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youthguk · 2 days ago

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CUM LAUDE | JJK (M) | FINALE📚🎓

Welcome back to his bed. Office hours just got a lot more complicated — turns out your academic rival holds a grudge... and knows exactly where to put it.

warnings: smut, professor x student (uni), explicit sexual content (18+), enemies with lingering desire, angst + hate sex, power play lite

⚠️minors dni ⚠️

part 1

“Dan, we still need to finish the last section on long-term liability in biotech patenting,” you said, brushing his hands away from your thighs, which he had been happily trailing over for the last several minutes. His touch lingered as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go, but you stayed firm, refocusing your attention on the open document in front of you.

The deadline was creeping closer with every passing day. You fixed your gaze on the glowing document, its cursor blinking accusingly in the half-light of your apartment. The rough edges of your arguments still needed smoothing, paragraphs still gasping for breath between citations. It wasn’t ready. And for you, “not ready” might as well have meant “unacceptable.”

Because here's the thing about girls like you: you've spent your entire existence proving you're not just a margin note in someone else's autobiography.

The idea of putting your name on anything less than exceptional felt like a kind of personal betrayal. Published work was permanent; once your name was on it, there was no taking it back. And this paper, that carefully laid the path toward your WHO internship, had to be perfect.

“Come on, babe,” Dan murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear as his fingers slipped back toward your waist. “We’ve got time. Let’s take a break, yeah?”

But you turned your face away, lips tightening, and pushed him off more forcefully than before.

“Dan,” you said, voice low but ironclad with warning, “if this paper ends up making us look like complete idiots, I swear to God I will end you. That’s not an empty threat.”

To his credit, Dan was far from stupid. He had learned early on that your soft smiles had sharp teeth when it came to your work. He understood that nothing could come between you and your academic goals, especially when those goals were the only thing standing between you and the life you had promised yourself.

“Do you want to stop by Professor Jeon’s office tomorrow?” he asked after a moment, trying to sound helpful.

“No.” You answered too fast, the word came out like a blade. You felt it, the immediate shiver that raced down your spine at the mention of that name. Jungkook.

Even now, the thought of him sent something trembling and traitorous through your chest, and you hated that your body still reacted before your brain could reason with it.

Dan raised an eyebrow, a little surprised at your tone. “You’re too hard on him, you know,” he said, still unaware of what he was stepping into. “He’s honestly a good guy. He helps everyone, gives solid feedback. I mean, he really knows his stuff.”

If only he knew that your involvement with this project hadn’t been about curiosity or opportunity. It had been a beautifully calculated act of war. You’d chosen to partner with Dan for this paper because Jungkook would hate it. Because it gave you a reason to say no to him, again and again, until maybe it started to hurt.

“Let’s just manage on our own,” you said coolly, shutting the conversation down with a finality that Dan recognized. “There’s two of us, that’s already more than enough.”

He nodded, leaning back slightly, sensing the invisible wall that had dropped between you. You turned your gaze back to the screen, typing a few words that didn’t really matter, if only to ground yourself again.

You had gone nearly a month without crossing paths with Jungkook. Not once had your schedule overlapped, you never stumbled into him by accident. You had been meticulous in your avoidance, down to memorizing the digital faculty calendar and rerouting your campus routes accordingly.

You had no intention of letting the universe deliver you back into his orbit. Not when you had worked so hard to break out of his gravity.

***

The deadline for your research paper submission to the International Undergraduate Ethics Review was drawing closer with every breath. But to your own surprise, you weren’t drowning in anxiety the way most students would be when something of this academic magnitude loomed over their heads.

On the contrary, your mind was eerily still, collected in a way that only ever happened when you knew that you had done everything in your power to meet the standard you held yourself to. Every line of the paper bore the weight of your precision; every argument had been sharpened, cross-checked, and burnished with the careful polish of sleepless nights and obsessive editing.

You had pulled examples from cutting-edge biotech policy, traced precedents in medical case law, unraveled frameworks of utilitarian versus deontological ethics until they bled into your notes, and in the process, you had given more than anyone had asked of you.

And because of that, there was no fear. There was only the quiet conviction that whatever happened next, your name would belong on that paper.

Which is why the endless cascade of notifications lighting up your phone made your jaw tighten and your patience run thin. You glanced at the screen, and for what felt like the twentieth time this week, it was that one unsaved but unforgettable number flooding your inbox again. Jungkook.

It had reached a point where you were seriously considering tossing the entire phone across the room or out the window, into traffic. Whatever it took to make the buzzing stop.

You had grown used to the occasional message, always arriving on the days you should have been sitting in his classroom, listening to him break down conflict theory. It had almost become a strange sort of ritual that made your stomach turn each time it happened, but still, a ritual. You might have even found yourself a little disoriented if those messages stopped altogether. But today? It was too much.

The flood of texts had turned from quiet reminders into something that felt uncomfortably close to obsession, and the moment your screen lit up again with his number. You exhaled sharply and swiped them all away. You didn’t even open them this time.

Your thumb hovered for just a second longer than it should have over the block button. Were you scared? Perhaps it was just a phantom ache.

But then you tapped it, and the screen went still. You had blocked him. You won’t let Jeon Jungkook claw his way back into your life.

***

“I have bad news,” Dan said, standing in your doorway looking pale as snow, his voice flat in a way that made your stomach tense before your brain had the chance to catch up.

You frowned slightly, watching him as he hovered like a shadow in your space. “Go on,” you replied, careful not to let your tone betray the rising unease building in your chest.

You were in your room, and Dan had shown up unannounced which was something completely out of character for the both of you. The rules of your arrangement were clear from the beginning: you weren’t close, you weren’t dating, and more importantly, you didn’t owe each other casual drop-ins or emotional indulgences. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you weren’t even sure you wanted to keep Dan in your life once this project was done. And yet here he stood, pale and uncertain, holding something that already tasted like disappointment before it left his mouth.

“I just got the response from the committee,” he said, pausing like the words might collapse if he rushed them. “Our paper didn’t pass moderation.”

You froze in place, as if your brain had misheard him or misfired entirely, because what he’d just said didn’t make sense. It wasn’t just surprising, it was straight up absurd. The idea that the committee had rejected the paper didn’t fit into any version of reality you were prepared for, because you had never even considered that possibility. You had treated moderation like a rubber stamp on something already finished and polished beyond reasonable critique.

“That can’t be right. That’s nonsense,” you muttered, shaking your head as you reached for your laptop with shaking hands, logging into your inbox.

“They’re not going to publish us,” Dan repeated, as if that clarification added anything new to the burning wreckage he’d just dropped at your feet.

“Shut up, Dan,” you snapped before you could stop yourself, the words coming out sharp and venomous. But the email sat there, plain as daylight in your inbox, its subject line innocuous and devastating all at once.

“Your co-authored submission has not been accepted. Comments attached.”

The sentence was polite, like it wasn’t casually unraveling a month’s worth of your obsessive labor. You had poured your nights into this research, skipped plans, forfeited rest, ground yourself into the work like it was the only thing tethering you to the future you wanted. You hadn’t complained, not even once. Even when Dan showed up underprepared or distracted. You had believed that effort mattered.

“What the fuck is this,” you muttered under your breath, opening the attachment with a hand that trembled despite your best efforts to hide it.

“I’m sorry,” Dan offered behind you, his voice a useless blur against the roaring in your head. “But maybe we can try again? There’s still a chance if we rewrite something, maybe we can submit before the next window closes–”

“Shut up, Dan,” you snapped again, sharper this time, spinning to face him with eyes full of fire. “We spent a month working on this, and you think we can salvage it in three fucking days? Are you out of your mind?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but you were already turning back to your screen, skimming through the comments left in the margins of the PDF. Your vision was clouded with rage and disbelief, and even though most of the feedback looked logical at first glance, you couldn’t absorb a single sentence without feeling like something vital inside you was unraveling. You would go back to each one later, dissect them line by line, find every hole, every bias, every flawed counterpoint that dared to undermine the work you had sacrificed so much to create.

But just as you moved to close the document, something stopped you.

A single line near the bottom caught your eye, not because of its critique, but because of the name that followed it.

Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the section again, and this time, you saw it clearly.

Review by Jeon Jungkook.

There were other names listed beside his, but none of them sent the blood rushing through your veins the way his did.

You stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed you.

Of course it was him.A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, dry and sharp, the kind that tasted like metal. You slammed the laptop shut, the sound ringing out like a slap in the silence of the room. Without another word, you stood from your desk, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

Behind you, Dan called your name, confused and still trying to understand what the hell had just happened, but you were already gone.

***

You pounded your fists against the door with a kind of furious desperation that should have startled you, had you not been too consumed by the heat flooding your chest. The noise was reckless, the kind that would inevitably draw attention, but you no longer gave a damn. It wasn’t about caution anymore. You came here for release.

The door swung open faster than you'd expected, though it made sense, anyone would come running after a racket like that. And there he stood, with those same impossibly large eyes of his, that familiar Bambi-like gaze you’d grown to hate yourself for still noticing.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low but lined with the tension of a panic and confusion.

“Oh, surprised?” you shot back, a smile curling at your lips, sharp and false. “You sent your address, remember? So here I am.” You didn’t wait for permission, stepping past him into the apartment that smelled like him.

“Y/N, calm down,” he said, shutting the door behind you as though that could keep the chaos out. Or maybe lock it in with you.

“Oh, how sweet. So I’m not your ‘sugar’ anymore?” you sneered, shoving him with both hands, not even trying to restrain yourself. “What the fuck, Jungkook?”

He didn’t fight back. He stood there and took your fists, small and shaking, landing against the hard plane of his chest like pathetic echoes of all the words you didn’t know how to scream.

“All because I dropped out of your goddamn class, so you’d stop screwing with my grades?"

“You’re wrong,” he said calmly, like his control was something to be proud of, like it wasn’t the very thing driving you to madness.

“Oh, am I?” you barked out a laugh. “Then why did the rejection letter that killed the article I bled for have your fucking signature on it?”

His expression shifted then, something twitching at the corner of his mouth, like he was trying to keep the mask in place but couldn’t quite manage it. “I was doing you a favor.”

You recoiled slightly, blinking at him, as if you’d misheard. “A favor?” The disbelief in your voice didn’t even begin to cover the fury rising up in your throat. “You think sabotaging the one opportunity I’ve been working toward since high school was your idea of protecting me?”

“I wasn’t gonna let them publish garbage under your name,” he snapped, his own temper finally bleeding through. “You think that was good enough? You think that was you?”

Your silence was immediate and sharp. “You don’t get to decide what is me. You have no idea who I am.”

He stepped closer. “Did you even read what you submitted?” he asked, and now he was spitting fire too, making you wish that he was yelling at you instead of this emotion that was bordering with cold disappointment. The kind of tone that sounded like every time someone told you you weren’t enough. “Dan’s part was garbage. It would’ve dragged you down with it.”

You tried to hit him again, but he caught your wrist mid-swing. His fingers wrapped around your skin like iron and regret. “Let go of me!”

“I tried to warn you,” he said, voice cracking around the edges. “But you shut me out.”

“Because you wouldn’t leave me alone!” you shouted, eyes burning now. “You didn’t just critique my work. You tore it apart, with all my hard work.”

He stepped closer still, close enough now that you could feel the tension radiating off of him, that same old gravitational pull you thought you’d finally escaped. His hands found your elbows, gently but firmly, as if he was trying to hold together the pieces you didn’t remember shattering.

“I didn’t want this,” he whispered, eyes wide, full of something almost fragile. “God, you have to believe me! Hurting you was the last thing I wanted.”

“But you did,” you said, and the words landed like stones. “And you keep doing it. Again and again. And then you show up and ask for me like it’s a right instead of a choice I don’t owe you.”

He let go then, and for a moment neither of you spoke. The silence was so heavy it could’ve knocked you over. And when he finally spoke again, it was with that same worn-out tone people use when they know they’ve already lost. “I wasn’t going to let your name be tied to something mediocre.”

You stared at him for a long beat. “Do you hear yourself?” you asked, voice quieter now. “You want me to thank you. For what? For deciding I couldn’t handle my own career? For stepping in like some self-righteous savior?”

“Yes,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “Because you abandoned my class and teamed up with someone who didn’t care about your work. Because you didn’t trust yourself enough to do it alone. Because you didn’t trust me.”

There was a moment when something inside you unraveled. Something that had been strung too tight for far too long.

“You want to know why I left, Jungkook?” you asked, and your voice was no longer angry, just tired. Devastated in a way that felt too old for your body. “Because you broke my heart when I was fifteen. And ever since then, I’ve spent every minute of my life trying to prove that I was worth wanting. That I was more than the girl you didn’t choose. And now every time I see your face, I remember exactly how that felt.”

The silence after that felt endless. His mouth opened, then closed, but no words came. Whatever he might’ve said was already too late.

You turned toward the door, your pulse loud in your ears, heart a metronome set to survival. But just as your fingers brushed the handle, his hand was on your wrist again. And then he pulled you back.

And kissed you.

It was violent and desperate, wrong in so many ways but for a single breath, it was also everything you had ever wanted.

So this was it: the thing you used to dream about when you were young and stupid and still believed that wanting was enough. Back then, in your reckless, delusional little fantasies, you used to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. You’d spin entire cinematic stories around it, built from glances and maybes and impossible hope. But this wasn’t a dream. And reality, as it turned out, hit harder than anything your starved imagination could have conjured. It wasn't gentle.

The kiss was raw, electric, and so devastatingly alive that every nerve in your body lit up like it had been waiting for this moment its entire life. Nothing you ever dreamed of even came close.

The kiss spirals out of control almost immediately becoming wet, reckless, messy in the way only suppressed feelings can make it. His mouth collides with yours like it’s trying to rewrite history, all tongue and teeth and desperation, all the sharp edges of anger made soft by want. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp, maybe even a groan, and he gives it to you like he owes you that sound.

Neither of you are pretending this is tender, like both of you are trying to win. His hands find your body, slipping beneath your shirt, fingers spreading wide against your spine like he wants to memorize it. You arch into him without thinking, the heat blooming between your legs making it impossible to pretend. Your body betrays you, leaning into every touch like it still belongs to him, like it never stopped.

When he lifts you, his grip is hard and possessive, as if he’s reclaiming something that was always his, and before you can even catch your breath, you’re sitting on the cold surface of his kitchen table, legs falling open for him without a second thought. His mouth leaves yours just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, his eyes dark with something dangerous. It’s closer to reverence, twisted with resentment.

And then his mouth is on your chest, hot and open, his tongue circling your nipples as his hands knead your breasts like he’s desperatet. You gasp, one hand braced on the edge of the table, the other buried in his hair, pulling him closer, because you don’t want this to be sweet. That’s just not the way things have been between you two. You want to feel ruined.

"Fuck," you whisper as his teeth graze you just right, and it’s only then you realize you’re grinding your hips against him, trying to ease the ache building too fast between your legs.

He drops to his kneeslike this is what he was always meant to do. His fingers hook into your underwear and drag them down, slow and with intent. When he parts your thighs, it feels like confession.

And then his mouth is on you, warm and wet and filthy, and your head tips back with a moan that you try to swallow but fail. He starts slow, languid, like he wants to draw it out, but it’s all a lie. The moment you buck against his tongue, he groans into you, and everything shifts. He eats you like he’s starving, like you’re his first real meal in months, and it’s obscene: the sounds, the heat, the way his hands grip your thighs like you might try to pull away when you’re doing the exact opposite.

He moans when your hand tangles in his hair and pulls, and you swear you feel it everywhere. Like his pleasure is somehow wired to yours, like making you come is the only thing holding him together.

When he slides two fingers inside you your body seizes around him. Your thighs shake, your nails dig into his shoulders, and something desperate claws its way out of your throat. You try to say something like you shouldn’t be doing this, or this won’t fix anything, maybe even just Jungkook; but whatever you meant to say dissolves on your tongue the second he sucks your clit again and your vision goes white around the edges.

“Oh my god,” you choke out, voice strangled and near tears. “You…fuck, you shouldn’t…We can’t…”

But the words die on impact, shattered by the orgasm tearing through you, your body arching, breaking, unraveling under his mouth like he was made to wreck you.

You don’t remember what you were trying to argue. You don’t even remember your own name for a second. There’s only his mouth, his breath, the wet sounds of your pleasure echoing off tile, and the way he doesn’t stop even when you come, not when you twitch, not even when you whimper his name like a warning. He stays right there, tongue slow now, savoring the aftershock, like he wants to make sure you remember this the next time you try to forget him.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again.

Jungkook rises from between your legs like the taste of your orgasm only made him hungrier. There’s a gleam in his eyes now, darker than anything he’s ever said, something that has nothing to do with affection and everything to do with obsession. You’re still trembling, thighs damp and aching, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. His mouth is back on yours in an instant and it tastes like the frustration you both carry like ghosts stitched into your bones.

He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for anyone else, like he’s punishing you for making him wait, like you belong to him and he’s reclaiming you one bite at a time.

“I’m not done with you,” he growls against your lips, the words sliding out half-whisper, half-threat, his breath hot as it ghosts over your flushed skin. His hand curls under your thigh, lifting you easily, and you cling to him because every part of you is still shaking and still burning for him. He carries you through the apartment like you weigh nothing, like you’re a part of him he forgot how to live without.

The bedroom is darker, quieter enough for something to shift. The air is heavier here.

He lays you on the bed with a gentleness that shouldn’t match the hunger in his eyes, and for a moment, you’re still.The sheets are cool under your back, but your skin is flushed and damp, trembling. You watch as he pulls off his shirt with one fluid motion, and you see the way his body moves, the way his muscles shift under inked skin, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s holding back a storm.

