.” You say, wanting to lay there, to listen to him breathing for a while, just so that you know he’s really there, he’s really alright. You know you can’t though, your fingers shaking as you pass the phone back to John.

He speaks to Simon for a couple more minutes while you lay across his stomach, listening to the rumble of his voice in your ear. Relief is flooding through you after hearing Simon's voice. He's really alright, he's fine, he's coming home.

“You alright, sweetheart?” John asks after hanging up, his hand coming to rest on your back.

A thousand words want to come out of your mouth, but you can't get them up past the lump in your throat. “He called me love.” You finally say, replaying the pet name over and over in your head.

“Did he?” John asks, and you can picture the way his lips turn up in a smile.

“He's never called me that before.” You say.

“Well then I'm sure he meant it.” John says.

You sure hope so.

It's a week later when you get to stand on the tarmac again, waiting for a plane to land. It's early, the sky clear and the sun just starting to rise over the trees, casting everything in a golden light. It’s so vastly different from how the world had looked when he left, the weather seeming to convey your inner feelings. The rain and darkness a perfect symbol of the dread and pain of him leaving. Now that he’s returning the sun is out and the sky is clear, conveying your relief. You’re beginning to feel again, the ache in your chest beginning to lessen. It’s the most alive you’ve felt since he left.

You're in a dress today, the yellow sundress that Johnny had bought you. You wonder if he’d done it on purpose, perhaps knowing something you don’t. Despite the sun rising, there’s still a chill in the air, and you had quickly stolen his sweatshirt to cover your bare shoulders.

You squeeze John's hand as the plane comes in to land, watching it approach in eager anticipation. You're going to hug him tightly, throw your arms around him and refuse to let go until you have no choice. You're going to give him the greeting he deserved weeks ago when they all came back.

He's like a magnet, halfway down the ramp when you start approaching, moving without even thinking. He's in his full mask, the one with the half skull sewed to it. He looks dangerous and deadly, the true visage of a Ghost, but you approach without fear, without hesitation. Underneath all of it you know there’s Simon, the man you’ve quickly fallen in love with.

You're ready to hug him, to feel him again, to wrap yourself around him like you could sink right into his body.

You're not prepared for what he does next.

One of his hands reaches up, the fabric of his gloves rough on your skin as he grips your chin, his thumb on one side, digging into your jaw, the other four fingers on the other side holding your head still. His other hand pulls his mask up over his mouth, giving you a glimpse of his stubble and chapped lips.

You don't get to look long as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours.

It's like time freezes as he kisses you, your skin erupting in goosebumps, and it's not from the cold air. You weren't expecting this, your brain trying to catch up, to process that this is really happening, that this is real.

He tilts your head to the side, deepening the kiss as he leans closer into you. Your hands reach up, closing around the sleeves of his jacket. He's real, he's really here, and he's kissing you.

The moment likely doesn't last more than 30 seconds, but it feels like forever as his lips move against yours. It might be cliche to say fireworks are going off, but that may have just been the engines of the plane shutting down.

He finally pulls away from you, his hand still gripping your jaw. You could melt into a puddle right there, his eyes speaking volumes of what's going on in his head. He's done a lot of thinking in his time away. You wonder how many thoughts you've shared over the last two weeks.

“Should have done that before I left.” He says, his voice rough, but just as you remember.

Tears prick behind your eyes as you stare up at him. His fingers are digging into your jaw, but you don’t care. He’s here, he’s back, he’s safe, and he just kissed you like you’d wanted to before he left.

“I wish you had.” You say, as he slowly releases your jaw, his hand brushing your throat before it drops to his side. You let out a shaky breath before throwing your arms around him, holding onto him tightly.

“What are you doing?” He says, taking you back all those weeks ago to when you hugged him the first time. There’s no confusion in his tone now though, instead there’s an amused lilt to it.

“Giving you the hug you deserve so you don't get mad at me.” You say, your voice slightly muffled from your face being squished against his chest.

“You think I'd get mad about not getting a hug after kissing you?” He asks, patting your back.

“Just making sure.” You say, his chuckle reverberating in your ear.

You don’t release him as he begins to walk to where the others are, keeping your arms wrapped around him tightly. He greets the others, Johnny squishing you between them as he hugs his alpha. You don't care as Ghost's armor digs into your body, it's just a reminder that this is real. He's really here. This isn’t a dream.

He's really back.

You sit between Simon and Johnny in the back seat of the car. It's a tight squeeze between the two, but you don't care one bit. Johnny's hand rests on your thigh as John drives back to the barracks. Perhaps you’re still reeling a bit from the kiss, or perhaps it’s Simon’s scent, but you want to push Johnny’s hand higher, hike up your dress and hope Simon gets a peek at what's waiting underneath. You won’t though. You want him to be comfortable. You want your first moments of intimacy to be just the two of you, something special.

Dread begins to fill you again as the car rolls to a stop outside the barracks. You know what to expect now, having gone through it once before. He’s not truly back, he still has to leave you again. At least this time, you have the others.

“I'll see you soon.” Simon says, squeezing your arm.

“Hurry back?” You stare up at him.

“As fast as I can.” He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

You're tempted to kiss him again, but you don't want to push his boundaries. Sure, he had kissed you, but it could have been a fluke, a one time thing born out of desire and time spent apart.

You won't care if he never kisses you again. At least you know what it feels like.

Thankfully he makes the decision for you as he turns his body slightly towards you, as much as he can in the tight space. He lifts the bottom of his mask, leaning down to kiss you again. You purr against his lips, your scent exploding in the car like a smoke bomb.

Johnny lets out an extensive curse as he fumbles for the door handle, forcing it open in an attempt to escape the sudden onslaught. Kyle is quick to follow, allowing more air in to disperse the intensity of your scent in the confined space. John rolls his window down, lighting a cigar, trying to do anything to keep your scent from going straight to his head.

You feel giddy and almost proud as Simon places one last soft peck against your lips. You don’t want to let him go, but you know you have to. He’s not quite yours yet. He still has more of his job to do before then.

Always the job first.

Your lips are still tingling as you walk into the barracks, your heart still fluttering in your chest. Johnny is staring at you, almost walking sideways. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your face warming.

“What?” You ask, finally looking at him. He’s wearing that stupid, smug grin on his face again.

“Been a long time since I've seen him like that” He says, squeezing your arm gently. “Not since his first romp with Kyle.”

You turn to look at the other beta behind you who simply shrugs. “What can I say? No one's immune to my charm.” He gives you a dazzling smile. He’s not wrong, his smile causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“Cannae wait to see him glowin’ after his first taste of our sweet omega.” Johnny says, backing you against the wall.

“Yeah, well, you might be waiting forever for that.” You say, stopping his approach with a hand on his chest.

He tilts his head at you, his brows furrowing. “What do ye mean, kitten?”

“I'm not even sure he's going to want that, much less if he'll do it.” You shrug. The thought has been going through your mind despite the kiss in the car. Though he’s kissed you twice, that’s a big leap to make, a leap you might never make.

Johnny snorts at your response. “Kitten, he's been holdin’ himself back for weeks. He's just worried he may...be too much for ye.”

You give Johnny a look. “I can handle you, can't I?”

Johnny grins. “Aye, but this is...different. He's not gonnae make the first move. If ye want it,” He leans in closer. “Yer gonnae have to do it yourself.”

“Well,” You slip under his arm, nearly making him faceplant on the wall. “Then I best save my stamina for him, then.”

Kyle laughs, patting Johnny's back. “Set yourself up for that one, mate.”

You peel off Johnny's sweatshirt, adjusting the top of your dress before tossing his sweatshirt to him. “I'll see you both later.” You give them a smirk before turning on your toes, heading back to your room.

Johnny curses quietly behind you, and you just know his eyes are glued to your ass.

Johnny’s words replay over and over in your head as you go through your day as usual. Simon had returned to the barracks, going straight to his room to shower. You had been tempted to step into the hallway, to wait for him, but you know he’s not free yet. He still has paperwork to do, which you know from experience that could take a long time.

Thankfully, that gives you plenty of time to think about what you’re going to do. You're going to have to make the first move, but what if you move too fast? How do you even broach the subject?

“Hey Simon, welcome back. Would you like to rearrange my guts?”

“I cried the whole time you were gone, would you like to make me cry for a different reason?”

“Bend me over and fuck me like a real alpha.”

You facepalm at your own thoughts. You could just slowly initiate it. Start with touches, getting closer, more kisses. Leave yourself open to him in hopes he gets the message, that he pushes past that boundary and finally fucks you like he wants to.