Your eyes fall lower, trailing down the lines of his stomach, to the waistband of his pants, to the heavy bulge beneath it already thick andstraining. When he pushes them down, slow, letting you see what you want, your mouth parts around a breathless gasp. His cock springs free, long and hard and perfect, and for a moment you can’t think, your body only able to ache.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, voice hoarse with desire, your legs falling open again without permission, your hands reaching. “Please. I can’t, just…I need you. Now.”

His gaze burns through you as he crawls over your body, every movement slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring this moment because he knew you’d beg for it eventually.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy as he lines himself up between your thighs, brushing the swollen head of his cock against your slick entrance. “So fucking desperate for me. Always mine, right?”

And when he pushes in slowly at first, just the thick tip stretching you wide, your entire body arches, a broken moan clawing from your throat. He fills you inch by inch, until the stretch is unbearable, until he’s buried to the hilt and breathing like he’s trying not to come already.

“Fuck,” he groans into your neck, hips grinding down, cock hitting that devastating spot inside you like he was carved just for this. “You feel even better than I imagined. So fucking wet but tight. You need me this much, sugar?”

You can’t answer, granting him only a gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders, your thighs locked around his waist as he begins to move deeply, steady, brutal in how perfectly he angles himself. Every thrust hits your g-spot like a cruel miracle, making your toes curl and your spine lift from the mattress, your entire body pulled taut with unbearable pleasure.

“Yes, fuck, yes, right there,” you moan, voice ragged and high. “Don’t stop, Jungkook, please, don’t you dare stop.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to replace every bad memory with the sound of his name falling apart on your lips. His thrusts grow harder, messier, each one pushing the breath out of your lungs and making your cunt clench around him. He leans in, kisses you like it’s war, like he’s drowning and you’re his last breath, and you take it, losing yourself in it.

“You’re mine,” he pants against your mouth, sweat dripping down his neck. “Fucking made for me. Say it.”

You’re so close it hurts. Every nerve in your body is tightening like a wire about to snap. “I’m yours,” you gasp, barely able to speak through the moans spilling from your mouth. “I’m– I’m fucking yours, Jungkook, please! I’m gonna–”

And then he hits that spot again – just right and deep enough, and your world implodes.

You come with a cry, body convulsing under him, walls pulsing around his cock, and that’s what breaks him. He thrusts twice more, deep and brutal and lost in it, and then he’s spilling into you with a guttural growl, mouth pressed to your collarbone as he moans your name like it’s the only thing he’s ever known.

And for a moment, everything goes quiet.

Your bodies collapse into each other, breath tangled, skin hot and wet and trembling, and you lie there all wrecked with him still buried deep inside you, his arms around your waist, his mouth brushing the edge of your jaw.

Your body is draped across his, your cheek pressed to the damp warmth of his chest, breath slowing in tandem with his. Neither of you has moved much, as if the smallest shift might break whatever spell you’ve both collapsed into.

You feel his fingers: soft and lazy circles traced along your spine and shoulder, the dip of your waist. His touch is featherlight now, reverent in a way that feels almost bashful after everything you’ve just done. It makes your skin burn in a different way.

“You should come back to my class,” he murmurs eventually, voice rough around the edges, low enough to vibrate right through your ribs.

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-exhausted sigh. “It’s too late,” you say, eyes fixed on the ceiling, blinking slowly. “I have missed too many classes now, remember?”

His hand doesn’t stop moving. He trails a fingertip across your stomach, the soft curve of your hip, and then leans in, lips brushing your temple as he speaks again.

“Then maybe we make our own rules,” he says, the words with sinful undertone. “Private classes or extracurriculars. As many as you want.”

You snort, shaking your head against his shoulder, but the smile that tugs at your mouth betrays you. You’re not mad really. “That’s wildly inappropriate, Professor Jeon.”

He hums against your hair, kisses the crown of your head. “I’m all yours,” he says simply, and it almost doesn’t sound like a joke.

That settles in your chest with a strange kind of warmth. Is this it? Do girls like you really get happy endings?

The streetlight outside casts a faint glow through the blinds, striping the room in dim silver. You lie there with him, tangled limbs and tangled history, and for the first time ever with no plan for what comes next.

> I couldn’t let go of these two either… so here’s an exclusive steamy bonus chapter Extra credit 🎓💦

taglist: @in-a-way-that-i-should-not , @estyshitposts , @97moons , @jk-190811 , @llallaa , @existentialzaddy , @kelsyx3 , @lzwolfgbr , @babycandy111 , @taehyungseggs , @runbtsrun , @mrskimjoon , @hellogorgeousstuff, @songbyeonkim, @aphrodyteeth, @cherricherryy, @brokebitch-101, @daisiesarepretty7, @jkkhay, @user934ee5eb6402

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ilovemarvel97 · 23 hours ago

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Written in Our Souls - Part 18

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/N go for house hunting.

Word Count: 6,327

Warnings: fluff, mention of smut.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

The observation room was still and cold, humming faintly with the energy used to keep Vision contained.

Y/N stepped inside, jaw tight, eyes steeled. On the other side of the reinforced glass, Vision sat motionless—powerless, disconnected from the Mind Stone’s influence. His synthetic posture was perfect, but something in his eyes had dulled. Regret, maybe. Or shame.

She didn’t bother easing into it.

“You sold me out.”

Vision’s head lifted. “Y/N—”

“No,” she snapped, stepping forward. “You gave Hydra what they needed. You told them how to slow me down. You let them take me.”

He opened his mouth, but Y/N didn’t give him the chance.

“I know you hate me for being the reason Wanda broke up with you…but, we were teammates,” she hissed. “I trained beside you. I bled beside you. You didn’t just betray me as Wanda’s soulmate—you betrayed me as an Avenger.”

That made him falter. Slightly.

“I thought,” Vision said slowly, “that you were an anomaly. A distraction. That if Wanda lost you, she would see reason and return to what we had.”

“She is my soulmate,” Y/N bit out, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “That’s not a distraction. That’s everything.”

Vision swallowed—uselessly, pointlessly—but the gesture made him seem almost human.

“I believed the soulmate bond was a superstition. Folklore that humans clung to for comfort. But when I saw her feel what you felt... when I saw her break in the med bay... I understood. Too late.”

Y/N’s eyes were glassy now, the pain flickering beneath the surface.

“They had me on a slab, Vision,” she said, voice low and shaking. “They drugged me, restrained me, cut into me. I wasn’t a person to them—I was a subject. And she felt everything. Through the bond. And you let it happen.”

“I never intended—”

“You don’t get to say that,” she snapped. “You gave them the tools. You stood there when Tony ordered you to help me. You hesitated. You watched it happen—and you chose to wait.”

He didn’t deny it.

Y/N stared at him, breathing heavily. The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.

“I know about the twins,” Vision said after a moment. “I know what they represent. They were created out of love and power—something I tried to erase. And I will never forgive myself for that.”

Y/N stepped closer, her voice low and cold.

“You don’t get to speak of my kids,” she said. “Not after what you did. Not after you tried to erase me. And you left the woman you claimed to love to feel every second of my agony.”

He said nothing.

She didn’t, either.

Y/N turned, walked to the door, and stepped out without another word.

The door slid shut behind her with a final hiss.

And Vision was left alone in the silence—with nothing but the truth, and the ruin of what he’d done.

---

The walk back to her room felt longer than it should’ve. The compound hallways were quiet, dim under the evening lights, but her heart was still loud. Loud with rage. With exhaustion. With everything she hadn’t screamed at Vision because silence had said it better.

By the time Y/N opened the door, her shoulders ached from tension she hadn’t noticed she was carrying.

Wanda was curled up on the edge of the bed in one of Y/N’s hoodies—her favorite one, too big on her and draped over her thighs. Her nose was scrunched in that familiar pout, arms crossed.

The second the door clicked shut behind Y/N, Wanda was up.

“Where were you?” she asked, stepping forward. “You shouldn’t be walking around—you’re still healing.”

Y/N blinked at her. “Hi, baby.”

“Don’t ‘Hi, baby’ me,” Wanda muttered, her accent slipping through stronger than usual. “You were in the med bay two days ago and now you're wandering around like nothing happened?”

Y/N raised a brow. “You felt it?”

Wanda crossed her arms tighter, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I didn’t need the bond for that. You left without a word, and the second the door closed I felt you pull away. I knew you were going to him.”

Y/N sighed and moved toward the bed, slowly—her chest still tender where the Hydra restraints had cut deep. She didn’t answer right away as she sat down.

Wanda followed, her tone softer now. “You didn’t have to do that. Not alone.”

“I did,” Y/N said quietly. “I needed to look him in the eye.”

Wanda hovered beside her, her fingers brushing Y/N’s knee. “And?”

Y/N met her gaze. “He regrets it. But regret doesn’t undo betrayal.”

Wanda didn’t speak right away. She just reached out and gently guided Y/N back against the pillows, tucking her into place like she used to—like she had to touch her to make sure she was still here.

Y/N let her.

Wanda crawled in beside her, one hand resting on Y/N’s chest, just above where the scar is almost gone.

“I felt everything when they had you,” Wanda whispered. “I thought I was going to lose you. And I couldn't stop it.”

Y/N brought her hand to Wanda’s cheek, brushing back a strand of hair. “You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.”

“But you didn’t,” Y/N said softly. “Because you brought me back.”

Wanda closed her eyes, leaning into her palm. “Don’t go back to see him again. Not alone. Promise me.”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

Wanda kissed her fingertips, her expression soft but still stern. “Good. Now lie down before I sit on you.”

Y/N tilted her head, a slow smirk forming on her lips despite the soreness in her body. “Can I still lie down and you still sit on me?”

Wanda blinked—then gave her a look. “Y/N.”

“What?” Y/N grinned. “It’s a valid medical question.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” Y/N murmured, leaning in to kiss her lips—soft and slow, like a secret only they knew. When they parted, her smile deepened. “Besides… we made love last night, which made me use way more muscles than I was supposed to.”

Wanda’s face flushed instantly. “Y/N!”

Y/N chuckled. “I’m just saying. If I survived that... I think I can handle a little Wanda-on-top cuddling.”

Wanda shook her head, but she was biting her lip, trying not to laugh. “You are so lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Y/N said proudly, settling back into the pillows. “I’d be dead by now if you didn’t.”

Wanda straddled her gently, lowering herself with care, her hands braced on either side of Y/N’s shoulders. “You’re not allowed to joke about that.”

Y/N looked up at her, eyes softening. “Okay. I won’t. I promise.”

Wanda nodded, then leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time—like she needed to feel her alive, real, and breathing beneath her.

When they broke apart, she whispered against Y/N’s lips, “Next time, warn me before you go picking fights with synthezoids while recovering from being tortured.”

“Deal,” Y/N breathed, her hands finding their way to Wanda’s hips. “But you have to admit… it was kind of hot how mad you were.”

Wanda sighed dramatically, resting her forehead against Y/N’s. “You’re never allowed to be this charming when you're still on bed rest.”

“Good thing I plan on milking it for at least three more days.”

Wanda groaned and kissed her again—just to shut her up.

And Y/N let her.

---

Two days later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror, rotating her shoulder, then stretching her arms over her head with ease.

No pain. No tightness. No lingering soreness.

Her body had completely healed—scars faded, muscle restored, everything functioning like nothing had ever happened. Her speedster metabolism had kicked into overdrive the moment she let herself rest, quietly knitting her back together while Wanda hovered over her every second.

The door creaked open behind her.

“Where’s my patient?” Wanda called, stepping in with a cup of tea in one hand and a stubborn scowl already forming. “You better not be out of bed.”

Y/N turned around with a grin and struck a mock flex pose. “Not just out of bed—fully healed and ready to run laps.”

Wanda stopped in her tracks, eyes narrowing.

Y/N raised her brows. “What?”

Wanda set the tea down with a clink and marched over. Her hands went immediately to Y/N’s ribs, fingertips pressing where the worst injuries had once been.

Nothing. No wince. No bruising. No pain.

“Completely gone,” Wanda murmured.

“Told you.” Y/N grinned and leaned down, brushing her nose against Wanda’s. “Speedster metabolism. Pretty impressive, right?”

Wanda glared up at her, but her hands didn’t move. They slid down instead, wrapping around Y/N’s waist. “You could’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to jinx it. And…” Y/N smiled. “I liked being fussed over.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips tugged upward. “You’re impossible.”

“But lovable.”

Wanda gave her a long look, then laid her head gently against Y/N’s chest. “You scared me.”

“I know.”

“And I’m still mad.”

“I know that too.”

Wanda pulled back slightly, her hands instinctively dropping to the small swell of her belly. It wasn’t prominent yet—just a gentle curve beneath her oversized shirt—but it was real. Visible. Growing.

Y/N’s gaze followed her hands.

She reached out, placing her palm there gently. “They’re getting bigger.”

“I know,” Wanda whispered, a quiet awe in her voice. “Only ten weeks, and I swear I can already feel them when I lie still.”

Y/N dropped to one knee, her hand still on Wanda’s belly. “Hey,” she murmured, softly, to the space between them. “It’s too early to be kicking, but if you two can hear me—just know I’m gonna be the coolest mom.”

Wanda laughed breathlessly, brushing a hand through Y/N’s hair.

Then—whether it was imagined or something deeper, something magic—they both felt it. A flutter. Not a kick, not really. Just the faintest sensation… like warmth blooming under Y/N’s palm.

Wanda gasped. “Did you feel that?”

Y/N looked up at her, eyes wide. “I thought that was you.”

“It wasn’t.”

Y/N gently pressed her lips to the bump, then stood slowly, holding Wanda close. “They know me,” she said, in awe. “Even now.”

“They always will,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N’s hand slid around her back. “Does this mean I’m officially off bed rest?”

“It means,” Wanda said, stern again but smiling now, “you’re not allowed to leave my side. Not even to heal like a speedster.”

“Deal,” Y/N murmured, and kissed her—soft and slow and full of gratitude for everything they’d survived.

---

Natasha POV

Natasha had been through hell before. She’d seen too much, done worse. But watching someone she loved get torn apart—that had carved a different kind of scar.

Not that she said it out loud.

Y/N was safe. Wanda was healing. The twins—barely the size of peaches—were holding steady. The nightmare was over.

So why did everything still feel like it was pressing against her lungs?

She leaned against the corridor wall outside the medical wing, a hand tucked into her jacket pocket, staring at nothing. People passed. Monitors beeped. The compound pulsed like a living thing. She just got patched up from a mission.

And then—like the universe had a cruel sense of humor—she walked around the corner.

“Seriously?” Natasha muttered.

Maria didn’t even slow her pace. Just gave Nat that familiar, maddeningly calm look as she came to a stop beside her.

“Hey,” Maria said casually, like she hadn’t been showing up in Natasha’s shadow every chance she got since the rescue. “How’s Wanda and the babies?”

Nat didn’t look at her. “She’s fine. Y/N’s fine. The babies are fine. Everyone’s fine.”

Maria nodded, eyes scanning her face. “And you?” Maria’s hand reach for the hem of her shirt where the wound is hidden.

Of course she knew. She probably felt it.

Nat gave her a smile that wasn’t one. “Peachy.”

Maria tilted her head. “You’re lying.”

“Old habits.”

“You could break them. If you wanted.”

There it was—that softness. That gentle pull in her voice that always made Nat’s heart twist. No accusations. No guilt. Just love, waiting at the door.

Nat shook her head. “Why are you here?”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “At the med wing?”

“Here. Now. Every hallway I turn down, every damn mission debrief. You're always there.”

Maria folded her arms. “I’m not stalking you, Nat. I’m showing up.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No,” Maria said. “It’s not. You don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. I’ve respected that for years. But I’m done hiding from what we are.”

Nat closed her eyes.

Soulmate. That word still didn’t sit right in her mouth.

Maria had been her name since she was sixteen. Perfect, clean letters on the inside of her wrist. But Nat had spent most of her life believing she didn’t deserve a name there at all. Not with the blood on her hands. Not with the ledger she could never balance.

She loved Maria. God, did she love her. But that love terrified her more than the Red Room ever had.

Before she could spiral deeper, Maria stepped closer. Her movements were slow, sure—intentional. She reached for Natasha’s waist, fingers curling around the edge of her jacket, and gently tugged her forward until there was no more space left between them.

Their foreheads touched.

“I’m right here,” Maria whispered, voice steady, reverent. “I’ve always been right here.”

Natasha’s breath stilled.

“No matter what you’ve done. No matter what you think you deserve or don’t,” Maria murmured, her thumb brushing along Nat’s hip. “I will always love you.”

Nat’s eyes fluttered shut.

Her hands, almost afraid to move, found their way to Maria’s sides—clutching like she might disappear.

Maria didn’t move. She just held her there, close and grounding. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her words didn’t crack. She meant every syllable like it was gospel.

And Natasha—finally, quietly—let herself believe it.

Just for a second.

---

A Month Later

Wanda’s pregnancy was going well—more than well, actually. Every check-up confirmed that the twins were growing healthy and strong, aided not just by Wanda’s magic but by something deeper. Something ancient. Soul-bound.

She was already well into her second trimester, and it showed.

Her bump was round and perfect, visible now even in Y/N’s loose sweatshirts she kept stealing, and glowing against every sunbeam that touched her. And Y/N made sure to worship every inch of it—gently, reverently, like it was the center of her whole universe.

Which, to be fair… it was.

Every morning started the same: with soft kisses and lazy stretches, Y/N pressing her lips to the left side of Wanda’s bump and whispering, “Good morning, baby one,” then shifting to the right. “Good morning, baby two.”

And every night ended the same, too.

Two more kisses. Two more whispers. One heartbeat wrapped around three others.

Wanda had started to cry the first time she saw Y/N do it—silent tears, hands covering her face. She’d blamed hormones, of course. But Y/N had just kissed her forehead and said, “Then I hope you stay hormonal forever.”

That was the thing about Y/N. She embraced everything.

The mood swings? She rolled with them.

When Wanda got irrationally annoyed at the sound of someone chewing on a mission briefing? Y/N subtly slid a protein bar across the table.