Heat blooms in your stomach, sinking between your legs. You're all worked up and he’s only kissed you twice. Johnny’s words don’t help the fantasies in your mind. He’s scared you won’t be able to handle him. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought. He’s a big man. You know, you’ve felt it before. It’s hard not to, with some of the positions he’s put you in during your training, nothing but those grey sweatpants and his underwear as a barrier.

You wonder how he'll do it. Bend you over so you won't see his face? Keep the mask on and put you on your back so you can hold eye contact with him? Or will he finally take the mask off, finally let you see his face?

You assume the others have seen it, so when will it be your turn?

It’s not until after dinner when you hear footsteps down the hall. Johnny had gotten food for Simon who was still deep in his paperwork when you left for the mess. Despite his absence at the table still, it had felt less gaping, less like a black hole threatening to suck you all in. He’s back, he’s here. Soon he’ll fill that empty space again.

You try to stop yourself from running out of your room when the steps get closer. You’re not even sure it’s him. You don’t want to disappoint the others if you leave your room so excitedly in the hopes that they’re Simon. So instead, you stay seated on the edge of your bed, staring at your unlocked door. You want him to open it, to step into your room, but you know he won’t. He’s never been in your room. The furthest he’s entered is your doorway.

You’ll have to make the first move.

Your stomach nearly leaps out of your body as the boots stop in front of your door. You hold your breath in anticipation, too scared to move, too scared to throw open the door and risk your excitement being too much. You might push him away in your eagerness, but you’re not sure you can hide it much longer. You’d let him bend you over with the door open, hell, you’d let him take you in the hallway.

One step at a time. One step at a time.

You repeat it over and over in your head as you push yourself off your bed, moving to the door. He’s not going to knock, he’s going to wait for you to open it, for you to remove that barrier between you. He’s giving you the chance to change your mind, to go back, to call the two kisses enough and draw the line where you want it.

The doorknob is cold in your sweaty hand as you grasp it, turning it slowly. The gavel is falling, the slow opening of the door marks the finality, the crumbling of the final barrier. There’s no going back. The bond is too strong, the line has been removed completely.

You stare up at Simon as the door swings as far as it will open. His eye black is gone, washed off in the shower revealing the pale skin underneath. He smells good, cleaner than he had on the tarmac. You can smell it despite the space between you. Under the smell of his generic soap you can pick up his natural scent. Leather and eucalyptus and the musk of alpha. You want to drown yourself in it, rub it all over your skin until your own scent is gone.

“Hi.” You say, goosebumps forming across your skin from the intensity of his gaze. You’d forgotten how sharp it is, how easily he can peel away your layers as he stares at you.

“Hi.” He says, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. You’d forgotten how deep it really is, the roughness around the edges harsher than usual, but you expected that. They had all been a bit hoarse after returning from their group deployment.

You continue to stare at him, lost in his earthy gaze. The hole in your chest has lessened to almost nothing, slowly the bond repairing itself just from the knowledge he's here, he’s standing in front of you. He’s real.

You clear your throat, smoothing your hands over your dress. His eyes drop, following the movement. “I thought you'd want to rest.” It's the first thing you can think of to say, speechless in his presence. He must be tired.

“I slept on the plane.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, but surely a real bed is a relief.” You say. You’d half expected him to retreat to his room, seeking out a comfortable bed. They’re not all that comfortable, but compared to what he probably was sleeping on these last couple weeks, it must feel like heaven.

“Probably is.” He says, his gaze shifting back to your face.

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stare up at him. You’re testing the waters, pushing into new territory as the last walls of the barrier crumble around you. “You could go rest.” You say, shifting on your feet, giving him the option to turn away, to change his mind. “I’m sure you missed your bed.”

He’s still as a statue as he looms in your doorway, his frame filling it easily, making you feel small. “I'd rather relax in yours.”

Your face warms at his words, not expecting him to say that. The warmth pooling in your stomach intensifies, your heart fluttering in your chest. You’re not sure what happened during his assignment, what caused such a drastic change. You want to know what went through his head, what he was thinking about. Did he picture you at night when he got a moment to rest? Was he imagining you there with him, curled up against him? Or was he picturing you in other positions?

You might never know, just another secret hidden between you.

A shudder runs through him. You can see it, the slight twitch in his body, his hands closing into fists. He’s responding to you, to your scent. Such power you could hold over him if you were brave enough to try.

Such power he could hold over you, if he wanted to.

“You could come in.” You say, taking half a step back in invitation.

He doesn’t move, still frozen there like a statue. You wonder how he stays so still, but that was probably part of his training. Be as steady as possible while shooting, how to be invisible even in broad daylight. “You're sure?” He finally rumbles out, his foot shifting just a centimeter, but you catch it.

You shrug. “Why not? You are part of this pack. You could have entered sooner, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He hesitates for just a second before moving his foot from the tile and into your room. He pauses there for a moment, watching you, waiting for a reaction. It’s your turn to stay still, staring up at him as he makes the slow transition into your room, venturing into your sacred space, a place he’s never been in before.

He moves the other foot, taking the first step over that line, pushing himself past that barrier, leaving it crumbling behind him.

There’s no going back.

Something shifts inside you as he enters your room, a weight you hadn’t even realized was there lifting off your shoulders. The hole in your chest is gone, the missing piece back in place. All the tumultuous emotions, all the stress and the fear and the anguish is gone. Your room is safe again, complete again with him in it. Tears prick at your eyes as relief floods through you. No one is getting in, no one can get in now, not with him here. You want to hug him, to kiss him again, drag him onto the bed and make him hold you for a while.

You don’t. You stay still as he takes in your space, his eyes scanning your belongings and your decorations. He’s never truly seen it in the light. The only time he’d stared into it was that morning when you thought maybe someone had broken in, when your fear had fucked with your emotions enough to think they’d truly let someone enter without their knowledge.

How silly that thought had been.

His eyes move to your bed, landing on the giant bear wearing his black shirt. Your teeth sink into your lip as you stare at it as well, suddenly thinking you should have removed the shirt, shoving it into your laundry and moving the bear back to your desk. Yet, you want him to see it, want him to see that you tried to comfort yourself in his absence, tried to make a placeholder for him. You won’t need it now, though. Not with the real thing standing in your space.

He shakes his head as he stares at it, rolling his eyes as he lets out a sigh. “Fucking hell.”

NEXT ->

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164

@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

#call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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fushiguruuzzzz · 5 months ago

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THE HUNDRED DOLLAR LOVE AFFAIR

After picking up a job at the local pet shop, you learn very quickly that your coworker is a pest you can’t shake all that easily. When he grows to believe he could have you wrapped around his finger if he tried, he’s even bold enough to make a bet on it. Unfortunately, he won a long time ago.

TETSURO KUROO X F!READER

𐔌 . ⋮ CONTENTS ◞ smau hybrid, implied to take place in the summer after grad, friends to lovers, I’m not in college so likely inaccurate descriptions, miscommunication, probably somewhat ooc, (light?) angst, reader has parental issues, reader jumps to conclusions (she is me), they’re all just really stupid like I’m pissed off and I haven’t even written it yet, alcohol usage, crude humour, foul language, individual chapters have specific warnings, 🏷️ denotes written parts

MOODBOARD | PLAYLIST

𐔌 . ⋮ MEET THE EMPLOYEES <- [collective intros]

◞ YN LN :: fuzzy socks, late nights spent staring at the ceiling, Things to Do by Alex G, loving like a cat, humming lullabies to a loved one, a wardrobe filled with everyone’s clothes but your own, indirect displays of love, whispering “I love you” when you think they’re asleep, caramel, everything or nothing

◞ TETSURO KUROO :: messy hair, teasing, car rides, cheesy singing and using a hairbrush as a microphone, lying your head in your lovers lap, playful boasting, the sidewalk rule, looking for them in a crowd, sparing others emotions at the cost of your own, becoming a mentor to everyone you meet, determination

⌗ CHAPTER 00 | kitty cat

⤷ let’s take it back to the beginning…

⌗ CHAPTER 01 | kuroos out the window 🏷️

⤷ the new beginning… of the end?

⌗ CHAPTER 02 | son in law

⤷ he’s got a brain worth killing for, that’s for sure.

⌗ CHAPTER 03 | common beggar 🏷️

⤷ …or maybe not.

⌗ CHAPTER 04 | plotting

⤷ kuroo is a protein bar dealer..?

⌗ CHAPTER 05 | alternative strategies

⤷ tetsuro kuroo (23) 🌽⭐️

⌗ CHAPTER 06 | home depot

⤷ maybe he isn’t completely oblivious.

⌗ CHAPTER 07 | right side of the sidewalk 🏷️

⤷ get an umbrella and stop being in love. ew.

⌗ CHAPTER 08 | maurice

⤷ STOP RUNNING WITH SHARP OBJECTS ALL OF YOU

⌗ CHAPTER 09 | hips don’t lie

⤷ I thought your people skills were better than this?

⌗ CHAPTER 10 | kool kids club 🏷️

⤷ tw parental issues. ice cream, broken plates, and longing gazes.

⌗ CHAPTER 11 | beauty & the beast 🏷️ (<- barely)

⤷ PARTY HARDY

⌗ CHAPTER 12 | see you again

⤷ aftermath…

⌗ CHAPTER 13 |

⤷ tba

⌗ CHAPTER 14 |

⤷ tba

⌗ CHAPTER 15 |

⤷ tba

STATUS ◞ ongoing TAGLIST ◞ open :: 42/50

⤷ @adoresia @kawoala @sahrii @angeleilee (<- asked to be tagged. Extended taglist will not be tagged on the masterpost.)

General tags (only for mlist): @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @lizbix @aldebrana @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee

❝ Made up a game . No pain, no gain . Until you break . Make no mistake . I will pull it together . You can love me . Forever and ever ❞

a/n — FINALLY. been in the drafts since the Kilby girl masterlist was first posted and it’s been staring at me longingly ever since, i could feel it. I did project on this one a lot haha… haha… sorry

P.S. Posting schedule will be worked out in the future <3

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zerocoded · 25 days ago

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summary: your estranged grandmother left you exactly one thing in her will: a sprawling luxury apartment in the heart of seoul — the kind of place that could singlehandedly cover your entire college tuition if you ever decided to sell it. now you had a penthouse all to yourself, a pink-tiled kitchen you weirdly adored, and a hopeless, slow-burning crush on the absurdly attractive neighbor who barely looked your way.

authors note: banner credits to the talented rockwsesx on pinterest, i loved this. this is very self indulgent and not your typical vamp!au. pls read the tags before starting this one. this is the prologue, just to set the vibe. this story is seen better in dark mode!

warnings and tags: soulmates concept • mentions of sex • dark themes such as depression, melancholy, killing • enhypen live together and are mentioned all the time • vampire!enhypen • vampire!sunghoon x collegestudent!reader • HEAVY ANGST • poor attempt at comedy • fluff if you squint • bad writing • sunghoon is 633-years-old and reader is 23 LMAO.

word count: 5.8k

previous chapters: series masterlist.

it had been theirs for so long. the whole floor. silent, still, untouched by anything that could interrupt the quiet sunghoon’d learned to rely on.

he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone this close. and being the creature that he was, with the privileges he’d earned long before this city was ever built, sunghoon couldn’t help but be curious. tired, but curious — about the human life brought so suddenly, so carelessly, within reach.

about you.

sometimes he thought curiosity was the only thing left in him that hadn’t turned to stone. when you are six hundred and thirty-three years old, at some point, the news, the wars, the seasons — all of it stops meaning anything. life ends up being nothing but a blur.

some of his mates still lived like there was a tomorrow they didn’t know, like there were things left to feel surprised about.

but he had seen everything. the wars, the loves, the taste of absinthe in 1880s paris, watching jazz get born in a basement in harlem, affairs with queens, duels at dawn, crimes.

niki would joke that it was because he was the oldest — the supposedly strongest vampire among them and the most experienced. even though heeseung, jake and jay had lived longer human lives, it was sunghoon who carried the weight of stronger suits and deeper stories to tell.

he didn’t care for that, along with the many other things he didn’t care on his vampiric life, each of them filled their days differently.

jay still walked through the city like it belonged to him — expensive coats, sharp shoes, always returning just before dawn with the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to him, though he never smoked.

heeseung worked in a gallery in gangnam, all clean lines and polished marble floors, standing quietly among paintings that cost more than most people’s lives. he said it passed the time.

niki was always moving — fixing the things no one else cared to fix. the old elevators that still shuddered on their way up, the tangled network of wires behind the walls. sometimes he disappeared for days, slipping into parts of seoul sunghoon no longer bothered to map.

they had found ways to pass the time.

sunghoon, on the other hand, had stopped trying.

the seonghyeon building remained the same. the long hallways, the locked doors, the windows that watched over a city none of them had been born in.

and now there was you across the hall. a girl. young, human, carrying with her the soft, fragile scent of something that had not yet been broken by time.

your first encounter was an accident. your mail had been delivered to their door by mistake, and sunghoon was the one chosen to return it. why? because his brothers were rarely seen at home during the nights.

he rang the doorbell five times before you opened it, a towel wrapped loosely around your body, hair still wet and clinging to your skin. he felt a little bad. you were visibly uncomfortable with the unexpected visitor, shifting your weight, one hand gripping the towel tighter — but he was just doing a favor.

“oh you must be the neighbor next door”, you thanked him with shy eyes and pink cheeks. “i kept hearing noise during nights but never seen anyone at the corridors”.

“we’re noisy sometimes, i apologize”. sunghoon said and left, clearly unbothered by the way you eyed him and seemed interested in starting a conversation. he delivered your package and went back to the coven.

he didn’t pay much attention to the way you eyed him, the way your gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the sharp lines of his face with something close to disbelief.

he didn’t notice that, for you, it was the first time you had been struck silent by beauty. not admiration, not attraction — but something closer to awe.

you wanted to ask his name, ask what did he mean by saying “we”, but he left before you could ask that.

sunghoon was used to the curious eyes following him. he was a vampire, after all — people tended to have that reaction around them. they looked at them as something too ethereal for humanity, even though, over the years, some humans had begun to approach that same untouchable beauty.

the human world was getting bigger, louder, messier — while the covens quietly disappeared. aesthetic procedures had become more common, more seamless, blurring the line between natural beauty and something manufactured.

it made recognizing a vampire — one truly blessed with longevity — harder than it used to be.

their history was reduced to bullet points in textbooks and museum exhibits. he didn’t blame you for the curiosity, most humans lived entire lives without ever meeting one.

the politics, the power, the endless cycle of protecting what was theirs — it didn’t feel urgent for sunghoon anymore. it just felt old.

and you — you seemed like the kind of person who knew about their kind in the same way everyone did now.

you’d learned about vampires in school, probably. seen the documentaries, skimmed the news articles, maybe overheard a story once about someone who claimed to have met one.

but you didn’t really bother looking up, thinking you’d never meet one in real life.

that was exactly what sunghoon had in mind the second time he saw you — when you appeared at their door, shivering, apologizing, not realizing what you were walking into.

your dried hair was long, the color pretty enough to draw sunghoon’s attention. your voice was the same he remembered from two nights ago, shy and jovial.

sunoo jumped from the couch at the sound of your voice, nearly spilling his glass of hibiki — the rare whiskey he kept for nights when his favorite mexican telenovela reprise was on. his mouth turned into an “o” before his features contorted into a frown, the fact that they never had visitors making him scared.

sunghoon watched from where he always did, leaning just out of the light, letting the others fill the space first.

you explained — almost freezing in your apartment, standing there in your blue pajamas, shivering, no idea how to work the thermostat.

niki was the one who helped, eager, slipping on his sneakers before anyone could stop him. he seemed more than willing to visit your apartment, bright-eyed at the sight of your silky hair, your warm skin, the way you smiled in gratitude.

he left their sight and heeseung tsked at him, knowing he was in for a ride if he decided to get involved with their neighbor, of all people. niki was young and naive, just turned into a vampire 65 years ago, but none of them could pinpoint exactly what was wrong with that, not really.

they all had their phases, after all.

jake had a partner now — a human girl he swore was his soulmate, like that made it any less predictable.

heeseung used to have one, too, years ago, but now he mostly kept to himself, reading philosophy books and drinking overpriced wine like he wasn’t still haunted by it.

sunoo was practically celibate at this point — voluntarily, or so he claimed, though they all suspected it was just laziness.

jungwon had chosen power over companionship. he had made peace with the sharp, necessary parts of what they were. he didn’t look for softness, didn’t ask for it. he carried the weight of all of them — their violence, their survival — like it was just another tailored coat he’d thrown over his shoulders before stepping out for the night.

and then there was jay.