When she cried over a puppy in a commercial? Y/N held her until it passed, then started talking about adopting three dogs after the twins were born.

When Wanda insisted she wanted pickles at two a.m. and only pickles from that specific deli three towns over? Y/N had already grabbed her coat before Wanda finished the sentence.

And when Wanda was quiet—staring out the window with one hand on her stomach and a look on her face that said I don’t know what I’m doing—Y/N just came up behind her, wrapped her arms around her, and rested her chin on Wanda’s shoulder like she had all the answers.

Sometimes she did. Sometimes she just stayed quiet.

But Wanda always, always leaned back into her.

Because nothing—nothing—soothed her like Y/N’s scent. Not lavender or mint or those fancy oils Nat kept insisting on. It was her. Something about the warmth of her skin, the electricity under it, the pulse of their bond woven through every breath she took.

It grounded Wanda. Centered her.

And now? They were basically glued together.

Wanda clung to her in bed, even when it was too warm. She curled into Y/N’s chest on the couch, tucked under her arm while watching reruns. She followed her around the compound like a slightly grumpy but very affectionate shadow.

“I think we’re becoming one organism,” Y/N had said the other day as Wanda clung to her from behind while she tried to make tea.

“I am growing two humans,” Wanda had replied. “I get to be clingy.”

“Clingy looks good on you,” Y/N had murmured, turning around to kiss her temple. “All versions of you do.”

Now, Wanda lay in bed—hair a little wild from the pillow, bump rising proudly under Y/N’s shirt (which she’d stolen again), hands cradling her belly as Y/N knelt beside her.

“Time for bed,” Y/N whispered.

She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the left side of the bump. “Goodnight, baby one.”

Then to the right. “Goodnight, baby two.”

Wanda smiled, blinking sleepily as Y/N shifted to lie beside her, arms wrapping gently around her middle, pulling her close.

“You smell good,” she mumbled against Y/N’s throat.

Y/N chuckled. “Still?”

“Mhm.” Wanda dragged her leg over Y/N’s thigh. “Always.”

Y/N leaned down, brushing her fingers through Wanda’s soft hair before pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips.

They stayed like that for a while—just breathing, foreheads touching, their bodies molded together in that safe, familiar rhythm. Wanda’s hand rested over Y/N’s on her belly, their fingers gently laced.

And then—Wanda moved.

Suddenly.

She shifted in Y/N’s arms, rising to straddle her lap with fluid, practiced ease, despite the small bump between them. Her eyes glinted mischievously beneath dark lashes, the flush in her cheeks deepening.

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the sudden change. “Wands?”

Wanda tilted her head innocently. “What?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the corners of her lips curving. “You were about to fall asleep two minutes ago.”

“I was,” Wanda purred, hands sliding up Y/N’s chest. “But then I remembered how good your hands feel on me. And how soft your mouth is. And how unfair it is that you're lying here like this and expecting me to just sleep.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her hands instinctively finding Wanda’s hips, steadying her. “Your mood swings are getting wild.”

“I know.” Wanda leaned in, kissing the corner of Y/N’s mouth, then her jaw, her voice a whisper against her skin. “One minute I want to cry over an avocado, and the next I want to climb you like a tree.”

Y/N groaned, grip tightening. “That’s not fair.”

Wanda grinned. “Neither is this.”

She rolled her hips just the slightest bit, her magic humming faintly in the air around them—responding to her want, to her need. The bond between them flared warm and golden, buzzing under Y/N’s skin like fire and silk.

Y/N’s voice dropped, soft and low. “Are you sure?”

In answer, Wanda slowly pulled off the oversized shirt she was wearing—Y/N’s shirt—and let it fall to the floor beside the bed. She was bare beneath it, soft and glowing, the gentle swell of her bump rounding her middle like something divine.

Her gaze locked with Y/N’s, dark and soft all at once, glowing with want and something deeper. Trust.

“I want you,” she said, voice husky. “Now.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes traveled reverently over Wanda’s body—over every inch she loved, every curve and freckle, every part of her that held life and light and home.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Y/N whispered.

Wanda leaned in, threading her fingers into Y/N’s hair. “Then take me.”

Y/N’s hands slid up her thighs, gentle and sure, grounding her as their lips met again—slow at first, then deeper, the kind of kiss that left no space between them. Just breath, and heat, and bond.

Everything else melted away.

---

Few Days Later

Y/N pushed the door open, sweat still clinging to her shirt and her hair damp from the intense training session. She’d barely taken three steps into their room before her eyes landed on Wanda, curled on their bed, flipping lazily through a book.

Her bump was even rounder now, clearly visible beneath the soft maternity tank she wore. The sight alone made Y/N melt.

“There you are,” she breathed with a grin, walking over and dropping to her knees beside the bed before Wanda could even say hello.

Wanda looked up, pretending to be unimpressed, though her smile betrayed her. “Did you even shower?”

“Nope,” Y/N replied, leaning in and kissing her cheek, then her jaw, then her lips—soft, lingering kisses between every word. “Missed… my… girl…and…my babies.”

Wanda giggled. “Well, they missed their mama too…and I missed my detka”

That made Y/N beam.

She gently pushed the book aside and laid her head on Wanda’s belly, resting both hands over it protectively, reverently. “Hi babies,” she cooed. “Mama’s back. Were you good for Mommy today?”

Wanda rolled her eyes fondly, brushing a hand through Y/N’s damp hair. “They mostly just made me crave mango and cry at the ceiling fan. So yes.”

Y/N chuckled and began peppering gentle kisses across the bump—left, right, center, and again.

“Okay,” she whispered between kisses. “That one was for baby one. This is for baby two. And this one—” she pressed her lips right below Wanda’s belly button, “—is just because I love you both so much.”

And then—it happened.

A flutter. Light, but distinct. Like a tiny roll beneath her cheek.

Y/N froze.

Wanda gasped, her hand going still in Y/N’s hair. “Did you feel that?”

Y/N slowly looked up at her, eyes wide. “That… that wasn’t you?”

“No,” Wanda whispered, tears already welling in her eyes. “That was them.”

As if to confirm it, another shift—just a bit stronger this time—nudged against Y/N’s palm.

Y/N’s mouth parted in awe, her eyes going glassy. “Oh my God,” she murmured. “They moved. They moved.”

“They’ve never done that before,” Wanda whispered, voice trembling. “Not like that.”

Y/N leaned forward and kissed the bump again, pressing her hand gently over the spot where she’d felt the movement. “Hi, little ones,” she whispered, voice shaking with joy. “It’s Mama. You heard me, didn’t you?”

Wanda wiped at her eyes, laughing softly. “They always know you.”

Y/N looked up at her, completely overwhelmed. “I didn’t think I could love you more. But this? This just proved me wrong.”

Wanda pulled her up for a kiss—salty from both their tears. “They wanted to say hi to you,” she whispered against Y/N’s lips. “They missed you too.”

Y/N smiled so wide her cheeks hurt. She rested her head back on Wanda’s stomach, one arm wrapped protectively around her waist, the other stroking gentle patterns over the bump as if the twins could feel every pass.

And in a way—they could.

Because nothing in the world was stronger than this bond they all shared.

---

It had been a week since the twins first moved, and Wanda hadn’t stopped glowing since.

Now, dressed in a soft knit dress that hugged her baby bump, she stood beside Y/N near the compound’s entrance, their fingers laced together as they waited for their car. Today was house-hunting day—a dozen listings to tour, all with gardens, quiet streets, and enough space for two babies, a dog (eventually), and all the chaos that came with being in love with a speedster.

Y/N glanced down at Wanda’s belly, then up at her face, smiling. “Still think we’re gonna get through all twelve?”

Wanda smirked. “We’ll make it to three. Maybe four if you feed me.”

Y/N chuckled and kissed her temple. “Deal.”

Just then, footsteps echoed from the hall behind them.

They both turned—and froze.

Natasha was walking toward the entrance in sleek black pants, a tucked-in dark red blouse, boots that probably cost more than Y/N’s bike, and a leather jacket slung over her shoulder. Her hair was neatly done, lipstick subtle but there. She looked… suspiciously polished.

Y/N blinked. “Whoa. Romanoff. Is that blush?”

Nat frowned, slowing. “What? No.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, her head tilting. “You’re wearing heels.”

“They’re tactical.”

“They’re heeled,” Y/N teased, grinning. “Where are you off to, Agent Heartbreaker?”

Nat gave her a look. “Mission.”

“Mmhmm,” Wanda hummed.

Y/N smirked. “Does this mission involve candles and maybe some very flirty eye contact?”

Nat opened her mouth to reply—and that’s when Maria walked in from the far hallway, her coat draped over her arm and a smug little smile on her lips.

“Ready?” Maria asked, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Nat’s face went crimson.

“I—Nope, nope,” she mumbled, practically shoving Maria back out the way she came. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Nice seeing you, Wanda and Y/N!” Maria called behind her with a wink.

Wanda giggled behind her hand, her eyes sparkling.

Y/N couldn’t help herself. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled after them, “Let’s have a double date next time!”

Nat responded with only a groan, disappearing through the exit like the hallway was on fire.

Wanda leaned into Y/N, laughing. “She’s going to kill you.”

“She’s not fast enough.”

Wanda smiled, resting her head against Y/N’s shoulder as their car finally pulled up.

“She’s smiling more these days,” Wanda said softly.

Y/N nodded, squeezing her hand. “So are we.”

And as they stepped into the car—off to build the next chapter of their lives—it was clear that healing, love, and unexpected laughter were exactly what they all deserved.

---

House number three was… another disappointment.

Too dark. Too narrow. The garden was more of a sad patch of weeds, and the kitchen counters looked like they’d been through at least one angry ghost and a minor explosion.

Wanda stood in the living room, arms crossed gently under her bump, trying to keep her patience. But Y/N could see it—the heaviness in her eyes, the quiet slump in her shoulders. Her body was starting to tire, and the mood swings had been merciful today, but her limits were showing.

Y/N walked over and gently tugged her down onto the couch, then shifted until Wanda was curled sideways on her lap, one hand resting on her bump, the other in Y/N’s hair.

“Nope,” Wanda murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “This one’s depressing. The walls feel… sad.”

Y/N chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “That’s probably the haunted dishwasher.”

Wanda snorted.

Y/N looked up at her with a small frown. “Want to head back? We’ve seen three, and you look wiped.”

Wanda sighed, but didn’t move. “What’s the next one?”

Y/N checked her phone. “The big one. Near Clint’s place. It’s got a garden, pool, trees… I think even a swing set.”

Wanda blinked up at her. “The one with the green shutters and the wraparound porch?”

Y/N nodded.

“I want to see it.”

“You sure?”

Wanda sat up straighter, hands cradling her bump with a quiet determination. “If I don’t, I’ll regret it. Something about that one… I just want to see it.”

Y/N kissed her nose. “Then we’re going.”

---

The drive was short. Quiet. Wanda rested with her head on Y/N’s shoulder in the back seat, eyes closed, letting Y/N’s hand rub lazy circles over her bump. She didn’t speak until the car slowed down.

When she opened her eyes and looked out the window, her breath caught.

Y/N’s reaction was almost identical.

It wasn’t just a house. It was the house.

The gravel driveway stretched ahead beneath a canopy of towering oaks, sunlight streaming through the branches in golden ribbons. A white picket fence framed the entrance, its gate swinging open as they approached, flanked by blooming flowers that added color to the fresh-cut green.

The house itself was warm and welcoming, with a modern farmhouse style—metal roof gleaming in the late afternoon light, dormer windows peeking out from the upper level, and a deep, inviting front porch lined with lanterns and a pair of cozy rocking chairs.

But it was the back that made Wanda’s heart squeeze.

Wide stone steps led down from a shaded wooden deck to a glistening pool set into a flagstone patio. Lounge chairs and planters dotted the edges. The house’s rear exterior was a charming blend of stone and wood beams, with big windows and double doors opening to the backyard—an open expanse of green lawn, quiet trees, and peace.

They just stood hand in hand, staring at it.

“This is it,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N didn’t even have to ask what she meant.

She squeezed Wanda’s hand, kissed her knuckles, and looked up at the house like she was seeing the rest of their life unfold behind its doors.

“I think I saw this place in my dreams,” Y/N said quietly.

“Same,” Wanda whispered.

The babies fluttered beneath her skin, gentle as ever, as if they knew too.

And for the first time in a long time—longer than either of them could measure—they both felt like they were already home.

---

After that day at the house, everything moved fast.

Tony—after dramatically pretending he wasn’t emotional when Wanda showed him pictures of the garden—helped them buy it within a week. With a few well-placed calls and a generous amount of Stark funding, the paperwork was expedited. Clint offered to help with moving, and even Nat (grumbling the whole time) helped assemble the cribs.

Within a month, the house was theirs.

The nursery was painted in soft tones with floating stars and a mobile that Wanda enchanted to hum lullabies. The kitchen always smelled like something warm. Wanda took to baking when her cravings got too strong, and Y/N happily taste-tested everything, claiming it was “for the twins.”

And then came that night.

They’d just finished unpacking the last box of books. The sun was setting, casting golden light across the porch, and Wanda was curled up in Y/N’s hoodie, leaning against the wooden railing, one hand absentmindedly stroking her bump.

Y/N came out behind her quietly, barefoot, wearing a white tank top smudged with paint. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Wanda’s middle from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder.

“This feels like the rest of my life,” Wanda whispered.

Y/N kissed her cheek. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

Wanda turned, her brow raising. “Oh? Did the books inspire you to get romantic?”

But Y/N didn’t laugh this time.

Instead, she stepped back slowly, hands trembling just slightly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box.

Wanda froze.

Y/N dropped to one knee.

The porch was quiet. The trees rustled gently in the evening wind. Somewhere in the distance, birds were calling goodnight to each other. But here—right here—everything stopped.

“I don’t have a speech,” Y/N said, voice low and steady, even as her eyes shimmered. “Because there aren’t words that explain what you mean to me.”

Wanda covered her mouth with her hand.

“You are everything I never thought I’d have,” Y/N went on. “You’re strength and chaos and peace all at once. You gave me love, you gave me home… and you gave me them,” she whispered, glancing at the bump with reverence.

Tears rolled down Wanda’s cheeks.

Y/N opened the box.

A simple, elegant ring. A thin band of platinum cradling a glowing red stone—not flashy, just Wanda.

“I want to marry you. I want to raise our twins with you. I want every quiet morning and every stormy night with you. I want to grow old beside you—even if you always look like you’re 30 and I end up graying at the temples.”

Wanda laughed through her tears, her hand still pressed over her mouth, eyes wide and shining.

Y/N smiled softly, her voice trembling now with emotion. “I know it might sound silly, since we’re already soulmates. Since fate already marked us for each other. But I’m asking anyway—because I want to be yours in every way possible. Legally. Publicly. Eternally.”

She took a breath, her gaze never leaving Wanda’s. “I want to choose you—not just with my soul, but with my whole life.”

And that was it. Wanda couldn’t hold back anymore.

She dropped to her knees in front of Y/N, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her—deep and slow and full of tears and laughter all at once.

When they finally broke apart, Wanda whispered, breathless and smiling through her tears, “Yes. God, yes.”

Y/N slid the ring onto her finger, her own hands shaking now. It fit perfectly.

Just like them.

They stayed on that porch long after the stars came out, Wanda curled into Y/N’s chest, their hands resting over her belly, and Y/N whispering promises into her hair—promises she meant with every breath in her body.

Forever had already begun.

---

Meanwhile, back at the compound…

Vision was still contained in the high-security cell Tony had designed to block him from accessing the Mind Stone’s power—or anyone else’s thoughts. The cell was silent, save for the low hum of energy that kept it running.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks.

He sat motionless, not needing food, not requiring sleep—but thinking. And regretting.

When Tony and Bruce came to check on him, they found him already standing.

“I want it removed,” he said without preamble.

Tony blinked. “What?”

“The Mind Stone. I want it out.”

Bruce looked at him cautiously. “You do understand that removing it could—”

“Kill me?” Vision finished. “Yes. I understand.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Why now?”

Vision’s voice was quieter this time. “Because it made me hurt someone I claimed to love. It made me betray a teammate. I thought I was acting with logic, clarity. I was wrong.”

He looked up at them, for once not with superiority or detachment—but something closer to sorrow.

“I thought I was above human sentiment. That the soulmate bond was myth. But it was real. I saw it in Wanda.”

He paused.

“If the Mind Stone is capable of that kind of distortion… then I no longer want it inside me.”

Tony exchanged a glance with Bruce.

“We’ll contact Wakanda,” Tony said finally. “Shuri’s your best bet.”

Vision nodded once. “Thank you.”

And when they left, Vision remained still in his cell.

Not at peace. Not forgiven. But, perhaps, ready to atone.

---

Few Days Later

Wanda and Y/N’s House

The house was alive with laughter.

Golden light spilled from the windows, music hummed from hidden speakers, and the scent of freshly grilled food lingered in the summer air. Guests mingled across the wraparound porch and into the yard, drinks in hand, plates full, conversations flowing.

It was their housewarming party—a celebration of their new home, their future, and the family they were building.

Wanda moved through the crowd with her usual quiet grace, her bump now unmistakable beneath the soft floral dress she wore. Every few minutes, someone stopped to congratulate her or touch her stomach with reverent awe. She accepted it all with a tired but glowing smile.

Y/N was never far. If someone got too handsy or if Wanda looked even a little uncomfortable, she was there—offering water, shielding her with a protective arm, whispering something that always made Wanda laugh.

Nat and Maria were in the backyard near the firepit, sitting a little too close to not be a couple. Clint was letting the kids run through the sprinklers, and even Pepper had come with little Morgan in tow.

It was perfect.

Until Tony, two drinks in, casually sidled up beside Y/N and Wanda near the buffet table.

“You two really did it, huh?” he said, nudging Y/N’s elbow. “Little house in the woods. Apple pie life. Babies on the way.”

“We’re cliché,” Y/N said proudly, handing Wanda a plate of strawberries.

Tony smiled. “You deserve it. Both of you.”

Wanda looked at him then, sensing something beneath his words. “But?”

Tony hesitated. Then glanced around, voice dropping slightly. “Bruce and I are flying to Wakanda in two days.”

Y/N stilled, her fingers curling slightly around Wanda’s hand. “Vision?”

Tony nodded. “He made the call himself. Wants the Mind Stone removed. Said he’s done letting it control him.”

Wanda looked away, her jaw tense.

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s still in the cell, but… he’s different now. Quieter. Honestly, I think he’s trying to make peace with himself.”

Wanda’s voice was soft but steady. “It took almost losing someone else for him to realize what he became.”

Y/N didn’t speak. Her thumb traced slow circles on the back of Wanda’s hand.

“He asked me to tell you,” Tony added, “that he doesn’t expect forgiveness. He just hopes you’re safe. All of you.”

There was a long silence between the three of them.

Then Y/N exhaled quietly. “He made his choices. Now he’s living with them.”

Tony nodded. “We’ll keep you updated once we’re in Wakanda. Shuri’s already prepping her lab.”

Wanda finally looked up again, her expression unreadable. “Thank you.”

Tony gave them a faint smile, then backed away with his drink, giving them space.

Wanda leaned into Y/N’s side, resting her head on her shoulder as the music drifted back into focus. Children’s laughter. The crackle of the firepit. The smell of grilled corn.

“I don’t want to think about him tonight,” Wanda murmured.

“You won’t have to,” Y/N whispered, kissing her hair. “Tonight is for us.”

And it was.

The past could wait.

Tonight, they were surrounded by family. By warmth. By the life they’d chosen together.

And nothing—no stone, no ghost—could take that away.

---

Let me know what you guys think about it!

Two more chapters!

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #soulmates

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ncsdlr · 2 days ago

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First Glance, First Crack

Regina George x Reader

Angst

——————————————

The desks were too close together. You knew that the second she sat beside you—her perfume like sugared poison curling around your head, her foot tapping impatiently beneath the table.

You didn’t even look at her face at first. Just noticed the acrylics drumming on the plastic desk. Sharp, pretty, rehearsed. Like everything about her probably was.

Mr. Allen handed out the test packets row by row, muttering something about silence and historical accuracy. You rolled your pen between your fingers, already knowing you’d finish fast. History came easy.

Halfway through the test, you felt her eyes. Not subtle. Bold, sharp, flicking between her blank answer sheet and your filled-in one.

Regina George was cheating off you.

You could’ve shifted. Covered your page. Alerted the teacher. But you didn’t.

You kept writing. You even angled your arm just slightly—so she could see better.

Not because you were scared. You just didn’t care.

Let her cheat. Let her copy every goddamn answer. You weren’t here to play power games.

When the bell rang and papers were shuffled up to the front, she didn’t look at you. Not once. She got up, ponytail swinging, and walked out like nothing had happened.

You pulled a scrap of paper from your notebook, wrote something small, folded it once.

When you caught up in the hallway, you didn’t say a word. Just slid it into her hand as you passed.

“You could’ve just asked. I’d have let you either way.”

You didn’t wait to see her face.

But later—when you glanced up in the cafeteria—you caught her staring. Not like before.

Like she was trying to figure out if she’d just met someone dangerous.

Not because you were cruel. But because you didn’t need anything from her.

And that made you the first real threat she’d ever met.

——

The next day, you’re sitting in your usual spot at lunch—far edge of the quad, shade from the tree, notebook open but not writing. It’s quieter here. Fewer people. Just the low hum of school noise and the occasional burst of laughter from the popular table across the lawn.

You’re halfway through a juice box when a shadow falls across your lap.

“You always eat here?”

You look up.

Regina George.

Golden, blinding, all legs and glare. Her arms are crossed like she’s cold or pissed off, or both. Her ponytail is perfect. Lip gloss catching the light like a threat.

We blink. Nod.

She doesn’t wait for an invitation—just drops her tray beside yours and slides down onto the bench like this was always her seat.

Your juice box crackles in our grip. “You’re… not sitting with them today?”

Regina shrugs. “Got bored.”

She says it too fast. Like it’s practiced. Like she’s making a point.

Then: “You got a fork?”

You hand her one. No questions. No double takes. Just pass it over like she always eats lunch here, like this is normal.

She stares at you for a second. Like maybe she expected some fawning, a stutter, a reaction. But you’re just sitting there. Calm. Present. Eyes soft, but not shy.

She looks away first.

“…Thanks.”

There’s silence for a while. Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either. More like… magnetic. You go back to eating. Regina stabs at her salad like it offended her.

Halfway through the period, she sighs.

“You always this quiet?”t

We nod.

She squints. “Why?”

We shrug.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is, actually.”

Regina stares. Like we’re a glitch in the Matrix. Like no one’s ever spoken to her without tone or agenda. She blinks a few times, then laughs under her breath.

“That’s annoying.”

“Okay.”

Her head tilts. She’s testing us. Waiting for the bite. The flinch. Anything.

But we just take another sip of our juice box.

For the first time all day, Regina smiles.

It’s small. Sharp. Confused.

But it’s a start.

She corners you at your locker one morning, crowding your space, her voice low and smug.

“You always this slow getting your books, or are you just hoping I’ll press up against you?”

You blink up at her, caught off guard, then tuck your books to your chest and smile like it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you.

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping aside so she has more room—even though she doesn’t need it. “You can come closer if you want.”

Regina falters. You weren’t supposed to say that like you meant it.

You were supposed to flinch.

She slides a folded paper onto your desk during history. You open it carefully.

“Are you this quiet with everyone, or just me?”

You write back in looping, careful letters.

“You make it easier to be quiet. I don’t have to talk when you’re around.”

She stares at your reply like it’s in another language. She’s still holding the note when the bell rings.

She "accidentally" drops her pen in front of you in a skirt that barely passes the dress code. Looks over her shoulder as she bends down to grab it.

You don’t even stare. You just look away politely and try not to smile too hard.

But when she sits next to you afterward, you tug your jacket off without a word and place it on her lap, like you’re shielding her from the world.

She clutches it, confused.

“You looked cold,” you whisper.

She wasn’t.

But she lets it stay.

You’re walking alone when Regina appears beside you, matching your pace.

“Why do you always look so happy to see me?” she asks suddenly, suspicious.

You glance at her, startled but soft. “I dunno,” you say with a quiet shrug. “The way you act really just... It's refreshing.”

She doesn't say anything after that. Just keeps walking with you, slower than usual

-----------------------------

chapter one what are we thinking😬

Also next chap will be out this friday

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codinekitten · 1 day ago

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MDNI: Discipline| Dom/Sub| Spanking| Cheating (somewhat)| Power Imbalance

“Read it again.”

Your voice trembles as you whisper the first few words, eyes locked on the printed sheet in front of you. The agreement signed by yourself, that got you in this very moment.

Bent over his desk, palms flat on the surface, your pencil skirt bunched up around your waist. Your panties — if you had the nerve to wear any — would be around your thighs by now. But you came to this meeting prepared.

Professor Richards stands behind you, tall and clinical, one hand resting on the small of your back like a weight that anchors you to this moment.

“Out loud,” he says again, slower this time. “I want you to hear yourself.”

You inhale shakily.

“I… I acknowledge that my behavior has been unprofessional, that my emotional outbursts compromise the integrity of our shared academic space—”

His palm lands hard across your ass.

You yelp — not loud, but enough.

“You’re not crying, are you?” he asks, voice flat.

“No, sir,” you whisper.

“Good. Because this isn’t punishment.”

He leans in, breath warm against your neck.

��This is instruction.”

You nod quickly. You’ve already signed the confidentiality form. Already agreed to this… arrangement.

“Continue.”

Your voice quivers as you read the next line.

“I understand that Professor Richards is committed to the cultivation of intellectual discipline, and that my obedience is part of that commitment.”

Another sharp slap. You flinch, biting your lip.

“You skipped a word,” he says coolly. “Say it right.”

You correct yourself, lower this time.

“My complete obedience.”

“That’s better.”

He presses two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up just enough for you to see his expression — calm, composed, like he’s adjusting a thesis draft. Like this isn’t personal.

Except it is. Because his hand lingers on your throat just a beat too long. Because you’re wet. Shaking. Wanting.

“You have a brilliant mind,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the curve of your spine. “But brilliance means nothing without control. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what am I teaching you?”

You close your eyes.

“To be the best.”

He smiles — faint, clinical, almost fond.

“Good girl.”

PS: The movie ‘The Secretary’ was something! Like it really was ‘Get somebody to match your freak’. Anyway I know Richards is married, but it’s Pedro Pascal

#black reader #x black!reader #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #mr fantastic #reed richards #reed richards x reader #pedro pascal #marvel

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clarasdomain · 9 hours ago

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Basic info:

Full name: Blume Schon

Height: 166 cm

Age: 17 years old

Grade: Sophomore

Birthday: November 11th (Scorpio)

Nicknames: Lionfishie (by Floyd) • Ma fleur, Ma rose noire, Mon chérie (by Rook)

Favorite food: Hazelnut soup

Least favorite food: Fried foods

Best subject: Biology

Club: Science Club

Hobbies: Gardening, plant research

Homeland: Kingdom of Heroes

MBTI: ENTJ

Unique Magic: "Mother Knows Best" - Upon maintaining direct eye contact and activating her magic, the target will believe anything Blume says or follow any request she makes, without hesitation or suspicion. Rather than feeling controlled, the target experiences a deep sense of trust and certainty, convinced that whatever Blume says is right.

Voice Claim: Sakamoto Maaya

Personality:

Blume is a girl who knows what she wants, and exactly how to get it. She's determined, sharp-tongued, and armed with more attitude than most can handle. Manipulative and just a little mean, Blume has mastered the art of subtle control. She’s talked her way into favors, luxuries, and loyalty without ever having to lift a finger or use her unique magic. She doesn’t need to. She does it because she can.

Some students admire her finesse. Others have tasted her cruelty. While she’s outgrown the childish drama of ruining reputations with gossip, her biting comments and occasional carefully crafted schemes still keep certain classmates at some distance.

But behind the practiced poise and polished perfection lies a much more fragile truth. Blume was raised by a single, image-obsessed mother who taught her that beauty is everything, and that "a woman’s worth fades with time". Those words carved deep, leaving Blume with insecurities she hides beneath control and curated glamour. She fears aging. She fears imperfection. She chases beauty like a promise of safety. What she wants more than anything is to be seen. Not just admired, but understood. Loved, for who she is. But with walls built from vanity and veiled cruelty... She's afraid it would never be possible.

Backstory:

Before Blume was born, her mother was a high-fashion supermodel at the height of her career. In her early 30s, she was one of the highest-paid models in the world and in a glamorous relationship with a famous singer. To the public, she was perfect, elegant, untouchable. But behind closed doors, the cracks were already showing. The relationship was fragile, built more on image than substance, and riddled with quiet power struggles.

Blume’s conception was unplanned. Her mother briefly considered ending the pregnancy but ultimately decided to go through with it. Perhaps it was pride. Perhaps it was spite. She believed she could prove the world wrong, that she could remain at the top even as a mother.

But the pregnancy was traumatic. The normal changes–weight gain, swelling, stretch marks–were treated by her and her industry as disfigurement. She felt betrayed by her own body. And when Blume was born, the demands of motherhood, combined with the already unstable relationship, led to the separation of her parents. Her father became a ghost in Blume’s life, present only through financial support and rare, uncomfortable visits before disappearing entirely.

Though her mother remained wealthy and famous, even launching a successful perfume brand, her modeling career ended much earlier than expected. She never forgave that. Over time, bitterness replaced the glamour, and she began to blame Blume for everything she had lost. Her body, her spotlight, her man.

Blume was raised in a cold, appearance-obsessed home. A house full of mirrors, luxury, and silence. Her mother often said things like “we are only valuable by our reflection”, and “women are only loved when they’re flawless.”

And Blume... She listened.

She absorbed these words like law. She came to understand that beauty was power, but that power came with a price. At school, she quickly learned how to manipulate others to maintain control and secure validation. Even as a child, her charm was a sharpened blade. She rose quickly through the social ranks, becoming a popular and feared mean girl.

Her mother praised her cunning but punished any small slip. Perfection was expected, not celebrated. Even with admirers around her, Blume never believed she was lovable. She saw affection as a transaction, something to be earned, never freely given.

As she got older, her tactics evolved. What began as teasing turned into carefully crafted social warfare: rumors, alliances, betrayals. She built a reputation as a cold beauty, someone admired from afar but never approached without caution. At the same time, her mother’s envy began to grow. The older Blume got, the more she resembled her in her youth. The more she shone, the more her mother dimmed beside her. The resentment deepened.

Blume, terrified of imperfection, began scrutinizing every detail of her body and behavior. The fear of aging consumed her. The idea of one day fading, of losing her shine, became unbearable.

Behind her polished cruelty, Blume was deeply alone. She had no real friends. No comfort at home. Science became her refuge. It didn’t lie. It didn’t judge. In her studies, she discovered old legends. Whispers of magical flora, especially one tale that stuck with her: a flower said to grant eternal youth: the "Sundrop Flower".

And that was when the idea formed.

If she could recreate it, if she could control time itself, maybe she wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore. Maybe she could stay beautiful forever.

Blume applied to Night Raven College with a singular goal: to find a way to bring the Sundrop Flower to life. Perhaps, too, to escape the house of mirrors she'd called home.

Once she got in, she joined the Science Club. Using both magic and genetic manipulation, she successfully engineered seeds modeled after the ancient legend and secretly planted them in a hidden corner of the greenhouse. The project was hers alone, her secret, her salvation.

Relationships with other characters:

Blume... Doesn't have many close ties at NRC. Some admire her, and some fear her, but these days some people simply dislike her. Here are some highlights:

♡ Rook Hunt: Blume and Rook’s connection is as strange as it is intense. He sees through her games and masks without ever trying to tear them down, only understand them. His quiet, unwavering care unsettles her deeply, especially when it comes with no conditions. For the first time, Blume feels truly seen... And she doesn’t know if that terrifies her or makes her want more.

Vil Schoenheit: Blume and Vil have a tense relationship marked by silent judgment. Vil disapproves of Blume’s manipulative behavior and sees her as someone wasting her potential. Blume, in turn, both admires and resents him. She envies his control, his earned beauty, and the way he never seems to doubt himself. Unlike Rook or Sabine, Vil sees her flaws and expects her to overcome them, not hide behind them.

Sabine Magispeculum: Blume admires Sabine and her elegance and serenity. At first, she saw Sabine as unattainable, so exquisitely beautiful that she required no effort. Blume wanted to be like her. Sabine, on the other hand, was one of those who recognized Blume beyond her mask, but didn't show it. No, Sabine simply made an effort to get closer to Blume, to become a potential confidant, in hopes to help her heal someday. Sabine disapproves of many of Blume's actions, but knows she's trying to change.

Liana Darling: Liana doesn't know, but Blume never knew what it was like to have a female friendship that wasn't just about interest and was built on rivalry until she met her. Liana had to be a bit insistent when she decided to be friends with Blume, and occasionally, the two became very close (also, they were roommates, so it was easier). Blume adores Liana, and Liana adores Blume. But deep down, Blume still doesn't feel worthy of Liana's friendship, as she is so kind and lovable, that it reminds her of her own cruelty.

Dalia Bazhar: Dalia and Blume had a silent conflict from the start. While Dalia quickly saw through Blume's mind games, she never fell for Dalia's tricks. The two come from backgrounds that couldn't be more different, which further hinders the possibility of any friendship forming. It's only with Genevieve's arrival that things might settle down between them...

Genevieve Adams: As soon as Genevieve arrived and befriended Liana at the pop music club, Blume disliked her. She was... too shiny. Too happy, too sweet, too... Pretty. And also, too close to Liana, which made her jealous. But as Genevieve got closer and tried to be her friend... Blume ended up softening and trying to let go of her first impression of the redhead. After all, she was already overcoming the ideal of female rivalry she had when she befriended Liana.

Fun Facts:

She was the first Twisted Wonderland OC I made, and originally, she was supposed to be my protagonist. After I created Genevieve, Blume went through some reworks until she became who she is today.

Despite living in a mansion with gardeners, Blume always made a point of helping them care for the flowers and other plants around her home. It was a pleasant way for her to escape her mother.

Blume has a rigorous self-care routine, but she focuses much more on her hair. It's as if her curls are her most precious treasure, and sometimes she spends more than an hour styling them.

Few know how skilled and scientifically intelligent Blume truly is. She keeps the cultivation of her magical flower completely secret, so no one knows that she engineered the seeds herself, not even the teachers... Or at least that's what she thinks, since Rook knows exactly what kind of flower she's trying to recreate.

Her favorite dish, hazelnut soup, isn't just because of its taste, but because of emotional attachment. When she was a child and got upset, her mother would make her soup to cheer her up (or as an apology, for when she was too cruel). This is one of the only fond memories she has of her mother showing her "genuine" affection, something that faded as she grew older.

Character Reference:

Twisted from:

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tomato-saxce · 10 hours ago

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Fanfic testing (draft one) prologue:

Bobby’s POV:

I’ve noticed my girls Zoey and Mira have been trying to get close to Rumi ever since the Idol awards and the Saja boys have been gone it’s like all comfort as gone. Mira and Zoey are trying their best to get Rumi to come out of her shell more, but to no avail. I texted the girls hoping to get some answers. Rumi went dead silent not even seeing the message her phone was on do not disturb as I knew when she doesn’t respond right away something is wrong…

(Bobby) Dad: “hey girls is everything okay?”

(Zoey) Turtle queen: “no Bobby Rumi isn’t coming out of her room ever since we defeated the saja boys”

Dad: “defeated?”