jay burned through life like he thought he could outpace the centuries by moving fast enough, killing often enough, fucking hard enough. he liked the blood. liked the ritual of it, the power, the intimacy. that was why jungwon kept him close — a weapon that knew how to wield itself, but only just.

sunghoon was the opposite of it, wanting to keep it calm after years of forcing his strength on mankind. he liked things peaceful, that was his trait for being the most experienced and unbothered.

sunghoon was still thinking about that — about their lives, their loves, and how it always went with their kind — when niki’s voice cut through the apartment, bright and human in a way none of them really were anymore.

he came back from your apartment, shrugging off his shoes and grinning like he’d just come back from a field trip.

he dropped onto the couch next to sunoo, who was still nursing his glass of hibiki, eyes fixed on the muted telenovela playing across the screen.

for a second, niki just sat there, catching his breath, hands drumming against his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with all his leftover energy.

then, finally:

“her kitchen tiles are all pink,” he said, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

sunghoon didn’t look up, not really interested in the younger one’s shenanigans.

niki kept talking — about your apartment, your kitchen tiles, your laugh — until sunoo finally complained that he wanted to watch his novela in peace.

the youngest rolled his eyes, muttered something under his breath, and left the room, already talking about some party he needed to get ready for.

sunghoon stayed where he was, silent, still, as the bright sounds of the television filled the space, too loud for how late it was — but no one told sunoo to turn it down.

your shivering figure kept replaying on his head, curious of how a young soul like you could end up in a place like seonghyeon.

——

being the owner of a luxury apartment complex had its perks. one of them was that the rules didn’t apply to them. no noise complaints, no curfews, no awkward meetings with building management about renovations or guest policies.

they just did what they wanted.

sunghoon supposed that was part of why they’d stayed in seonghyeon so long — not just the history, not just the privacy, but the simple fact that here, no one told them what they could or couldn’t be. they owned it. the whole floor. the garden. the elevators. the library. the sauna.

it meant sunghoon could spend hours tending to the greenhouse on the rooftop without anyone asking questions — without anyone asking why a creature who didn’t need air or light or warmth would care about something as fragile as plants. but he did. he always had.

the garden had been his for decades now, shaped slowly by his hands and his moods, a place that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the quiet practice of control. rows of white camellias stood in perfect symmetry along the inner walls, their waxy petals always immaculate, while midnight violets sprawled low in the corners where the light softened in the late afternoon. a line of blood-red amaryllis stretched defiantly across the back wall, always blooming too early, too violently, as if they’d learned impatience from him. climbing wisteria looped lazily over the old wrought-iron trellises, hanging in pale lavender sheets that dripped scent and memory.

watering them wasn’t about necessity. it was about the fact that they could still die if he wasn’t careful. about knowing there was still something in this place — in this life — that required attention, precision, presence. he liked that. maybe more than he should have.

and maybe that was why, on your second week in the apartment, he noticed you standing there in the garden, just beyond the misting system he had just adjusted, your figure soft and unexpected against the geometric order of the plants. he hadn’t heard you come in. one minute, he was watching the fine spray bead on the thick green leaves of the orchids, admiring the slow accumulation of moisture, and the next — you were there. you stood in that tentative way humans always did when they weren’t sure if they were trespassing, your gaze moving from the camellias to the violets to the amaryllis like you didn’t quite know where to settle.

the doors to the rooftop were usually supposed to be locked, but being the owner of the building made sunghoon never lock anything. he hadn’t thought anyone would find their way in — no one had for years — but here you were, standing in the one space he’d kept mostly to himself, looking around like you didn’t quite know if you were allowed to stay, but too curious to leave.

you wore a grey puff jacket, zipped up carelessly like you’d just come in from outside — and you probably had — with a pair of clear-washed jeans that shaped your body in the kind of effortless way sunghoon knew wasn’t really effortless, but still looked like it was. your hair was tied back, loose strands falling against your cheek, and your phone was in your hand, its pink case bright and stupidly soft-looking, practically begging for attention even as your eyes stayed elsewhere, lost somewhere in the rows of flowers you didn’t yet understand.

you noticed sunghoons presence seconds after you almost tripped over a ceramic vase tucked near the base of the trellis, your body pausing mid-step, that quick human flicker of embarrassment crossing your face before you steadied yourself. sunghoon didn’t move. he waited, curious in that quiet, distant way he always was, just to see if you would stay when you saw him or if you’d do what most did — apologize quickly and rush off, pretending you hadn’t intruded.

sunghoon didn’t mean this in a bad way, but you didn’t look like you belonged in seonghyeon, not in the way the others did. the residents here wore discreet wealth and predictable detachment. he wondered, absently, how you’d ended up in a luxury complex like this, being so young and, from the look of it, so alone. you didn’t wear your money, if you had any. your clothes were simple, practical, none of the curated casual that most of the residents draped themselves in.

they knew the old owner of your apartment, of course. everyone did. a grey-haired woman with a sharp tongue and a perpetual scowl who’d refused to rent the place out, even when she could’ve made a small fortune doing so. stubborn as hell, but private, always private.

sunghoon hadn’t seen her in years, not since the last time she’d walked through the hallway, muttering about the elevators being too slow. she must’ve sold it to a distant relative, or maybe she’d passed, and her family sold it off to make their clean exit. he didn’t know, hadn’t asked.

either way, now you were here. standing there, looking nothing like the old woman he knew was the previous owner, staring right back at the man dressed in all black and with dirt in his hands.

the awe in your face made sunghoon suppress what might’ve been an annoyed frown, barely, keeping his expression as blank as it always was, waiting — with the same tired patience he carried everywhere — for your voice to make its debut in the quiet space he hadn’t intended to share.

“are those… hydrangeas?”

your voice broke the silence, flat but curious, as you stared at the pale clusters blooming stubbornly near the base of the trellis, their soft petals full and heavy in a season where nothing should be.

you frowned, shifting your weight like the flower itself was personally offending you.

“what the hell are they doing alive right now?” you muttered, then glanced at him, squinting. “pretty sure these things are supposed to give up by, like… october.” you paused, then, after a second, added, quieter, “wish i had that kind of energy.”

sunghoon’s eyes drifted to the small crease at the edge of your jacket sleeve, the way your fingers kept fidgeting against the fabric, tightening and releasing like you couldn’t quite decide whether to stay or go. your voice, too, had that persistent edge — soft but insistent, pushing through the silence he offered like you refused to be ignored, even though most people would’ve walked away by now.

he could’ve told you the hydrangeas weren’t real — not in the way you meant — but he didn’t.

he just stood there, perfectly still, expression unreadable, like he hadn’t even heard you at all.

“you know, the pink ones don’t even look real,” you said, crossing your arms, staring at the hydrangeas like they’d personally wronged you. “like someone’s out here spray-painting flowers at midnight for instagram.”

you kept talking, which was… annoying, probably. but also maybe kind of charming, depending on the angle. “do you, like… spray-paint them?” you asked, glancing at him. “because honestly, that would be some next-level dedication to aesthetic.”

still nothing.

sunghoon crouched down beside the nearest planter, adjusting the soil with careful, practiced hands — like you weren’t even there. like you were part of the wind or the background noise. he could see you clear your throat, trying again.

“so… are you a florist or just a very intense hobbyist?”

again, silence. you were now officially having a one-woman conversation in a secret garden with the hot neighbor who either hated you or literally couldn’t hear you.

you hadn’t even decided what your next brilliant line was going to be when his voice finally cut through the stillness, low and even, almost like it wasn’t meant for you at all but just the space between you.

“you’re the new neighbor.”

simple. detached. obviously not what you were expecting.

“you remember me,” you said, grinning a little too wide, like an idiot, but whatever — small victories.

he didn’t say anything to that, didn’t confirm or deny it, just stood there like he always did, still as the damn hydrangeas.

“i’m sorry — i don’t want to sound ridiculous,” you said quickly, even though, at this point, you already absolutely did. “it’s just… i saw movement around here these days and kind of wondered what this place was. i mean— this building’s so big, i get lost sometimes…” you trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the flowers, like they might somehow back you up.

sunghoon didn’t say anything.

just kept standing there, quiet and still, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow made the whole thing feel even more absurd.

sunghoon was quietly enjoying your suffering, your ridiculousness — the way you stood there, talking about plants you didn’t even know the name of, trying so hard to say something that would make you sound interesting, or smart, or at least not completely unhinged.

hell, he might even start to feel bad for you at some point.

but right now, all he felt was… entertained.

and that, in itself, was surprising, considering the fact he always won the nonchalant competition among his brothers.

sunghoon watched you for another long, weighted second, letting the awkwardness sit there just a little longer — not because he wanted to make you uncomfortable, but because he didn’t feel any particular need to make you comfortable either. you’d come into his space, after all.