Turtle queen: “…”

Dad: “girls please tell me what do you mean? I’m not upset. I just want to know. So I may help in anyways I can.”

(Mira) Body guard: “alright Bobby I think it’s time we tell you what’s going on…”

*after a long ass explanation about Rumi being half demon and the girls being demon hunters. Zoey full out expecting Bobby to be thinking they were making stuff up but Bobby sat there not saying a word. Finally he voice spoke gently:

Dad: “how long has this been going on? You three being demon hunters I mean… and the saja boys? What about them?”

Bodyguard: “A very long time… and the Saja boys were demons feasting on souls for power to bring back the demon lord”

Dad: “…I see. Look girls, i don’t like the fact you risk your lives to the point of almost dying to demons but I understand the importance of this. But that doesn’t explain Rumi do you girls know why she’s upset?”

Bodyguard: “demons have patterns that make them identifiable Rumi being half demon has those patterns. Celine her caretaker told her to cover upto lie to us and say it was an illusion. Me and Zoey…”

Turtle queen: “we drew our weapons on her even though we know she was fearing it…”

Bodyguard: “I just got a message from Celine…”

Turtle queen: “what does it say?”

Bodyguard: “she says she wants Rumi to live with her and stop being an idol… saying she needs to hide until the patterns are gone…”

Dad: “excuse my language girls but HELL NO! Nobody tells my girls to cover up because of something they can’t control. You girls deserve to feel comfortable with yourselves.”

Turtle queen/bodyguard: “Thxs dad ❤️”

Dad: “no problem girls. Now let’s go help Rumi.”

Bodyguard: “that’s the thing she refuses to talk when ever me and Zoey try to she just shuts down”

Dad: I have an idea I will order her a diary/jurnal that way she can express emotions in a healthy way without us forcing it”

Turtle queen: “that’s a great idea dad”

*A week later the diary arrived and was handed to Rumi with being told that if she ever wanted to vent her fustrastions out instead of talking when she is uncomfortable to just write in the journal to express herself. She smiled and thanked everyone for this.

#k pop demon hunters #polytrix #rumi kpdh #mira kpdh #zoey kpdh #fanfic

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frgmentd · 2 hours ago

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Violet only smiled in return. She would be more than happy to watch him scrub at whatever mess was made in that office. "I'm sure you would do an adequate enough job." There was no hiding the way she looked at him when she teased him, but she followed the unspoken cue without complaints. Sometimes it was easier to work with Cassius because of the way they could read one another. There wasn't guessing what looks and commands meant. They knew.

"I would be expecting that in a penthouse, not a basement, Cassius. I like finer things, but I'm not delusional." She replied with an edge in her voice. It didn't take her long to catch up and find herself beside him. She hated following after him but walking beside him always left her feeling more powerful than before. "Oh, I know you'll always make sure the foundation is strong, but I'm happy to give you a second opinion when you need it. You know I'll speak the truth to you." She would tell him as much as she needed to. Everyone kept their secrets, but she had never kept something from him that he needed to know.

The gang was important to the both of them, and the success of it since Cassius had taken over was a priority. She wouldn't shake that without good reason, and she doubted a good enough one would exist.

"Disappointed?" She looked at him with a smile that said more than she was willing to put into words. He amused her, always had. The dance they did was one of her favorites, and she was eager to see where it would lead them this time. When he stopped, she continued and brushed past him with a laugh. "Ladies first, Cassius. Do keep up. I'd hate to get too far ahead on our tour." She looked over her shoulder at him and made her way further inside.

“white carpet, huh?” he drawled, tone just shy of mocking but laced with a fondness that was impossible to miss. “guess i’ll have to see how much blood i’m willing to scrub out for you.” it was a joke—mostly—but the way his gaze lingered said he’d do a hell of a lot more than that if she asked. he tilted his head toward the back of the café, a subtle nod, that unspoken command that was equal parts business and personal. follow me.

“basement’s not going to impress you if you’re expecting chandeliers and champagne, violet,” he said as he started walking, slow enough for her to catch up without rushing those heels she was so proud of. “but… you’ll see the bones. and you know i’m all about the foundation. you want the kind of empire that doesn’t crumble the second someone takes a swing? you start from the ground up.”

there was a flicker in his eyes then—something that wasn’t business, that wasn’t gang politics. something that was just… them. it had always been the same, no matter how many months they went without speaking, no matter how sharp the words could get when they were circling each other like they owned the same sky. he could tell himself all he wanted that she was just another piece on the board, but cassius knew better. she’d always been a goddamn queen—one he couldn’t remove without toppling the whole game.

“and if you did just come for the floor plans…” he let it trail, low and amused, but with the faintest edge of something more dangerous. “i’d be disappointed, sure. but not surprised. you’ve always been more interested in playing the long game than giving me what i want right away.” he stopped at the door to the back, still deciding which version of their dance he wanted to play today—the professional or the personal. but the glint in his eye said he already knew the answer.

#v.evans thread #violet and cassius

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sapphire-weapon · 15 days ago

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look at the year on that

does anyone have these guys' contact info bc i'd like to ask them for lottery numbers

#came across this randomly in a reply comment on steph sterling's bluesky #they put up a video about the censorship of language #things like 'unalive' and 'PDFfile' and all that other stupid shit #and it's very good and you should watch it #it's genuinely unsettling to me whenever you guys say one of those words to me in an ask #the fact that there is now a generation of humans who are totally okay with sanitizing their language #to the point where it's just become completely accepted as normal vernacular #and i just keep thinking about that one anon who got on my case because of how 'rudely' i speak #and said to me #deadass serious #that they would much rather live in a world where everyone talks to each other politely even if they're deceptive or lying or manipulative #than they would want to live in a world where people are well-intentioned and honest if the words come out harshly or hurtfully #i just can't wrap my head around the way people have gotten sucked into insane streams of propaganda just bc of Respectability Politics #it's insane to me #and then i also think about all of the anons who have such a massive break with reality #and i wonder if this censorship of language #this softening of language #to take the bite and harshness and reality out of the topics that are being discussed #if that has something to do with it #idk man #i swear i'm not trying to come off as arrogant or make it seem like i'm so much smarter than you when i shout WORDS MEAN THINGS #BUT WORDS MEAN THINGS #IT'S IMPORTANT THAT WE UNDERSTAND WHAT WORDS MEAN #because our words are our voice and our voice is our power and without power we are nothing #without words we are nothing #we have to start to respect language again #or else these self-contained bubbles of hyper-reality that keeps us all separated from each other will only grow stronger #and continue to keep us all apart

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geekgirles · 1 month ago

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I'm probably only stating the obvious at this point, but have you guys noticed how Huntrix's songs reflect their development throughout the movie?

The very first song we listen to is How It's Done, which does an exemplary job at two things: it introduces Huntrix as characters, and it establishes them how they want to be and are perceived by the audience and their fans.

It's a very powerful song that highlights the girls' double life—they're k-pop idols as much as they are demon hunters—, as well as just how genuinely good and skilled they are at what they do. They're so good they treat a bunch of demons hijacking and destroying their plane as a mere inconvenience that gets in the way of their snack-time. And they easily dispose of them both with and without their weapons all the while they multitask by cooking their ramyeon and singing.

These ladies kick ass and they know it, and they want you to know it too.

"Run, run, we run the town

Whole world playin' our sound

Turnin' up, it's goin' down

Huntrix show this, how it's done, done, done"

But it also introduces the girls and the most basic aspects of their characters.

Mira is the visual lead and choreographer, and the song is filled with powerful, dynamic movements that reflect her influence. But not only that, it also introduces Mira as the more brutally honest member of the group, or in her own words:

"I don't talk, but I bite, full of venom (Uh)

Spittin' facts, you know that's

How it's done, done, done"

Then there's Zoey, the lyricist and rapper whose high-energy yet aggressive style is reflected precisely by the song's boastful tone, but especially during the rap sections:

"Okay, like, I know I ramble

But when shootin' my words, I go Rambo

Took blood, sweat, and tears, to look natural "

And finally, there's Rumi. The leader and lead vocalist. The daughter of one of the Sunlight Sisters who was raised by Celine, members of the previous generation of hunters, and therefore the one who's known her path her whole life. The one who shines the most thanks to her beautiful singing voice and the one Huntrix relies on the most, meaning she gets the most spotlight.

"Hear our voice unwavering

'Til our song defeats the night

Makin' fear afraid to breathe

'Til the dark meets the light"

How It's Done is the girls presenting themselves as they were taught by Celine: hunters don't show their flaws. Ever. Which is why the song only ever shows their good side—the talented and composed kpop stars who double as skilled and confident demon hunters.

How It's Done is the girls doing everything in their power to present themselves as flawless.

Golden, despite its title and in-universe intended effect, is where the cracks begin to show, however.

Each of the individual verses sung by each of the girls reveals their deepest insecurities:

Rumi isn't sure how to live up to the legacy thrusted upon her as the daughter of one of the Sunlight Sisters now leading her own team. Which then becomes especially poignant with the reveal that the member of Huntrix that's most involved and dedicated to their mission is actually half-demon, the very beings she was sworn to destroy. This sets up her inner conflict for the rest of the film.

"I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)

어두워진 (Hah) 압길속에 (Ah)

Given the throne I didn't know how to believe

I was the queen that I'm meant to be".

Meanwhile, Zoey is Korean, but she was raised in the US, so she had to deal with the baggage of being a child coming from two very different cultures and not really fitting in with any. With the heavy implication that her parents are divorced, and she was in the middle of their game of tug of war. For all we know, maybe she is also biracial, which only emphasises her feelings of isolation because she couldn't find a place to belong: too Korean to be American, but too American to be Korean.

"I lived two lives, tried to play both sides

But I couldn't find my own place."

And finally, we have Mira admitting her rebellious and independent personality alienated her from her own family. The very people that were supposed to love her no matter what. Already suggesting that, much like the others with their own family baggage, she is also looking for a place to call home and for a family that will accept her for who she is.

"Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild

But now that's how I'm getting paid, 끝업시."

Deep down, what Golden does is reveal that, for all the girls look and act flawless, deep down they are all outcasts in their own way, looking for a place to call their own, free from judgemental eyes and hurtful words. And they all found it in Huntrix and each other.

At least, that's what it does at first.

Because as early as Mira's second verse, the girls double down on Celine's teachings, on how they're actually doing amazing now and on focusing on achieving the Golden Honmoon instead of embracing who they truly are. Because no matter how they insist they're done hiding, they still very much are hiding who they are, especially Rumi.

"Waited so long to break these walls down

To wake up and feel like me

Put these patterns all in the past now

And finally live like the girl they all see

No more hiding, I'll be shining

Like I'm born to be

'Cause we are hunters, voices strong

And I know I believe."

In the end, Golden, while incredibly soulful and uplifting, is just yet another mask Huntrix hides behind to avoid facing their own demons. They're using their goal of creating the Golden Honmoon to stall dealing with their actual issues.

Things run their course with Takedown, only taking a turn for the worse.

As the girls eventually come to understand, they deviated far too much from their original goal in their anger at the Saja Boys' upstaging them and stealing their fans. They let their anger cloud their judgement and jeopardise their mission more than the Saja Boys and their music ever could.

Zoey said it best, Takedown couldn't even bring Huntrix together; there's no way it would have been able to unite their fans and create the Golden Honmoon, as the girls actually lost sight of their teachings with it.

Hunters are supposed to ward demons off both by fighting them and by igniting hope in the hearts of their fans through their music, thus powering the Honmoon. But Takedown...

"'Cuz I see your real face, and it's ugly as sin

Time to put you in your place, 'cuz you're rotten within

When your patterns start to show

It makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins

I don't think you're ready for the takedown

Break you into pieces in the world of pain 'cuz you're all the same

Yeah, it's a takedown

A demon with no feelings don't deserve to live, it's so obvious"

It's not a song meant to uplift anyone, but to tear them down. Catchy as it is, it only serves to emphasise the growing distance between the girls, especially when Rumi starts having second thoughts and questioning her nature as a half-demon and if maybe they've been wrong this whole time.

Which is precisely why Takedown being played during the Idol Awards as the Saja Boys attack and expose Rumi disguised as Mira and Zoey led to Huntrix temporarily breaking up. It's a song born from revenge, deceit, and miscommunication.

It was never going to get them closer to their goals, only drift a wedge between them.

And then, finally, finally we have What It Sounds Like.

"Nothing but the truth now

Nothing but the proof of what I am

The worst of what I came from, patterns I'm ashamed of

Things that even I don't understand

I tried to fix it, I tried to fight it

My head was twisted, my heart divided

My lies all collided

I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side"

"Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?

I should've let the jagged edges meet the light instead

Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony

The song we couldn't write, this is what it sounds like"

Where the girls show they've come full circle by admitting they have flaws, they have fears, they have been lying and hiding things from each other. They are not perfect, but they have each other, they love each other, and that's enough.

They have finally accepted themselves and each other.

"We broke into a million pieces, and we can't go back

But now we're seeing all the beauty in the broken glass

The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony

My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like

Why did we cover up the colors stuck inside our head?

Get up and let the jagged edges meet the light instead

Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony

Fearless and undefined, this is what it sounds like."

That's the song meant to unite them and their fans. The song that allows them to defeat Gwi-Ma and to create a new, better Honmoon that is actually worth protecting.

I love this movie and these girls so much. Thank you for coming to my TED-Talk.

#kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters spoilers #kpop demon hunters analysis #kpdh #kpdh spoilers #kpdh analysis #huntrix #huntr/x #rumi #mira #zoey #netflix #sony #sony animation #sony pictures #sony pictures animation #sunlight sisters #celine

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marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

Steam and Silhouettes

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: While trying to take a shower, Bucky comes barging into your shared bathroom, claiming Alpine misses her new mama.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: mild nudity (non-sexual); mutual pining; suggestive humor; domestic fluff; Alpine being Alpine; Bucky being a ridiculous dork

Author’s Note: This is a part of a series with a loose timeline, but you can also read this as a standalone. Hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Oh my god, Bucky, get out!”

Your voice resounds off the steamed-up tiles, somewhere between scandalized and entirely unconvincing. A squeak of the shower curtain rings as it trembles slightly, your poor attempt at pretending this isn’t the weirdest and most you moment of your life as Bucky Barnes’ roommate.

“Relax, doll. She missed you.”

You peek through the waterfall of hot water stinging your eyes, blinking furiously, heart lurching somewhere high into your throat.

A shadow casts on the shower curtain. A tall figure with broad shoulders and the boldest audacity, backlit by the bathroom light.

And perched high on his forearm, just barely bobbing into view over the shower curtain, is a tiny white paw. Then another. Then two crystalline blue eyes.

You sputter a wet laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of water. “Buck! Did you seriously bring Alpine in here?”

The kitten meows. Sweet, high-pitched, held up by Bucky’s arms, peering over your goddamn shower curtain as though she’s Simba in The Lion King.

Your heart is hammering.

Not because of Alpine.

But because Bucky Barnes is standing just on the other side of the plastic barrier, mere inches away, and you’re stark naked, and your feelings are very much not platonic, and your brain is officially trying to outrun you.

Bucky sounds way too casual about the whole thing. “She was cryin’ outside the door. Thought maybe she just needed to see her mama.”

Huffing, you push your wet hair out of your face, the weight of it slick and heavy down your back. “She’s a baby, Bucky. Babies cry. Doesn’t mean you come walking into the bathroom while someone’s taking a shower.”

Bucky holds her up with both arms, the way someone might offer a sacred relic or a bottle of wine. His bare forearms flex slightly, and you hate that, even though he’s holding an adorably sweet and fluffy white kitten, Bucky is still somehow distracting.

“But she was cryin’, doll,” he says, now softer. “Wouldn’t let up. Climbed up my pants. Clawed her way up like I was a tree.”

“Seriously?”

“Swear on Steve’s good name. Wouldn’t stop till I picked her up. That’s how I figured she missed her mama.”

Your heart stutters. That stupid word again. Mama.

“Bucky, get out,” you only repeat exaggerated.

“You left the door unlocked,” he shoots back through the veil of hot air, all indignant as though he’s the one being violated.

You make a strangled noise, rubbing your temples, breathing through your nose, trying to remember that you do like him most days. You chose to live with this idiot. You’ve lived with him for a while now. You’ve survived him accidentally setting a potholder on fire, singing 90s power ballads at 2 am, and alphabetizing your spices just to mess with you.

“That’s not an invitation to come in here like a psycho and lift our kitten over the curtain to watch me shower.”

There’s a rustle on the other side. The shuffle of his feet on the tile. “But she was sad, doll. Missed you. Thought maybe you abandoned her for good.”

“She saw me ten minutes ago,” you state with a sigh in your voice, turning to rinse shampoo out of your hair.

“Well.” You see his shadow shrug behind the curtain, adjusting Alpine’s wiggly butt in his hands. “Ten minutes is like a week to a baby. You ever gone a week without your favorite person? It’s tragic.”

The words trip something in your chest. You hear the slight quirk of his mouth in his voice, as though maybe he knows what he is doing. As though this isn’t entirely about Alpine.

Alpine mews again, that high-pitched kitten sound like a squeak toy dipped in sugar, and Bucky chuckles, soft and low and affectionate in a way that makes your knees threaten to buckle.

Her tiny nose twitches, eyes wide, paws scrabbling at the edge of the curtain as Bucky still keeps holding her aloft like a proud, ridiculous cat dad.

You sigh, one hand on your face, the other holding the curtain in a defensive scrunch. “I’m still naked, Barnes.”

There’s a pause. Like a thoughtful, huh kind of pause. You hear him shuffle on the tile. As though he only just caught up with that part. As though he hadn’t really thought this through beyond the cat misses you and you probably miss the cat and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see you too.

“I mean, technically she’s naked too,” he deadpans after a beat.

You let your forehead thunk gently against the tile wall, groaning into the rising steam.

“And she’s a girl, y’know. So… girl to girl. Girl solidarity. Ain’t weird,” he adds helpfully, as though this might somehow serve as a legal defense in court.

“She’s also two pounds and can’t even use a litter box without falling in,” you hiss back.

“Details.”

You sigh, slumping back under the spray and dragging your hands down your face. Soap hangs off your eyelashes. Alpine meows, a chirpy sound, as if she’s telling you to be nice to your ridiculous roommate.

“She says she didn’t get a real goodbye,” he says, voice low and a little sing-songy as though he knows he is pushing your buttons and is committing to the bit anyway. “Her little heart’s broken now. Might never recover.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the snort that leaves your lips. God, you’re so in love with him it’s embarrassing. Your heart feels like a paper lantern too close to the flame.

Alpine meows again, tiny paws curling over the curtain as she cranes her neck to spot you better, big blue eyes wide with wonder, as though you are the best thing she’s ever seen.

And Bucky is holding her so gently he might have spent the last ten minutes convincing her that yes, mama still exists and no, she didn’t disappear, and yes, you can go look at her now.

Reaching out, you poke your hand over the curtain, water dripping from your fingers as you scratch softly at Alpine’s chin.

“There you are, baby,” you utter amused but soft. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Bucky chuckles, deep and low, but there is something fragile under it. His hand - still holding the kitten - brushes yours for a second and he stays still.

You can see the shadow of his boots from under the curtain, the soft shuffle of his weight shifting, but not moving toward the door like a normal person would do after realizing they’ve invaded your steamy sanctuary of suds and sanity.

Then, you lean out. Just your head. Damp hair dripping, chin tucked, eyes narrowed as you peek past the edge of the curtain like a very cautious ghost.

And there he is.

Standing. Holding Alpine as though she’s the goddamn crown jewel. But his hands have stilled on her fur, mid-stroke, and his face is softened, startled. As though he just remembered something he wasn’t supposed to forget.

Then his gaze flicks - unintentionally, just a tick - toward the vague silhouette of your body behind the curtain. His breath hitches. Just slightly. And then his ears go red.

His eyes do an awkward flutter toward the ceiling, toward the tiles, toward Alpine, anywhere but toward the slice of your face. He looks like a man trying not to glance at a solar eclipse without sunglasses.

“You good?” you ask, dry as bone, drops of water landing on the edge of the shower.

He clears his throat. “Uh. Yeah. Just gonna let you finish up. I, uh- think Alpine’s satisfied now,” he says, one hand coming up to scratch behind the kitten's ear. She purrs lazily, utterly unaware that she has single-handedly plunged her two favorite humans into an emotional fever dream.

You bite back a smirk. “Sure she is.”

“I didn’t see anything, obviously,” he goes on, still looking at literally anything other than you. “Not that I was tryin’ to. Not that there was anything to see- I mean- that’s not how I- I meant, that you- Fuck, now I’m makin’ it weird. Which is not what I meant. I mean- it’s not bad, just- Jesus Christ.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing. Not because it’s funny - though it is funny - but because there is something in your chest threatening to melt. Something painfully weak. The kind of thing you don’t want to touch too hard in case it turns real and runs away.

“Right. Great,” he mutters. A pause. “I’m gonna take her out,” he adds, finally lowering Alpine down to the little mat beside the door. She immediately tries to climb his pant leg again.

You tilt your head.

“You sure? She might still want to see her mama.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well, her mama deserves a shower in peace without bein’ ogled. Just thought she’d calm down if she saw ya. You can resume whatever mysterious shower rituals you do in there.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, it’s called cleaning myself, Barnes.”

He huffs a laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m goin’. Don’t yell at me in front of the kid.”

“She’s a cat.”

“She’s sensitive.”

You shouldn’t be this warm. It’s not the water anymore. It’s something else creeping under your skin, behind your ribs. You want to say something. Want to reach out and grab his shirt and pull him in - not into the shower, not like that, not yet. Just into your space. Into the same space you’ve been for a while now. Waiting.

But you’re also very wet. And very naked. And this isn’t exactly the moment you want him to remember for the rest of his life when he thinks of your first real step forward. If he even believes you could take such a step.

So instead, you smile, shake your head. “Get outta here, Barnes. I’ll be out in five.”

He lifts his eyes at you, long enough to catch your expression. And even though you’re barely there - just your head, framed in fog and water and shampoo suds - he smiles. Something tender glimmers in his eyes. Maybe he’s already counting down those five minutes.

He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Take your time,” he says, voice gone quiet now.

And it’s soft. Not teasing. As though maybe this wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought it would be. Maybe he’s not entirely sorry.

Your face does something treasonous. Your heart does something worse.

With a clear of his throat, his hand takes hold of the doorknob, opening it a crack. Alpine trots out of the bathroom, tail swishing, entirely pleased with herself. He watches her for a beat. Then stares at a tile. Lingers. Then looks back at you. His eyes snap quickly to your body shielded by the curtain, and fly away instantly, as though he caught himself in the last moment. “Alright, I’ll give you some privacy,” he utters, voice a little raspy. “Gotta go now. Gotta go learn about boundaries or somethin’.”

And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him.

You’re standing there dripping, heart pounding for reasons that have less to do with steam and everything to do with him.

He’s got that effect on you. Even when he’s being a ridiculous dork. Especially when he’s being a ridiculous dork.

The door cracks open again.

“Oh my god, Buck-” you begin to protest, but he interrupts you quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just-” Bucky calls out, soft, voice low as though he’s trying not to scare a bird. “Uh, I was thinkin’. You want takeout?”

One hand freezes mid-reach for your body lotion, the other still braced against the curtain. You didn’t expect him to ask that.

“Thought maybe you’d be hungry,” he explains, as though it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to have a food conference while you’re still literally naked and trying to have some privacy. “I’ll order. You take your time in there. By the time you’re all… y’know-” You see his shadow gesture at you behind the curtain, “human again, it’ll be here.”

You laugh. It kind of bursts out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Human again?”

“Well, you’re half-shampoo, half-grump right now,” he says with a smirk you can hear. “Didn’t wanna assume you were ready to talk logistics until you de-soaped.”

You don’t know what to say. So you sigh and wait for him to leave.

But he lingers.

You peek your head around the curtain again, water droplets trailing down your temple like punctuation marks to your raised eyebrows. “Barnes.”

His eyes flick up. Instantly. And then down. Instantly-er.

“Oh,” he blurts, practically recoiling, sheepishly running his hand down his face. “Still- uh- yep. Still naked. Right. Shit.”

“You literally knew that going in the first time. And now you did it again,” you deadpan, grinning at how fast he suddenly backs away again.

“I wasn’t- I mean, I still didn’t see anything, not that I was looking. Or trying to look. I just thought- well, Alpine was done sniffin’ the rug and I figured maybe food- ya know what? Never mind.”

The door squeaks.

“Bucky,” you call just before it closes again.

He pauses. Leans back with only half his face showing - one hand gripping the edge of the frame as though it might keep him tethered.

You soften. You can’t help it. “Takeout sounds good.”

He smiles, small and crooked and pleased, and god help you, it tugs at something in your chest that makes you want to sit down and cry for no reason at all.

“Got it, sweetheart.” His voice is warm again. Familiar. “I’ll get the usual. You just… take your time. Wash the world off.”

You nod. And he’s gone again.

You hear his footsteps pad down the hallway.

With a sigh that’s 60% fondness, 30% embarrassment, and 10% utter, unrelenting this man, you lean back into the steam, your heart performing some frantic dance in your chest.

Outside, Alpine lets out a mewl that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

“You don’t accidentally end up sharing a life.”

- Erin Hahn

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drchucktingle · 28 days ago

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BEING AN ASSHOLE AS A BRAND

lots of authors have been posting great pieces of advice for up and coming buckaroos and i agree with so much of it. GREAT RESOURCES right now so i thought i would add my own. usually i use words like scoundrel but for meanings sake i will just be direct: dont make being an asshole your brand

let me preface this by saying it should be taken with HUGE grain of salt, you can do whatever you want buckaroo its YOUR art and your personal expression. to be honest i often refrain from ‘advice’ because id rather simply tell what works for me, but i feel like this one is pretty universal.

i am in incredibly rare position to have come up in TWO MAJOR CREATIVE INDUSTRIES and reached ‘traditionally published’ or ‘major film studio contract’ level completely separate from each other, without connections between, and this is ABSOLUTELY a massive factor in the buckaroos who trot long term

there is always a sort of incoming class of buds who rise up, and inevitably a few of them will seem to WANT to make enemies with everyone around them the second they have even the smallest voice. i UNDERSTAND in the sense that we have these legendary jerk artists in our culture. HOWEVER

1 those artists generally let their asshole flag fly AFTER they reached the top and 2 if not, it was a different time, there is simply not enough money in the creative fields for major creative entities to tolerate talented up and coming assholes. it is FINANCIALLY a different timeline now

EVEN SO you can point to a few old big timers who are notorious assholes but i would say its important to consider JUST HOW BIG WOULD THEY BE IF THEY WERE ALSO KIND. what if they were that talented AND watched out for their buds? heres what happened to the 'jerk brands' i trotted up with personally

every single one of them got intoxicated by the identity of being mean or ‘just tellin it like it is’ and then fell directly onto their face. the only ones who escaped were those who started that way on the trot up and IMMEDIATELY pulled it together and stopped and changed course

i know it might seem obvious to many reading this but you would be SHOCKED how many buds thinks it is a COOL IDENTITY to cultivate. some will probably subtweet this haha but listen bud, the directors you trash SEE IT. publishers DONT NEED TO TOLERATE TALENTED ASSHOLES ANYMORE THERES NOT ENOUGH MONEY

important reminder that i am talkin on artists who are PUBLICLY assholes, who trash talk their classmates or their fans. the ones who EMBRACE THIS IDENTITY as a sort of flag to wave because it gets them attention. theres plenty of SECRET assholes who find success, unfortunately. that is other topic

it is also important to say that FIGHTING THE POWERS THAT BE or protesting the scoundrels of the world is not being an asshole. KINDNESS CAN BE STRONG AND DIRECT AND POWERFUL. we need kind, strong buckaroos these days. it is not a weakness to love, and you should speak up for those who need it

so what can be done? what happens if you are reading this post and thinking ‘oh heck i can feel myself falling into asshole trap?’ well as a first reminder you can do anything you want bud, HAVE AT IT because i am not telling you this for MY sake, but if you want some actual advice id say this:

just being kind is MUCH easier than it seems, it only takes a little effort to reach out to your buds, to help, to encourage, to assistant, to talk about how much you liked someones film or song or book. jealousy or frustration are NATURAL feelings, but you dont have to let them run the show.

you MAY have to mourn the times an author couldve reached out for a book event that never happened because you turned them into an enemy. or a record executive read the stuff you said in some interview and pulled the soundtrack slot that was waiting for you on their desk. but IT IS NEVER TOO LATE

YOU can turn those feelings into fuel instead of venom, and GUESS WHAT it will genuinely be great for your art. LOVE is such an incredible driver, even when its manifested from anger or darkness. it takes some work, but i believe its worth it for your heart AND your prospects as an artist. LETS TROT

#chuck tingle #love is real #art theory #creativity #publishing #book industry #creative industries #lets trot #prove love

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bishovapls · 3 months ago

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Our Little One - You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You're Sorry.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: A strange day in class and a cryptic text from Natasha have you dreading what’s next. At home, Wanda’s waiting, and together, they’re about to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Spanking, Cunnilingus, Strap-on, Punishment, Overstimulation, Safe word check-ins, small bit of angst.

A/N: Look, I wasn’t planning to write this, but then Natasha and Wanda crawled into my head right before bed the other night and refused to leave until I caved. This is my first one-shot, and easily the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. I have no idea if it turned out any good, but hopefully it flows well. So, enjoy, or survive, whichever seems more fitting.

Word Count: 12,527

NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

College had drained the life out of you today. You’d sat through back-to-back lectures, trying not to let the endless blur of PowerPoints and polite academic discussion turn your brain into useless soup. By the time your final class rolled around, you were already operating on autopilot, held upright by nothing but caffeine and sheer, exhausted stubbornness.

And yet, despite the fatigue, despite how desperately you wanted the day to be over, you found yourself unconsciously smoothing your hair and tugging your top into place as you stepped into the room.

Because this wasn’t just any class, there was always something different about walking into her room. A hum in your veins. A pulse just beneath your skin. It wasn’t the subject matter, it was her.

Professor Romanoff.

Or just Natasha, when the door was closed and no one else could hear the name fall softly from your lips.

Usually, you’d steal a few precious minutes after class. Ten, maybe fifteen, if she didn’t have another lecture lined up immediately. She’d lean back on her desk, arms crossed, mouth twitching in amusement as you tried, more often than not successfully, to talk her into a heated quickie in the quiet lull before the next hour began.

But that was only ever behind closed doors. In public, she was something else entirely. She had the kind of presence that made even the most confident students lower their eyes and double-check their notes. And it wasn’t an act, Natasha didn’t do acts. She was hard, cold, and impossible to read unless she wanted to be read. And more often than not, she didn’t.

You liked that about her. Actually, you more than liked it. There was something magnetic about the way she commanded a room without ever raising her voice. Something in the quiet precision of her words, in the danger you could sense just beneath the surface. It made your skin tingle, and your cheeks flush as you shift in your seat, trying to relieve the ache that always seemed to build around in her presence.

On a normal day, focusing during her lectures was already difficult, not because the material wasn’t interesting, but because she was more interesting. Because she stood there like a force of nature disguised in slacks and a fitted blazer. Because you knew what that mouth could do when it wasn’t explaining the inner workings of federal power structures.

And because, in some twisted, ridiculous way, part of you liked having to work for her attention. Liked knowing she was the hardest thing in your life to get close to, even when you already had her.

And usually, she kept her distance with practised ease, never letting her gaze linger too long, never allowing her attention to wander toward you, no matter how many times you tried to catch it. She didn’t fall for your excuses to hover near her desk, or the innocent questions you’d find reasons to ask.

She was disciplined, deliberate, and always composed, always professional, navigating that fragile line between teacher and temptation with the kind of precision that left no room for mistakes.

But not today.

Today, Natasha kept looking at you. Not constantly. Just glances. Fleeting, quiet checks. But you felt every single one of them. It wasn’t like her usual rhythm, when her eyes would catch yours so quickly during a particularly dry section of theory and flicker with the faintest hint of amusement.

No, this was different, even subtle at first, almost unnoticeable. Her eyes would lift from her notes, sweeping the room with feigned indifference, only to linger on you a heartbeat too long. Then again, after each slide, her gaze inevitably found its way back. Until eventually, she was watching you mid-sentence, the shift unmistakable.

Her brow would twitch, her jaw tighten just slightly, small betrayals in an otherwise unreadable face. But you saw them. You felt them.

Your nerves prickled. You sat up straighter and tried to follow the lecture, but your attention fractured every time her eyes found yours. You’d give her a faint smile, a small nod, some invisible reassurance that you were fine, that everything was normal.

But clearly, something wasn’t because her face never changed. And yet, with each minute that passed, the tension in her jaw seemed to wind tighter.

The class dragged on. Her voice stayed controlled, of course, but her movements grew clipped, maybe even impatient. She wasn’t just stern. She was simmering, and you didn’t know why.

You looked down at your notes, and they were useless. A few broken lines from the opening ten minutes, before you realised you were being watched like a suspect, not a student. Your chest felt too tight. You could feel it, the storm building behind her silence, the sheer weight of her restraint. Her eyes hadn’t softened once.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d looked at you just a couple of nights before, barefaced and warm, as you curled between her and Wanda in bed. That softness felt galaxies away now. As if this woman standing in front of thirty tired college students wasn’t capable of it at all.

When class finally ended, you stayed seated for a moment, waiting for everyone else to leave. You tried to catch her eye. You needed something, an explanation, a gesture, anything.

But when you stood and took a hesitant step forward, she froze you in place with a single look. Her eyes were ice-cold; it wasn’t a glare, but something worse, something that felt like it was carved from stone.

Her lips didn’t move, but her expression spoke louder than words ever could: Do not come closer. And then, as if to seal it, she gave the slightest shake of her head. You stopped in your tracks, your heart hammering in your chest.

She turned without another word and walked out, the echo of her heels swallowed by the corridor. Gone. No explanation. No signal to follow.

You sat back down slowly, palms clammy against the fabric of your jeans, your chest too tight for proper breath. Fumbling, you pulled out your phone and typed:

Y/N: Hey, just checking in. I can see you want space, but if you need anything, you know where I am 💕

You didn’t expect an answer right away, but waiting felt unbearable. Students passed by in the hallway, voices echoing down the corridors, but it all blurred together beneath the pounding in your skull.

Then, finally, your phone lit up:

Nat ❤️: Don’t even think about going back to your dorm tonight. I want you at the house when I get home.

You stared at the message, heat rising up your neck. Your mouth went dry. It was a Wednesday. You never stayed over on a Wednesday, and she knew that. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t planned. This was a summons. Your fingers trembled slightly as you replied:

Y/N: No problem, but I do have class tomorrow?

The response came back immediately, with the kind of precision that made you feel like she’d been waiting to strike:

Nat ❤️: I do not care. You have some explaining to do and a punishment to take.

Your stomach dropped. The words didn’t excite you, not the way they sometimes might have. Because you hadn’t done anything. Not that you could remember, anyway.

Y/N: May I ask what I did? 🥺

You watched the typing bubble appear and vanish, reappear, vanish again. That alone was terrifying. Then came the final message:

Nat ❤️: If you don’t know, that’s even more of a problem. I will see you later.

Your fingers went numb around your phone. The conversation was over. Not a door closed, but slammed. You were being summoned, not invited. And Natasha was not the kind of woman who forgave ignorance.