“you’re not from here,” he said, not a question, just an observation, as flat and certain as everything else he said.

if you’d been expecting something softer — comfort, maybe, or even mild curiosity — that wasn’t what you got. your expression shifted, barely perceptible, a micro-flicker he wouldn’t have caught if he weren’t so instinctively attuned to such things. disappointment, perhaps, but he didn’t bother parsing it further.

especially because you kept talking — as you always seemed to do.

“no… i’m not,” you said, shifting your weight, your fingers tightening reflexively around your phone, the pink case creaking softly under the strain. “it was… my grandmother’s place. she passed it down to me. not really her place, i guess, because she didn’t even live here, but… she was the owner. or something like that.” you let out a small breath, frowning at your own explanation. “i don’t really know. we weren’t… on talking terms. like… ever.

and then, as if suddenly realizing how that sounded, you rushed to clarify, gesturing vaguely in his direction — even though it made zero sense to be over-explaining your family drama to a stranger, here, now, at this hour.

“not that she was a bad person!” you blurted out, your hands lifting automatically like they could somehow catch the words before they fell. “we just didn’t have much contact. she… kind of didn’t like my father. and then made my mom divorce him and…”

you trailed off, finally hearing yourself, finally realizing how absurd it was to be standing here, next to a man you didn’t even know, unloading all this like he’d asked.

“i just moved in. i’m starting college this semester.” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, because silence around him felt too heavy, too final, you added with a small, awkward laugh, “so… yeah. this place is huge. i get lost. a lot.”

sunghoon didn’t smile, but there was something almost like recognition in his eyes, some small flicker of understanding that passed before he looked away again, toward the hydrangeas, as if they were suddenly more interesting than your confession.

“it’s a big building,” he said simply, like that explained everything, like that was all the conversation you’d need — like you hadn’t just overshared half of your family trauma in a single breathless sentence.

you wanted to hide your face in the fucking dirt right then and there, to disappear between the neatly arranged hydrangeas and never be seen again, because congratulations — you’d just made a complete fool of yourself in front of the cute neighbor.

“yes, it’s big,” you blurted out, immediately wanting to die all over again, because what the fuck kind of recovery was that.

but sunghoon just stood there, silent as ever, his eyes flicking briefly to the hydrangeas, then back to you.

he wasn’t particularly interested, not really. not in your family — he’d gotten what he was curious about; you were Miss Han’s granddaughter and that was… fine, that was enough. not in your college status, not in your awkward over-explanations or your objectively terrible flirting attempts.

he just found you… weird. and, honestly, kind of a perfect match for naïve little niki, but he wasn’t about to get deeper on that.

but still, as he watched you standing there, fumbling through your stupid, nervous words about plants and getting lost and college, sunghoon felt it — that sudden, unfamiliar pull right in the center of his chest. not curiosity, not concern, but something quieter, something older, maybe even something he’d almost forgotten how to recognize.

the urge to not leave you alone with your own awkwardness, sunghoon felt the pull right as his eyes came in contact with your neck.

the ridiculousness of it — of you, of his weird and sudden fixation on that part of your skin — should have made it easy to let the conversation die, to turn away, to retreat back into the silence he’d always preferred.

but instead of leaving, he exhaled softly — almost imperceptibly — and shrugged out of his outer coat in one smooth, practiced motion, folding it over the back of the wrought-iron chair beside him like he wasn’t even thinking about it. then, without a word, he crouched down beside the neat row of haworthia at his feet — their dark green, ridged leaves fanning out in perfect, geometric spirals, small and sharp and quietly alive — and started tending to them, his long fingers moving methodically through the soil, checking the roots, adjusting the placement of a few stones that had shifted.

it was just past eight in the evening, the kind of quiet, transitional hour where the last traces of the day’s heat had already bled out of the air and the garden slipped into something softer, colder, more his.

sunghoon ignored your boots, even though they were tracking faint streaks of dirt across the polished stone floor, ruining the clean lines he’d so carefully maintained.

he ignored the fact that you were still standing there, hesitating like you weren’t sure whether you were meant to stay or leave.

he ignored the way he could distinctly hear your pulse from across the winter garden, could track the subtle rise and fall of your chest, and almost taste the scent of your plasma in the cold air.

why was it so distracting?

you shifted slightly, as if sensing his hyperfixation on your breathing, your boot scraping softly against the stone, the sound sharp in the otherwise muted space.

“do you… live here?” you asked, your voice careful, like you weren’t sure if it was a stupid question or not, but you had to say something, anything, to puncture the silence.

he didn’t look up right away, his focus still on the plants at his feet, his fingers moving absently through the soil as if your presence hadn’t already disturbed everything.

“yeah.”

simple. flat. like the answer wasn’t even worth more than that.

you nodded, swallowing a breath, your grip on your phone tightening again.

“alone?” you asked, like an idiot, like there was anything cool about standing in a winter garden awkwardly interviewing your neighbor. “i just… moved in,” you tried again, your voice a little too high, a little too eager to fill the space he left open. “across the hall.”

he knew that, obviously.

but he didn’t say it.

just made this quiet, non-committal sound — something between acknowledgment and indifference — before brushing a bit of soil off his palm and shifting the smallest succulent in the arrangement by half an inch, like that was somehow more important than responding to you.

you were just standing there, shifting your weight, fidgeting with your stupid pink phone case, breathing too fast, smelling like soap and cold air and something he couldn’t quite name but could almost taste in the back of his throat.

god, he could literally taste you. why was that?

that quiet, metallic sweetness of human blood — not sharp, not urgent, but there, unmistakable, teasing the edge of his senses in a way he hadn’t let it in years.

and it wasn’t just that.

it was the way you smelled different.

not perfume, not anything artificial. just warm skin, faint nerves, the clean press of cotton from your jacket, and underneath all of it, that subtle, unavoidable pulse — your body doing what human bodies always did, announcing itself in ways it didn’t even know how to hide.

it was distracting.

unnecessary.

sunghoon couldn’t remember the last time his body reacted like this to anyone, let alone someone so… ordinary.

you weren’t doing anything special — just standing there, awkward, fidgeting, your breath fogging faintly in the cold air.

and yet, something in him was already responding, already tuning itself to the rhythm of your pulse, already marking the way your warmth cut through the sharp edge of the winter air like you belonged here, like you’d always been part of this place.

he didn’t like that.

he didn’t like that his focus was slipping — that this old, instinctive part of him, the part that was supposed to be dormant, was sharpening, waking up, paying attention.

he hadn’t let it in for years.

he hadn’t needed to.

he could hear every beat, every shift in your breath, every flicker of hesitation as you started moving, walking slowly, carelessly, past the rows of carefully arranged plants, getting closer to him like you thought maybe he wouldn’t notice.

you stopped just beside him, close enough that he could feel the faint change in temperature, the heat radiating from your body cutting through the cold air that clung to the winter garden.

you tilted your head, curious, peering down at what he was doing, your hands tucked awkwardly into the sleeves of your jacket.

“are you deaf?”

your voice broke the quiet again, small and casual, like this was just another normal interaction, like you hadn’t just crossed some invisible boundary neither of you knew how to name.

sunghoon didn’t answer right away, finding your question hilarious.

he didn’t move, didn’t even look up, didn’t give you anything to read.

but inside —

his hands had gone still, fingers curling slightly into the cold edge of the pot he’d been tending, anchoring himself in the familiar texture of the soil because the simple fact of your proximity — the smell of your skin, the sound of your breathing — was enough to send a low, sharp pulse through his body that he hadn’t felt in decades.

sunghoon adjusted the last pot in the arrangement, brushing a trace of soil from his fingers with a practiced efficiency, then finally straightened up to his full height, his eyes flicking to you — not with interest, not even with annoyance, but with that same quiet, unreadable detachment he wore like armor.

“you shouldn’t be in here.”

his voice was calm, even — not accusatory, just factual, like you’d accidentally wandered into an employees-only section at a museum.

then, without waiting for your response, he stepped past you, moving down the narrow path between the plants with the kind of smooth, controlled grace that only made you feel even more awkward for still standing there.

you hesitated for half a second, then — stupidly, impulsively — followed.

he didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t turn, just kept moving, stopping at the old stone basin tucked into the corner, turning on the cold water with a smooth twist of the brass tap and rinsing the soil from his fingers like this was just another routine moment, like you weren’t trailing quietly behind him.