You sat there, alone in the empty lecture hall, trying to piece together what had just happened. Trying to slow your racing heart. Trying to make sense of the shift in her, and the way she’d kept watching you, the subtle fury in her shoulders by the time she’d left.

Eventually, you stood slowly. The world outside was still moving, students were chatting, feet were pounding down the stairs, but you couldn’t hear any of it through the roar of your thoughts. You had no idea what you’d done, but tonight, you’d find out.

And Natasha? She’d make sure you never forgot.

-----

You push the door open to Wanda and Natasha’s house, the familiar click of the lock sounding almost like a welcome. You’ve had a key for a while now, a simple gesture that felt far too intimate at first, but over time became just another part of your routine.

You stay with them most nights, save for Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays when it’s just easier to commute to your early classes from your dorm. As much as you love their place, the commute isn’t something you’re willing to make five days a week, not when there’s a perfectly good bed waiting for you just five minutes from campus.

Wanda’s been on a mission to get you to move in permanently. She’s convinced you’re one bad decision away from passing out from dehydration or malnutrition. She wants to keep you close, so she can make sure you're actually eating and hydrating properly on those long days of class. And honestly, she’s not wrong.

Since you left on Tuesday morning, not a drop of water has passed your lips. You've been running on caffeine and convenience, coffee, soda, instant ramen, and the odd granola bar when you remember it exists. It's not that you want to neglect yourself, you just…forget.

Between the whirlwind of lectures, social obligations, deadlines that keep multiplying, and the constant pressure to stay ahead, basic self-care always seems to fall to the bottom of the list. But Wanda, with her soft, knowing smiles and that relentless stream of gentle, insistent nagging, never lets it slide. She pushes you persistently to do better, to take care of yourself the way she so clearly wants to and moving in would make that job so much easier for her.

You’re just not sure you’re ready to take that leap, even though you’re there most nights anyway. Even though, when you open the door, you feel like it is more of a home than your dorm ever could be. More of a home than you have ever had.

You are just about taking off your jacket when you hear it, footsteps pounding across the hardwood floor, fast and frantic, followed by a high-pitched shout, “Who’s there?!”

You freeze in place, but before you can even process what’s happening, Wanda rounds the corner, eyes wide and panicked. She’s holding a rolling pin, raised high, defensive, like she’s ready to take down any intruder. But the second her eyes meet yours, the tension in her posture melts away.

Her hand flies to her chest, breath rushing out of her in relief. “Oh my God, I thought someone was breaking in!” she says, voice trembling with laughter as she lowers the rolling pin, clutching it like a lifeline. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here! Thank God it’s just you!”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, watching Wanda’s wide-eyed panic dissolve into a warm, relieved smile. It’s like she’s just narrowly escaped some disaster, her whole posture shifting from defensive to relaxed. The rolling pin, once held in her grip like a weapon ready for battle, now seems almost comically out of place as she smooths her messy hair, catching her breath with a small, almost sheepish laugh.

“Wow, I’m sure that rolling pin would’ve really done some serious damage,” you tease, stepping further inside, the familiar scent of freshly baked bread wrapping around you like a warm, comforting hug. It feels like home, and the weight of the day lifts just a little as you breathe it in.

Wanda’s eyes flicker with a glint of mischief, her smile widening as she taps the rolling pin against her palm, the sound sharp and deliberate. “We can test it if you like, printsessa (princess),” she says, her tone light but with an undeniable edge. It’s playful, but there’s an authority in her voice that makes your pulse skip just a little.

You laugh nervously, but the teasing fades quickly as the reality of why you’re there settles back in. “Please don’t. I’m already being punished tonight. I don’t think I can take two.” The words feel heavy as they leave your mouth, and you can’t help but drop your playful demeanour, anxiety creeping back into your chest.

Wanda’s expression shifts immediately. Her eyes narrow slightly, her gaze becoming more intense as she takes a step closer to you, the playful dominance replaced by something a little more commanding. “Oh, malyshka (Little One),” she says, the softness in her voice not hiding the concern that edges into it. “What did you do? Is that why you’re here on a Wednesday?” Her words are measured, her presence filling the room as she stands a little taller, every inch of her radiating control.

You nod, your stomach twisting with unease. “I don’t know what I did,” you admit softly, almost ashamed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda’s eyes flash, the edge of authority sharpening as she steps closer still, crossing the space between you in two long strides. She leans down just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours. “How can you not know?” she asks, as if she can’t fathom how you could be this clueless about the situation.

You hand her your phone, the text thread from Natasha clearly visible on the screen. You don’t say anything, just letting Wanda read it in silence, feeling your heart race in your chest as she scans the words.

After a moment, Wanda chuckles softly, the sound rich with both amusement and disbelief. “Oh, she is mad, little girl,” she says, her voice low. “Surely, you must have some idea?” Her gaze softens just a touch, but the air is thick with the weight of her words.

You whine softly, feeling small under Wanda's gaze, your chest tightening with the anxiety that's been building for what feels like hours. Your voice comes out shaky as you mutter, “I promise, I don’t.”

Wanda stands there for a moment, her gaze hard, but she softens before you can even register the change. Then, without saying a word, she steps closer and gently places her hand on your cheek. The touch is tender, yet firm, grounding you in a way that only Wanda can.

Her thumb brushes over your skin as she leans in slightly, her voice quiet but commanding, “I think we should get you fed before Daddy gets home, don’t you?”

Her words send a shiver running down your spine, and you can’t help but feel the mix of anticipation and dread swirling in your stomach. “You are in for a long night,” she adds with a small, knowing smirk, and the intensity in her tone makes your heart skip.

You’re too nervous to say anything back, but you nod, unable to form any coherent words as the anxiety continues to crawl up your throat. Wanda watches you for a moment, assessing you, before she takes your hand, guiding you like a puppy as you follow her to the kitchen island.

You sit down as she instructs, the weight of everything still pressing on your chest, but Wanda’s calm presence is the only thing that keeps you grounded.

“Do some schoolwork while I cook dinner,” she orders gently, her tone still laced with that quiet authority. She pulls your laptop from your bag and places it in front of you before sliding a tall glass of ice-cold water across the counter toward you. “And drink up,” she adds with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You obey, opening your laptop and trying to focus on an essay for one of your classes. Wanda moves around the kitchen with ease, a soft hum escaping her lips as she begins cooking. The familiar, comforting scents of whatever she’s preparing fill the room, and your stomach growls in response. You try to ignore it, but the gnawing hunger in your stomach only intensifies the unease you are already feeling.

Eventually, Wanda moves back over to you, two plates in her hands. She sets them down gently and moves the laptop aside, her movements fluid and confident. You smile at her gratefully and shift the plate of food closer, your stomach growling louder.

Wanda sets herself on the other side of the kitchen island, her own plate in front of her, and begins to eat. But you can’t seem to shake the gnawing anxiety, the constant thought in your head: What did I do wrong?

Punishments aren’t something you fear; in fact, you crave them. They ground you, help you find clarity, but this time is different. You don’t know what you’ve done, and that uncertainty is eating away at you.

Wanda notices, because of course she does. Her sharp eyes never miss anything, and she can sense the distraction in your body language. She pauses mid-bite as she places one of her hands gently over yours, pulling your attention back to her. “Hey, malyshka (Little One), you okay?” she asks, her voice gentle but firm, the concern in her eyes unmistakable.

You nod, but it’s a lie. The words don’t come, and you can feel the weight of them sitting heavily on your tongue. Wanda doesn’t buy it. She looks at you with concern, her brow furrowing as she places her fork down. “Are you sure?” she asks again, her voice soft but insistent.

This time, you can’t just nod; you know she won’t accept that. You huff and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “I don’t know what I’ve done, Wands!” you finally spill out. “I hate this, she’s never done this before! She usually at least tells me what’s wrong! But now I don’t know! I don't know, and I’m stressed, and I…” You’re cut off as Wanda calmly places a finger over your lips.

“Sweetheart… do you want to safeword?” she asks, her tone low and understanding. “We can call off the punishment, we can cuddle. I’ll text her and tell her to come home as Nat, not Daddy?” Her voice is soothing, but there's no mistaking that she would respect your decision, whether you chose the safeword or not.

You shake your head quickly, almost panicked at the thought. “No! I want to take my punishment if I deserve it! I do! I just hate not knowing,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Wanda nods, her expression soft but still serious. “Okay. Do you want me to text her and ask her what happened?”

You hesitate, if Natasha finds out you’ve been whining, she might only get more upset, and you know what that means. The punishment will be harsher, sharper, drawn out with precision. And worse still, Wanda would know sooner what you’d done. She’d be disappointed too. That thought alone threatens to undo you.

The fear of making everything spiral further roots you to the spot. Your head shakes slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, thin and fragile. “I can wait,” you murmur, even though the tremble in your tone betrays just how hard that wait will be.

Wanda’s brow furrows in confusion. “But you’re upset,” she says softly, her gaze filled with concern.

You shrug, trying to find the right words, but they’re hard to grasp. “Not upset, just anxious. It’s okay, I swear. I’m green, promise,” you say, trying to reassure her, but it doesn’t feel convincing, even to you.

Wanda studies you for a moment, her eyes softening as she nods. “Okay, then. How about we go to the living room with our food and watch TV? You can keep your mind off it for a bit,” she suggests, her voice light but still commanding in that way that makes you feel safe.

You can’t help the huge grin that spreads across your face, the tension in your chest easing just a little at the idea of escaping into the comforting normalcy of watching TV with her. “Yes, please!” you say, a wave of relief washing over you as you get up and follow her to the living room.

-----

Thirty minutes later, you find yourself nestled in Wanda’s lap, completely relaxed. Your head rests against her chest, the steady beat of her heart soothing you as her fingers rake gently through your hair. Every pass of her hand makes you feel more grounded, more at peace than you have all day. The warmth of her embrace envelops you, and for a moment, all your worries seem to fade away, leaving only contentment in their wake.

But that peace is shattered the moment you hear the jingle of keys in the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the room, and your body stiffens instantly. Your muscles tense, your heart rate spikes.

Wanda notices immediately, her soothing presence never faltering. She coos softly, her voice a gentle balm against the sudden rush of anxiety. “Shh, it’s okay, Malyshka (Little One),” she whispers, her hands stilling in your hair for a moment before she resumes her tender strokes. “It is going to be fine, I promise.”

You try to take a deep breath, but your chest feels tight, your pulse quickening. The sound of the door opening only makes everything feel more real, and you can’t shake the anticipation that’s been building.

Wanda continues to hush you, her touch gentle but insistent, her own calmness seeping into you as she holds you close. She knows you’re on edge, and she’s determined to help you settle, even as the door swings open and the sound of footsteps grows louder.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Natasha’s voice cuts through the room like a whip, her gaze locking onto you with immediate intensity. Every muscle in your body tenses at the sound of her voice, and the calm Wanda had provided suddenly feels distant. “Did she not tell you she’s in trouble?”

Wanda, unfazed, offers a simple shrug. Her lips curl into a knowing, gentle smile as she leans down to plant a kiss on the side of your head, fingers brushing your hair softly. “She did, but she also said she didn’t know what she did. Can’t really be mad if I don’t know what I’m angry at, can I?” Her tone is soft, but there’s no mistaking the authority she carries in her words.

Natasha’s expression tightens, but there’s an unmistakable glint in her eyes, something between amusement and affection that flickers for a second, only to be quickly replaced by that hard exterior she wears so effortlessly.

She rolls her eyes, a silent acknowledgement of Wanda’s ability to disarm her, but Natasha knows this is only temporary. She knows exactly how this is going to unfold when she gets the full story. So she turns to you again, “Have you really pretended that you do not know?” Her voice is stern, but there’s an edge to it that makes you want to curl into Wanda even more.

You freeze, her gaze pinning you in place. “Nat, I—” you start, but Natasha interrupts you with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Who?!” she spits out, her voice a low, threatening rumble, and you feel the power of it go straight to your gut.

“Daddy! I’m sorry!” You blurt out quickly, the realisation hitting you hard that you’ve made the mistake of addressing her the wrong way.

“Now, tell me what you did,” Natasha orders, voice cold and firm, yet there’s an unmistakable tension in the air. Every inch of her radiates control, and you feel utterly exposed under her scrutiny.

Your heart begins to race, anxiety clawing at you from all sides. You search your mind desperately, but you can’t find anything that would explain the situation.

“Daddy! I don’t know! I swear I don’t!” you cry out, the panic creeping into your voice. Your chest tightens, and the air feels thick with pressure as the anxiety begins to overwhelm you. “Please, just tell me, and I’ll never do it again. I promise!” The words spill out in a flood, desperation lining each one.

Wanda cups your cheek gently. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” she coos, her voice soothing you just enough. “Tell her, Nat. She’s anxious. She genuinely doesn’t know.”

Natasha’s hard gaze softens just a fraction, but only for a moment, as she looks at you, taking in your state. She studies you quietly, the weight of her eyes never leaving your face. “Check in?” she asks softly, the sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. Her usual cold exterior is melting just a little, the concern in her voice undeniable.

You nod quickly, feeling the tension in your chest finally start to release just a little. “Green, Daddy,” you say softly, your voice shaky, “Just wanna know, please.” The words come out in a rush. You need to know what you’ve done because the uncertainty is almost unbearable.

Natasha’s gaze is piercing, unwavering as she studies you. You can almost feel the weight of her thoughts pressing down on you, trying to decide whether to accept your check-in or call everything off. It’s not the first time you’ve refused to use your safe word, after all.

You’ve always hated disappointing them, even though they’ve tried to reassure you time and again that using the safe word would never make them angry, that they would always prefer that over you suffering in silence.

Luckily, both Wanda and Natasha are masters at reading you by now. They can see the smallest shift in your body language, the way your breath catches or how your eyes dart, and they know when you need it, even if you don’t say a word.

This time, Natasha clearly reads that you are fine, and her decision is clear. Her expression hardens, her posture shifting as she straightens up, the cold, controlled version of herself taking over once more.

“Do you want to tell Mommy why you were being a little whore in my class, then?” Natasha sneers, her voice dripping with venom. It isn’t a question, it’s a command, an accusation that hits you with a force you weren’t prepared for.

The air grows heavy with tension, and you feel yourself shrinking and exposed. Wanda stiffens beneath you, and you feel her body tighten, the subtle shift in her posture unmistakable. Her voice is low, dangerous. "You what?" she asks, her tone sending a shudder through your entire body.

See, while Natasha can be jealous, Wanda is something else entirely, possessive in a way that runs deep. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she’s there in an instant, staking her claim. A possessive hand on your waist, pulling you closer, her eyes locking onto whoever dared to cross her, shooting daggers that make it clear: you’re hers. And later, she’ll make sure you never forget it. She’ll remind you, again and again, who you belong to.

And that's why Natasha’s words have your heart sinking into your stomach. You can feel Wanda’s temper flare, like a storm building just beneath the surface. The possessive, primal energy she exudes in moments like this is enough to make you feel both cherished and utterly helpless in her care. And now, with Natasha’s harsh words hanging in the air, you know that things are about to escalate, one way or another.

“I... I don’t know what you mean, Daddy,” you stammer, your words coming out shakily. “I didn’t do anything in class?” you ask, but your voice wavers with uncertainty, as if you don’t trust your own memory now.

Wanda’s gaze sharpens in an instant, her posture stiffening as she looks at you, her tone turning cold. “Are you trying to say Daddy’s a liar, little girl?” she murmurs, her voice laced with a warning that sends a chill down your spine.

“N…no, Mommy!” you rush to correct yourself, the panic evident in your voice. “I just…maybe she was confused,” you offer, though deep down you know that’s not going to help.

The moment the words leave your mouth, you see Natasha’s face darken, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous glint, and her lips curl into a dark, menacing laugh.

“So, I’m confused, hm?” Natasha spits, her voice dripping with disdain. The way she speaks makes you feel small, insignificant under her gaze. “So, you didn’t have that blonde slut all over you today?” The words cut through the air like a knife, and the heat in her voice makes your stomach twist.

Wanda’s grip on your waist tightens, her eyes flashing with a possessiveness that you know well. The air between the three of you feels thick, charged with the unspoken tension of what’s to come.

You think, like really, really think, and that’s when it hits you. Today, Carol came in and sat next to you. She’s in one of your other classes, and you’ve been working on a project together. She just decided to sit with you in this one. You hadn’t even thought twice about it, your mind focused on one thing and one thing only: Natasha.

“Y…you mean Carol?” you ask, your voice hesitant, heart racing as it all starts to click into place. The moment the name leaves your lips, Wanda’s grip tightens around your waist again, this time her nails digging into your skin with such force that you can feel the sting. You’re sure she’s leaving little indents.

Natasha’s eyes narrow, lips curling into something far darker than usual. “So you do know what I’m talking about,” she says, her voice low and filled with barely contained anger.

You swallow hard, the weight of what you’ve just admitted making your throat tighten. “Well, I guess…now you mention it. But it’s not what you think, I promise!” you scramble to explain. “We’re in a class together! We’re friends!”

Natasha’s voice cuts through the air with an icy edge. “She spent most of my lesson touching your arm and whispering to you, not once did I see you push her away.”

Your pulse spikes as you try to think of something, anything, that could make this right. “I wasn’t even paying attention to her, Daddy!” you protest, your voice wavering. “I was watching you!” You can’t help the desperation creeping into your words, but you know it’s a weak defence. If Natasha saw Carol touch you, she also saw Carol slip you a piece of paper with her number on it.

“Come here,” Natasha commands, her voice like steel.

You freeze, dread pooling in your stomach. You don’t want to, but there’s no escaping this. Wanda’s hand on your waist pushes you forward, an unspoken command in her touch.

You glance back at her, hoping for some sign of leniency, but Wanda’s expression is unreadable. She just nods towards Natasha, her lips pressed together in a line. “Go,” she says softly, but the command is clear, and you obey.