“why shouldn’t i?” you asked finally, your voice lighter than you felt, more curious than confrontational. you glanced around, gesturing vaguely at the space. “isn’t this a… common area of the building?”

he dried his hands on the edge of his coat, not looking at you, not offering anything more than a simple, quiet:

“not really.”

“what do you mean?” you asked, frowning slightly, still trailing after him as he dried his hands. “are you… the owner or something? i thought this was a common area, and, as a resident, shouldn’t this be ok?”

sunghoon didn’t pause, didn’t even look at you when he answered, just kept walking toward the exit, his voice calm and detached, like he was reading from some impersonal list of facts.

“i’m the owner.”

then, after a beat, almost as an afterthought, he added:

“the seven of us live in the penthouse. this is our building. we have our rules.” another pause as he pushed open the door, the cold air slipping through. “one of them is to not circle around after nine p.m. without previous notice.” and then, with the same offhand finality, like it didn’t even matter: “and yes. this area is privately mine. i bought it. it’s my part of the deal.”

your breath caught for half a second — not because of what he said exactly, but how casually he said it, like it wasn’t the most intimidating thing in the world.

you blinked, following him out the door like some stubborn ghost of your own embarrassment, still trying to catch up with everything he’d just revealed.

“oh,” you said, brilliantly. then, after a beat: “oh my god, i didn’t know… i thought you were just— i don’t know— some guy who lived with his roommates or something. i mean— there is seven of you?”

sunghoon finally glanced at you then, and for the first time, really looked.

his gaze wasn’t unkind — sharp, yes, unreadable, yes, but something in it softened just slightly at your flustered panic. the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to pass for one if you weren’t being too picky.

“we are strangers, so it’s not a surprise you don’t know,” he said simply, like that settled it. “what happened to your grandma?” he asked right after, almost flatly, but the question hung heavier than he meant it to. that was the only curiosity left in him.

you shifted, hesitating.

“she died,” you said, voice quieter now, not sure about his sudden interest about your family after ignoring you for the last ten minutes. still, stupidly, you answered. “a few months ago. no one told me until after the funeral. i think… i think she left the apartment to me just to spite my mom. she never mentioned seven guys living in this area, she actually rarely was here or so i thought...”

you tried to laugh, but it came out too small, too hollow to be anything but a ghost of amusement.

sunghoon didn’t press further. he just nodded, slow and deliberate.

he didn’t stop walking. didn’t turn. just kept moving toward the last exit with that same smooth, unbothered rhythm, like you hadn’t just trespassed on his private space and asked him a string of questions he had no intention of answering properly.

and maybe it was that — the sheer fact that he was just going to leave, that he hadn’t even given you the basic politeness of his name — that made you blurt the next thing without thinking, desperate to catch at least one thread before it all slipped through your fingers completely.

“what’s your name?” you called after him, your voice softer now, but still stretched tight with nerves — like the words had to fight their way out of your chest. and then, as if some part of you panicked at the silence he left in his wake, you added the kind of thing people say when they’re trying too hard to seem casual, even though it only made you feel more ridiculous the second it left your mouth:

“i’m sorry. i don’t really know anyone in seoul yet. i thought maybe… i could make friends here.”

you winced internally as soon as it was out there, like hearing it aloud confirmed how pitiful it sounded. but it was also the truth — raw and a little embarrassing, hanging between the two of you like a thin thread waiting to snap.

sunghoon paused at the door, his hand still resting lightly against the iron handle, fingers curled like he was weighing whether to just keep going, to let you stand there with your awkward apology and your too-late question hanging uselessly in the cold air.

but then, without any particular urgency, he turned.

for the first time, really turned — not that distant, impersonal glance he’d given you earlier, but a full, deliberate look, his dark eyes cutting through the space between you like he was finally seeing you, not just another tenant or a passing distraction, but something else entirely.

and then —

he smiled.

small, barely there, more reflex than intention, like his body had decided to acknowledge you even if his mind hadn’t fully signed off on it yet.

“sunghoon,” he said simply, his voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier indifference, just… plain.

and for a second — just one — his eyes stayed on yours, steady, almost curious, like he was letting you take the name, hold it, decide what to do with it.

then, just as easily, he turned back, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the hall without another word, the sound of his boots fading smooth and even against the marble floor until it was like he’d never been there at all.

author's note: this wasn’t proofread yet, so i’m sorry if the mood is a little weird. i still don’t know where this is going, but already started the first chapter. if you read this, pls tell me what you think of it. i'm sorry if this is trash, just give it a shot pls. nonchalant sunghoon until he is obsessed with reader hehe. send me a request • my masterpost

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planet-hwa · 5 months ago

Text

BAD BOY FACADE MASTERLIST — 산

✎ summary sometimes the good boys are actually bad, and the bad boys are actually good — but sometimes they're exactly as they seem. choi san was the stereotypical definition of a bad boy: arrogant, careless, manipulative, seductive fuckboy who could have any girl wrapped around his finger with a wink of his eye. i mean... they do say "all good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you". so when the infamous bad boy of the town got transferred to your school, he was surrounded by girls desperate for his attention within minutes, all wanting the chance to "fix him" — every single one but you. your best friend, yeosang, warned you to never get mixed up with san, knowing it would end with him picking up pieces of your broken heart. but how could you stay away once he looked at you with so much emotion behind his cold eyes?

pairing badboy!san x reader genre high school au, strangers to lovers slow burn word count 32.8k status incomplete

general warnings MDNI mentions of gang affiliations, drugs, drinking and smoking, criminal behaviour, family issues, toxic relationships, smut (♨ on chapters that include smut) — more extent warnings will be on each post

🎧 a playlist for the series

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7 chapter 8 chapter 9 chapter 10 chapter 11 chapter 12 chapter 13 chapter 14 chapter 15 chapter 16 chapter 17.1 chapter 17.2 chapter 18 chapter 19 chapter 20 chapter 21 chapter 22 chapter 23 chapter 24 chapter 25

extra contents ◦ badboy!san headcanons

✉ taglist @morethingsfandom @solaris-amethyst @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @baby-stay92 @autieofthevalley @liveloveseonghwa @dejatiny @mortal-advocate @dreamsoffanfics @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @dalsuwaha @nevieatiny @woateez @choizlover @woosmaid @yeosannie4 @auroras-colors @mintchocosan @jjongbearsies @frzzenfrxg @sanniebabes @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @eyesonlyformingi @sannies-tiddies @honeyjongie @rainteez02 @robertsbbygirl @mingisgf999 @atzz8 @moonlight-hwa @chrryjoong @sanhwalvr @cloudysannie @atxxzist @choisansplushie @starz-choisanii @slowitdownmakeitb0uncy @jerseygirlzzzxx @mzngi @sparda1234 @babigriin @marvolos @snapcracklen @posseup @justineasian @amazaynaastha @vixensss @deltamoon666 @randajjjad @m4n4-s4m4 @thehenchsket @betda @minkiluva @morguebounddoll @melsunshine @soso59love-blog @flambychan

written by planet-hwa™

#written by planet hwa ༉‧₊˚✧#bad boy facade series 🕸♥✟🕷#ateez #choi san #ateez series #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #san series #san x reader #san imagines #san fanfic #san fluff #san angst #san smut

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headdinthewall · 29 days ago

Text

SURPRISING GREETING ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you and george had been friends for a while, albeit mutual due to arthur hill, and being on INSIDE only seems to strengthen your bond. a/n : i did say that i would be willing to turn this into a series and someone requested it be a full series rather than a few odd chapters here and there, so bare with me while i edit the ones i already have uploaded & maybe take them down ALSO pink text = an interview in room 19 content : friends to lovers ,, reader is described to be very feminine & girly (sorry if you don’t like that ): )

─────── IT WAS DEEPLY unusual for you to be involved in a reality tv show where your screen time and presence on set was determined by your personality and like-ability. Being a social media influencer and ex-dancer, you’d faced enough criticism in your life, but now you were getting in face-to-face.

You stood in the elevator, clutching the handle of your light pink suitcase tightly, fingers fidgeting along it and looking around at the bright white rectangular box you found yourself.

“Really making me feel comfortable here guys, like I’m in solitary confinement.” You muttered.

“Hi, my name is reader, I’m 23, and I’m a social media influencer and ex-dancer, I can also sing too, but that’s like . . . back up content I post.” You laughed at your awkward addition.”

Once the elevator doors opened, you stepped into an airport security-esque room. You walked through the metal detectors and flinched as it beeped.

“Yeah, don’t mind me, entering INSIDE with illegal contraband.” You joked poorly, grunting as you lifted your ridiculously heavy luggage onto the conveyor belt.

“I think I’ll be okay about money spending, hopefully anyway. When I do buy things it’s usually impulsively and because I like the look of it … That doesn’t really bode well, does it? I think the main thing for me to get out of this is the experience of … not relying on my phone to do things and reminding myself that although my phone has everything on it, it’s not my entire life. Also I like the idea of doing weird challenges.”

Your white and grey New Balance 550’s shuffled along the floor, the tops of them covered by your flared grey joggers. You pulled the neckline of your baby pink tube top up, nervously running your fingers along it as you heard people already conversing.

“Hello …?” You called out, peeking your head around the corner.

“Oh my God, new person!” A curly haired girl exclaimed loudly as everyone stood up from around the marble table.

“Hi!” You grinned, waving as everyone suddenly surrounded you.

“Oh, you’re gorgeous! I’m Mandi, what’s your name?”

“My name’s reader,I love how you do your makeup!” You complimented her back.

“I follow you on TikTok!” A blonde girl in a coral tracksuit exclaimed, holding your wrist, “Reader, right?!”

“Yeah.” You chuckled.

“Oh my God, I’m Milli, I used to watch all your old dance videos wishing I was you!” Milli said excitedly and you laughed at that.

“You were a dancer?” A dark-skinned girl asked, hugging you in greeting after Milli stepped away.

“Yeah, until I was like 17.” You answered.

“Oh, that’s so cool, I’m Whitney.”

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“Your nails are so cute, wait—!” She exclaimed, holding your hand in hers as she examined the cute acrylics you had done two days ago, “They’re like so different to mine, we can be like opposite besties, ennit?!”

“Yeah, yeah, one hundred percent.” You nodded before moving on to greeting everyone else.

All the girls were really sweet and happy to see you, as you introduced yourself to Farah, Cinna and Mya as well. The guys also seemed really nice but you didn’t get much time to say anything to them as your eyes landed on a familiar face you definitely didn’t think you’d find here.

“Oh my God, George!” You gasped, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t tell me you were coming on here!”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me either, that’s kind of the whole point.” George poked fun, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently lifting you off the ground in his embrace.

“Oh, it’s quite nice to see a familiar face, I was expecting to have to introduce myself to ten people.” You laughed, pulling away after a while.

You and George had been mutual friends on Instagram for about five years now, but only met two of those ago due to being invited to a Sidemen shoot.

You got semi-close to him, becoming one of his closer friends and spending a lot of time at his apartment — but that was also credited to you and Arthur Hill being thick as thieves since day one.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” Cinna asked, her finger moving between you two.

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You answered, your body still standing instinctively close to him. “For a while now, actually.”

“Ah, that gives you an advantage already.” PK hummed, rubbing his chin, “Lucky, y’know.”

“Everyone seems to be really nice and welcoming, and I’m hoping that they’re not just putting an act up and being fake to win because … mmmm, actually I guess that’s quite strategic. Anyway, yeah, everyone’s…” You held your thumbs up, “Also, it’s nice to see George again.”

After everyone got acquainted with you, the group wandered off to explore the areas, including the bedroom situation, which consisted of eight single beds and two double beds.

People immediately began claiming their beds and sitting on the mattresses, trying to get used to the new surroundings.

“They must’ve spent all their budget on the set, because these mattresses are not it.” You commented, trying to show how not bouncy it was by bouncing on it on your knees.

“No, guys, stop trying to take my bed!” George fake-whined, sprawling himself out on the surface.

You and Dylan laughed at his slight dig towards the girls who were being overly picky with where they laid.

You just chose the bed in the tightest corner so that you couldn’t accidentally roll off in the middle of the night.

You tended to be a fidgety sleeper.

Once you all were content with where you were situated, you returned to the living room and gathered on the sofa to talk about yourselves in more detail.

“So you used to dance?” PK asked as he sat on the other side of the couch, you sandwiched between George and Mandi.

“Yeah, from, like, 2 to 17.” You nodded, smiling as you spoke. “I quit ‘coz I got bored, really. My teacher knew what I was best at and just kept giving me the same choreography to do so I would win trophies and it would look good for her.”

“Well, at least you were getting wins and that.” PK said, arm resting back on the sofa.

“How do you two know each other then? What’s that about?” Mandi spoke loudly, looking at you and George.

“Well, we have a mutual friend, Arthur Hill, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of him—“

“No, never.”

“Oh, the singer?” Cinna piped up, nodding.

“Yeah, so him and George are friends and I’ve been friends with him since I was … 12?”

“Wow, that’s bare time, y’know.” PK huffed.

“Yeah, so we sort of met through him on Instagram at first, and then the Sidemen invited us both to the same shoot, so we met in person. But then, ‘coz I was friends with Arthur and George lives with him, I ended up spending more time at theirs, and … yeah, that’s it, basically.” You summarised quickly.

“And the music video.” George scratched his eyebrow with his thumb.

“Oh, yeah, we were both in Arthur’s music video, too.” You added with a slight blush, the memories of that filming time filling your mind.

“Oh, no way!” Dylan gasped, “That’s awesome, what song?”

“Too Much Ain’t Enough.” George answered. “It was … an experience to say the least, it wasn’t supposed to be me, but the guy literally dropped out a day before, so I had to fill in. Nightmare working with this one.”

He nudged your side and you feigned offence, clutching your chest.

“So, you’re an actor too? Mad, you’re like a double threat.” PK said.

“She sings too, so make that triple.” George bragged for you.

“Yeah, cheers.” You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach as you leaned your elbows on your knees.

“You sing too?!” Mya sat up straight, shocked by the information.

“Can you give us a little taster?” Farah pleaded.

“No, absolutely not, not unless it’s for a challenge.” You shook your head, laughing.

“So how did you get big?” Whitney asked George specifically.

“Am I?” George frowned, patting his stomach.

“Not like that! Like on social media.” Whitney rolled her eyes.

He laughed, successfully pranking her, “I started on TikTok, um …”

“Do you talk on TikTok?”

“Yeah—“

“Why don’t you talk in real life?”

“— Should I stop?” He joked, making you and Farah laugh.

“But you don’t talk in real life.” Whitney repeated, “I’m like, ‘George’?”

You laughed slightly at his awkward chuckle in response, nudging his shin with your foot, to which he returns the gesture.

There was a silent, telepathically conversed agreement that you and George would stick by each other no matter what, no matter how much the money went down or how tough the challenges got or how much other people tried to pit you against each other.

“Hello …” Toby said slyly as he, and the rest of the Sidemen, rounded the corner into the living area.

“Hello, everyone!” Simon greeted.

Everyone started getting really excited, making funny noises and exclaiming oddly. You saw George visibly relax at the sight of some familiar faces and you smiled softly at his reaction.

“Welcome, to a new series of Inside.” KSI introduced, hands out. The group whooped and cheered, clapping. “You will all be battling it out, for a prize fund that starts out at £1 million.”

“Yep, cheers mate, didn’t know that.” You quipped sarcastically, causing a good portion of chuckles.

The cheers were less enthusiastic but still energetic.

“You’re snarky and I don’t like that.” He scoffed, so in response you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Is that not enough for you guys?”

“They already knew.” Simon tapped his friends shoulder.

“There are going to be challenges that you will all be in every single day.” Vikk spoke, resulting in a few groans, “If you do badly in these challenges, you will lose money from the million-pound prize pot. So just don’t do badly, alright?”

“And as you can see, there’s not much in here because everything costs money.” Harry spoke up, adding his usual dramatic flare of finger waggling and poor posture, which Farah mocked. “But you’ll be glad to know—“ Everyone laughed at the mocking. “You’ll be glad to know, the shop is now open.”

A loud eruption of cheers happened, as KSI said, “Good luck, motherfuckers!”

“What a lovely way to speak to your contestants.” You mumbled.

“Wait, can I ask? When is the first challenge?” Farah put in before the Sidemen could leave.

But it proved pointless as the only response she got was from KSI, in which he stated: “Shut up.”

“Rude boy!” Farah shouted, eyes wide, “What you call this timing?! We were supposed to be collected at 10 AM, brother!”

“We’re not spending any money!” Mandi yelled as you all rose to your feet.

“Let’s go to the shop.” Farah said at the same time.

Quite the juxtaposition of sentences there.

You knew Mandi’s statement of no one spending any money would last approximately … five minutes, especially as you all moved to congregate in the shop area now.

“Let’s try and keep it at half a million, bro.” Farah offered.

This followed in a long winded debate as to what the goal amount of prize fund to have at the end would be. All hands were placed in the middle as you cheered for £800,000.

You shook your head at their naivety and George snorted, noticing your expression and placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to follow everyone as they viewed the shop items.

When you walked into the small room, you took note of the variety of items on show … in words.

“Oh my God, I’m not spending any money!” You cheered, turning around and giving George a solid high-five.

“What? How do you know already?” Dylan asked.

“She has this thing where, as long as the item isn’t physically presented in front of her, she’s not tempted by it.” George explained for you and you nodded in agreement with his words.

“That’s so weird, oh my God!” Mandi gasped, “How? Do you not even like … hear something you might like and think ‘Hm, yeah, I like the sound of that’.”

“Not really, not unless I 100% know what I’m getting, like …” Your eyes scanned the menu and you pointed to the item listed as a ‘golden straw’, “I don’t know what that is. For $2500? It could be anything. Knowing these guys, it’s most definitely just a normal straw painted gold and they’ve thrown it in to make us second guess ourselves. But I’m not tempted because I don’t know and don’t care.”

“That’s crazy, I wish I was like that.” Mya laughed, hand grazing your arm slightly.

“It’s a blessing in disguise.” You shrugged smugly, feigning nonchalance.

As a group, you all decided to purchase a table tennis bat and ball for £2,000, and upon finding out it was only one bat, Milli purchased another.

“I think we should get some snacks.” Whitney proposed.

“Yes, but in groups of two, so whatever you order you share with someone else to save money.” Farah pointed her finger.

“Do you want anything?” Milli asked you, “To share something?”

Your eyes scanned the menu and you shook your head, not entirely thrilled or enticed by the snack option, “Nah, but if you want to buy something I can share with you.”

Milli whined, “Ugh, okay.”

You laughed and squeezed her arm.

You looked back at George, who seemingly shared the same unimpressed demeanour about the menu variety, and took his hand, slipping back into the living room with the table tennis bats and ball.

“I don’t think our promise of 800K will last a week at all. I don’t even think it’ll last a day.” You laughed, “It’s just … everyone says ‘Oh, I won’t spend, I won’t spend’ but they’re already buying unnecessary shit that we don’t need. Like … we do get fed here, y’know that, right? It might not be the best, but I’m sure you can live on … rice and beans, or whatever the fuck they give us, for a week.”

“Whitney, would you share a pot noodle with me?” Milli shuffled into the corridor.

“The thing is, I don’t like pot noodle.” Whitney replied.

“Oh. Reader?”

“Sure, if you’re getting it.” You hummed, biting your bottom lip as you focused on smacking the ping pong ball at George.

After losing the game, you gave up in a fake strop and plopped yourself down in the bend of the couch, and George annoyingly sat next to you.

He slung an arm around your shoulders as you spoke with Dylan and Mandi.

“It’s great that we’re all on the same page, I think.” The TikTok news reporter expressed his opinions.

“It could be somebody else walking away with that 500 grand.” Mandi countered.

“Think about how great your life is outside of this. You only get one week to be put in deprivation, to be hungry, to not be on your phone—“

“For somebody else to win?” She sassed.

“Well, you’re not doing it for that. You’re doing it for the experience of, like, when are you ever gonna have deprivation, like, again? You may never.” Dylan philosophised.

“We had COVID. That’s enough deprivation for me, alright?” Mandi threw her arms out.

“Also, if you think about it. This isn’t really deprivation.” You hummed, looking over the back of the sofa at them, “We have light (natural and electric), semi-descent beds, other people to talk to, and food. Plus, we’re given the option to buy things to keep us entertained. If you want to experience deprivation, you should try solitary confinement or a high risk psych ward.”

After a short while of continuing this vaguely theological conversation, a ruckus began and Farah came into the room, exclaiming that: “PK is not to be trusted! He hid the pot noodle behind the sofa, and I sniffed it out.”

“I tried to order more guys, and then they closed the shop.” Whitney sighed.

“And if we do shit, we need to deliberate with each other.”

As everyone else congregated in the living area, discussing the non-issue, the TV chimed with a notification.

‘Lunch is now ready in the shop.’

There was a mixed variety of reactions, majority being optimistic and jovial, whereas George opted for a fed up approach. “You’re taking the piss. Lunch?”

“C’mon, grumpy bollocks, get up.” You heaved him up off the couch.

“What time is it?” He continued to complain, “Should be dinner.”

“Well, it’s not!”

By the time you’d arrived in the shop, it was already in a shambles, with people spending money on me an upgraded and an endless supply of moaning coming from Mandi and Farrah.

“This is fine.” Cinna shook her head as she ate the rice and beans.

“It’s rice and beans?!” You exclaimed, diving for a pot and opening it with a laugh. “I called it! I called it in Room 19, that they’d be giving us rice and beans!”

“Nah, you defo jinxed it, y’know.” Whitney groaned, cringing at the tastes in her mouth.

You screamed as George flicked a spoonful of rice at you, causing grains to get stuck in your hair.

“George, fuck off!” You cursed, hitting him with a closed fist and glaring.

You shimmied off out of the shop and took a seat on one of the bean bags, preferring to eat your food sat down. George followed you, taking the bean bag and putting it plonk next to yours, sitting and entangling your legs together.

His foot kept sliding up your leg, purposefully pushing your flared leggings up to annoy you.

“Would you give it a rest.” You growled with fake animosity, shoving the cloth back down to cover your shin.

He cackled and shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Guys, there’s food in there that was uneaten.” Cinna announced, coming back in with her arms full of containers. “And, who bought this?” She held up the golden straw.

“Can I have it? I don’t care who bought it.” Whitney reached for it and Cinna gave it.

“It was you, ennit?” She accused, looking at you, “Saying it don’t tempt you and then you bought it for yourself. Clever play.”

“What, no?!” You exclaimed, covering your hand with your mouth as you ate.

“I can— I can confirm,” George held his hand up, “She was with me the whole time and didn’t buy that.”

“Thank you.”

“Was it you?” Cinna walked towards Mandi, laughing and grazing her shoulder, “It was— It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I swear it wasn’t.” Mandi said smugly, not even trying to hide the smirk on her face.

You laughed, slapping your knee, “Your face! There’s no way it isn’t you!”

“Someone did it though!” PK argued, pacing the floor.

“It was me!” Mandi admitted, standing up and flapping her arms about.

“Was it? Was it actually you?” Milli asked.

“Yeah.” She shrugged.

“And you … nobody had any idea.” George joked sarcastically and you laughed, leaning into him.

“I wanted the straw.” Mandi defended, shrugging like it didn’t matter, because it really wasn’t that deep.

£2,500 of £1,000,000 wasn’t that much at all, but it was the knowledge that every dollar spent would eventually add up that irked the group.

“Why?” Jason questioned in a whiney voice.

“I wanna drink my coffee with it, so I don’t damage my teeth.”

“Babe, I wanted to use it first!” Whitney complained, looking upset.

“We can share!” Mandi took the straw from Jason and put it on the table.

“If any one wants to buy and food from the shop — even if it’s just for yourself — it’s fine, just tell everyone.” Farah reasoned as everyone settled.

“Who’s good at math? Should we have a calculator?” Whitney put forward.

George scoffed and gestured to you, resulting in a harsh glare.

“Reader! Reader! She’s excellent at maths!” He said dramatically.

“Are you actually?” Cinna hummed, arms wrapped around her knees.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, dude, I got a C. I barely passed.”

“Hello, Insiders …” The voice of Tobi rang through the speakers, “It’s time for your first challenge.”

Everyone screamed in excitement, getting up and enthusiastically moving to leave towards the Challenge Arena as instructed. The corridor was grey stone, as was the rest of the set, with purple and dark blue lights shining from underneath it.

You had to credit the Sidemen, it was clear a lot of thought and money had gone into making this a real thing, and now you were living it.

“No pressure, yeah?” George muttered to you, a personal whisper that he shared with no one else as you waited outside the Challenge Arena doors.

“Yeah. Sure.” You nodded, blushing slightly at the close proximity of his mouth to your ear. “No pressure, at all.”

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