You walk to Natasha, your steps unsteady. When you get close, Natasha doesn’t say a word, she just leans into you, her body pressing against yours, solid and unyielding. Her hand slides around your back, pulling you close, before slipping into the back pocket of your jeans.

She pulls out the piece of paper, unfolding it slowly, eyes scanning the digits with a smirk. “So what’s this, then?” she asks, her voice dripping with barely contained fury. “I bet if I call this number, it’ll ring straight through to her, right?”

You feel the heat rising in your face, the guilt settling in your chest like a heavy weight. The words stick in your throat, but you force them out anyway. “We’re just working on a project together, I swear. It’s not what you think.” Your voice shakes slightly, small and uncertain.

“Does she know who you belong to, Kotenok (Kitten) ?” Natasha asks, her grip firm as she tilts your chin to meet her gaze.

“Of course not, we would get in trouble, Daddy,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. You wish you could shout it from the rooftops, to let everyone know the truth of your bond, but you can’t, not yet, at least. Not until you finish college.

“So, she thinks you’re free for the taking, then?” Natasha says, her voice sharp as her hand moves to rest lightly against your throat, a subtle pressure that sends a ripple of heat through you.

You nod as best you can with her hand on your throat, it’s not like you had any words that would make this any better for you.

Just then, Wanda’s presence shifts behind you, her voice soft but laced with something possessive as she murmurs in your ear, “Do you want her to take you, malyshka (Little One)? You want to be hers instead?”

"No! I only want Mommy and Daddy!" you say quickly, your voice trembling. "Just you, only you!" you plead, desperation creeping into your words, hoping they'll understand and let it go.

"So why didn’t you tell her that…You…Are…Taken?" Wanda growled, her voice low and firm, each word emphasised as her hands once again hold your waist possessively.

“I...I didn’t know what to say!” you stutter, your hands trembling by your sides, your eyes desperately darting between them both, searching for any sign of understanding. “She just wanted me to call about the project!”

Wanda’s eyes narrow, the intensity of her gaze enough to make the air around you feel suffocating. You can feel her anger rising, thick and palpable, but there’s something darker behind it, something more possessive, more protective.

Her lips curl into a scowl, and before you can blink, she spits the words at you like venom, “Next time you see her you tell her you are taken, or I swear i’ll send you there with a collar saying ‘Daddy and mommy’s Little Whore’, do you fucking understand me?”

Part of you can’t help but be completely captivated by the thought, the idea sparking something deep inside you and making you instinctively rub your thighs together. It makes your skin flush with heat, a pleasant, electric sensation running down your spine, and for a fleeting moment, you find yourself lost in the possessiveness that pulses in the air around you.

But then, just as quickly, the other part of you can’t shake the growing tension, the irritation radiating off both Natasha and Wanda, so raw and so intense, it’s almost suffocating.

The contrast is overwhelming, the pull of desire at odds with the heavy weight of their disapproval. You feel yourself caught between two forces, one tugging you towards them, the other urging you to retreat. The battle within you makes your chest tighten, your heart beating erratically in your ribcage.

With a sharp breath, you lock eyes with Wanda, your gaze wide, pleading, desperate for them to see how sorry you are. “Yes! I will tell her, I promise, all yours!” you cry out, your voice trembling.

Natasha watches the exchange quietly, her eyes, dark and unreadable, flicker between you and Wanda, her expression shifting from one of hard discipline to something softer, more calculating.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches you with a look that makes your stomach churn. Finally, her grip on your neck loosens, but there’s no warmth in her touch, no comfort. “Good,” she says flatly, her voice cold but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of satisfaction. “But you’ve still got a punishment to take. You still let someone touch what is ours, and you didn’t tell them you were taken.”

You nod, your voice quiet but firm. "I understand, Daddy."

Natasha’s smile widens, a glint of amusement in her eyes as she steps back slightly. "I'll be lenient this time," she says, her tone softened just a fraction. "You didn’t know what to say. But next time, there will be heavy consequences."

You offer a weak smile, your eyes locking with hers as you try to convey your gratitude. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice quiet but sincere.

She smiles back at you, her expression softening for a brief moment. "Of course, Kotenok (Kitten). Anything for you," she replies, her voice gentle. But then, as if snapping back to reality, her tone sharpens as she takes a step back. "Now, since I am being lenient, I will let you choose, me or mommy?"

The question lingers, and you feel the tension coil around you. You knew exactly what it meant, the decision of who would be responsible for determining the consequences of your actions.

There was a strange mix of both fear and heat at the thought, as each choice came with its own set of pros and cons, a balance of pleasure and discipline. Every scenario had its own sting, its own thrill, and you found yourself torn between the two.

With Wanda, you knew exactly what to expect: there would be a spanking, no question about it. It was inevitable. But as much as the thought of it made your stomach tighten, deep down, you knew it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

In fact, you knew that once you settled into it, the sting would fade into something else entirely, something that left you breathless, your body humming, and your thighs soaked.

When it came to Natasha, however, punishment wasn’t physical in that way. She didn’t need to raise a hand to make her point; she only needed to make you feel her dominance. It was always intense, overwhelming, and she would take you to that edge over and over, until you thought you might break, until you begged for that final release.

Despite the intensity, though, you knew either option would end on a positive note. That was how they worked, at least most of the time: punishment followed by reward. It wasn’t clear whether that was because they simply couldn’t help themselves when they saw your face stained with tears and your ass warm and bruised.

Or if they truly thought you needed it after a heavy punishment, but in the end, it didn’t matter. You always got what you wanted, and more, so there was no room for complaints. You were theirs, completely, and as much as it sometimes scared you, you couldn’t imagine wanting it any other way.

"I'll take Mommy," you say, your voice quiet but steady, hoping by choosing her, your punishment would be over sooner and you could get to the reward.

Natasha smirks, her eyes sharp with quiet understanding. She’s not the least bit surprised by your choice, it’s the one you gravitate toward most often. She’s observant enough to know why. She gets it.

But there’s a part of her that finds it amusing, maybe even a little telling. Because the faster route means you skip the slow unravelling, the careful teasing apart of your restraint. And sure, you get what you came for, but it’s not as deep, not as intense.

It hasn’t been dragged out of you, layer by layer, until you’re nothing but trembling need, until you’re sobbing, your voice breaking as you plead for mercy.

When it’s over too quickly, it never quite hits the same, and she knows that. Knows you’ll crave the kind of release that only comes when you’ve been pushed to your edge, and then held there just a little too long.

But still, you choose the faster path, because you’re ruled by the moment, always chasing the high without the patience for the slow burn. Immediate gratification. That’s your weakness, and Natasha sees right through it.

But you’ve made your choice, and with that, something changes in Wanda’s expression. Her eyes darken, a flicker of anticipation sparking in their depths, slow and deliberate. There’s a hunger there now, undeniable, smouldering just beneath the surface, as the reality of what she’s about to do sinks in.

The power of it. The control. It stirs something deep inside her, a heat curling in her chest, coiling low in her belly. And for a moment, she doesn’t look away. She lets you see it, lets you feel exactly what you’ve just invited.

After staring you down as if you were her prey, Wanda turns to Natasha as if you aren't even there. “I’ll heat up your food for you first,” her voice is smooth and teasing, with a playful glint in her eye.

There’s a soft warmth to her words, but she can’t help but add, “I’m sure you’re going to work up quite an appetite…though I think it’s more than just food you’re after, isn’t it?” She smirks, clearly enjoying teasing Natasha, who has an equal look of pure lust on her face.

“Thank you, love,” Natasha replies, her voice warm and genuine. She leans past you to kiss Wanda on the cheek, a soft, affectionate gesture that feels like a contrast to the intensity you’re feeling.

Wanda meets your gaze, “Go upstairs and wait for me,” she says, her words gentle but with an unmistakable edge, “you know what I expect of you.”

You nod, your thoughts spinning as you make your way upstairs, the anticipation building with each step. The familiar mix of excitement and nerves tightens in your chest as you reach the bedroom.

Without a second thought, strip down and position yourself on your knees, your back straight and your hands resting gently on your thighs, waiting in silence. You know the drill by now, the routine you've followed countless times, it's instinct.

You wait, the silence in the room stretching into what feels like an eternity, the minutes dragging on longer than they should. Five minutes feels like five thousand. Just as you're starting to wonder if the moment will ever come, Wanda enters, followed by Natasha, who holds a plate of food in her hands.

She settles herself on the chaise lounge in the bedroom, before casually tucking into her meal as if everything is perfectly normal, which leaves you staring in pure confusion.

You're here, waiting to be punished, naked as the day you were born and on your knees, and yet Natasha is sitting there, eating as if nothing is about to unfold. As if she weren’t the one who made this happen.

Wanda, however, doesn't miss a beat. She moves toward the end of the bed and gestures for you to come over. No words are needed; it's a command in the way she moves, in the way her eyes meet yours. You follow, your heart racing.

The moment you lower yourself across Wanda’s lap, the atmosphere thickens again. The air feels heavier somehow, charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. Anticipation winds itself tight in your chest, each breath more shallow than the last.

Her hand finds your back, steady and sure, fingers trailing with deliberate slowness. It isn’t quite a tickle, not really, it’s lighter, more precise, like she’s drawing something into your skin with invisible ink. Every pass leaves goosebumps in its wake, your skin tingling, burning, as though her touch carries heat just beneath the surface. And she knows. She always knows exactly what she’s doing.

“So, how many do you think you deserve?” she asks, her voice steady but with a hint of amusement.

You hesitate for a moment, but you know what you should say. “That’s for mommy to decide.” The memory of that one time you tried to choose, only to end up with triple the spanks, flashes in your mind.

“Correct answer. That’s my good girl,” Wanda murmurs, a small smile curling on her lips as her hand rubs your back.

Another shiver runs down your spine at the praise, a mix of warmth and something deeper pooling lower. You try your best to hold yourself still, the tension between you and Wanda hanging thick in the air.

She’s taking her time, letting the anticipation build in the way she knows best, and it only makes your heartbeat quicken. The silence seems to stretch on forever before she finally speaks again, her voice smooth, calm, and laced with that unmistakable authority.

“I think we should go for an even 20,” she says, the words lingering in the air. “You know the drill. Count, or we restart. Understood?”

The instructions are clear. Your pulse spikes with a mixture of dread and excitement, but you nod, determined to obey. “Understood. Thank you, Mommy.”

Wanda hums softly, the sound rich with approval, and shifts beneath you with slow, purposeful movements. You feel her adjust her grip, one arm anchoring you more securely, her body bracing to keep you from slipping away once the inevitable squirming begins.

The anticipation wraps itself around your ribs, pressing tight. It’s almost too much, the stillness, the waiting, but you hold yourself steady, grounding yourself in the reassuring weight of her hand. It’s a silent promise, one that says she’s in control now, and all you have to do is take it.

“Good,” Wanda murmurs, before her free hand lifts, the room seeming to hold its breath. The first strike comes quickly, sharp and firm, and you gasp, the sting resonating deep, your body jolting with the impact.

“One,” you say softly, the word barely escaping as the shock of the strike settles in.

Wanda’s fingers gently trace the spot where her hand had just made contact, and her voice comes, low and coaxing. “That’s it. Keep counting, sweetheart.”

The next strike lands, as harsh and deliberate as the last, and you gasp sharply, the sound escaping before you can control it. Your mind scrambles to keep up, to count each blow, but each one piles onto the next, making your muscles tense and coil tighter.

You fight to focus, trying to force the numbers out of your mouth, but with each impact, helpless whines and gasps slip past your lips. Your body is caught in a battle, pull away, or stay still, torn between the instinct to escape and the overwhelming pull to please them.

Wanda stops halfway through; she doesn’t speak immediately, letting the moment hang between you. “Halfway there,” she comments after a moment, her tone neutral, but you can hear the faint edge of satisfaction. “You’re doing so well, you make such pretty sounds when you're sorry.”

Your body hums with a heady mixture of discomfort and desire. The line between pain and pleasure blurred just a few strikes in, your nerves now tangled in the sensation, electric and consuming. You’re grateful for the brief pause, your breath coming in shallow bursts, because you were teetering dangerously close to the edge. And coming without permission, and during a punishment, was asking for a whole world of trouble.

Been there, done that. Couldn’t sit for a week. Didn't cum for two. Never, ever again.

The sensation thrums through you, overwhelming and all-consuming. And yet, what leaves you most exposed, most unsteady, is Natasha. Seated just beyond reach, her presence a quiet constant, she hasn’t looked away once. Calm, unreadable, completely focused on you, on every twitch, every kick, every sound.

She’s impossibly calm, sitting there with her meal, each bite unhurried, her posture loose and at ease, as if you aren’t draped over Wanda’s lap, your skin flushed a vivid red, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. As if the sounds you’re making, the trembling of your body, aren’t happening right in front of her.

And somehow, it only makes everything worse, in the best, most unbearable way. The casualness of it, the way Natasha observes without a flicker of surprise or discomfort, makes something inside you ache.

Eventually, Wanda starts spanking again, each one taking you closer to the end of the 20. There’s no rushing; Wanda’s pace is deliberate, making sure every strike has its intended effect.

The last strike comes, and you can’t help but gasp, your entire body tightening as you brace yourself. “Twenty,” you manage to say, your voice shaky, relief filling your chest.

Wanda’s hand rests lightly on your ass, her fingers grazing over the sensitive skin, the touch soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the sharpness of what came before. There’s a brief moment of stillness between you, the room quiet except for the sound of your breath.

Slowly, Wanda lifts your chin, her gaze meeting yours, taking in the tear-streaked lines on your face. She leans forward, placing a soft kiss on your temple.

Her voice, when she speaks again, is softer, but the control remains, a steady thread woven through her words. “Good girl. You took your punishment so well.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” you whisper, your throat already a little sore from the crying out and moaning from your spanks. Your body still hums with the lingering heat of what just passed.

The fingers of her free hand make their way between your thighs, very gently pushing them open before dipping down to tease your slit. “You got so wet from Mommy’s spanking, malyshka (Little One),” she mused. You automatically push back into her touch, your pussy begging for relief, a small moan ripping up your throat from the contact.

She chuckles darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Doesn’t seem like it was much of a punishment if you are this worked up, hm?” she says, her fingers gently stroking between your folds, collecting the wetness that has built up. “What do you think, Natasha?” she asks, glancing toward the redhead with a knowing smirk. “Does she need more?”

You can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips at her words, but you stay quiet, focusing on keeping yourself composed. You know better than to speak out of turn; your mouth will only get you in trouble right now.

Natasha leans back slightly, studying you for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She places her plate down on the side table and moves closer, her presence almost overwhelming as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes soften just a touch as she meets your gaze, before she leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You did good,” Natasha murmurs, her voice low and steady, wrapping around you like a soft caress. The words sink deep, easing the rawness that still lingers in your chest. “You are forgiven, my love.”

Wanda’s voice cuts through the moment, smooth and teasing. “You’ve gone soft,” she says to Natasha, her fingers never pausing their motions. The warmth blossoming inside you is undeniable now, between the spanking and this teasing, you already feel ready to cum. Your body is on edge, waiting for that command, waiting to be told it is okay.

Natasha chuckles, her gaze darkening slightly as she watches you. “You just enjoy spanking her too much,” she says, voice dripping with a mix of affection and challenge. “Maybe you need to remember what it’s like.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. You swallow hard, a wave of pure desire rushing through you at the thought of watching your Mommy over your Daddy’s knee. Your mouth goes dry, and before you can stop yourself, a loud moan escapes your lips, the sound betraying your excitement at the thought.

“You like that idea?” Natasha asks, her tone rich with amusement and something more. “You wanna watch Mommy get spanked, Kotenok (Kitten) ?” You can only nod, your body betraying you once again, words refusing to form as your brain shows you images in your mind.

“You are going to regret that,” Wanda warns as she suddenly pushes her fingers inside your soaking hole, pumping in and out of you mercilessly, hitting that deep spot just right. All you can do is squirm and moan; you are entirely at her mercy.

“Mmm, shit….shit…so…good, Mommy….so goood” you manage to let out between moans as your hips try their best to push back to somehow get her fingers even further inside you. You certainly regret nothing right now.

Wanda keeps up the pace, and you can feel your walls getting tighter, squeezing her fingers. You are close, so close, and she knows it. Wanda leans down slightly her mouth hovering just above your ear as she murmurs, “are you about to cum for us, slut?” which results in an absolutely obscene moan falling from your mouth as you nod feverishly.

Suddenly, Natasha’s voice slices through the charged silence, sharp and commanding. “Wanda, stop.” Her tone is final, leaving no room for defiance.

To your absolute disappointment, Wanda obeys without hesitation. The abrupt stop leaves you with a sudden emptiness, and you can’t hold it back. The whine that escapes you is loud, desperate, and completely unrestrained.

Your chest tightens as fresh tears well up, spilling down your cheeks in silent frustration. “Please! Daddy, please let me cum!” You beg, giving her the best puppy dog eyes you possibly could, “You said I was forgiven!”

Natasha ignores your whining as she walks towards the closet with her usual confident stride, her eyes glinting with a playful spark. A few moments later, she emerges, naked apart from the most girthiest strap you own hanging from her hips, the smirk on her face never fading.

Your eyes linger on her, unashamedly taking in every detail, and you notice Wanda's gaze following suit. She chuckles softly at the sight, her amusement clearly evident. Then, with a wicked smile, she continues, "You’re forgiven, but there’s one thing you didn’t count on."

Your breath catches, eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of apprehension. “What?” you ask, the word coming out more strained than you intended, a knot forming in your stomach.

“I know you,” she says, her voice low and sure as she strides toward you. With a firm grip, she manhandles you off Wanda’s lap, and you go willingly, your body already responding to her touch as she lays you down on your front on the bed. “So I know exactly how you think,” she adds, her tone almost teasing, as if she’s savouring the anticipation of what comes next.

“And I know,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear, “you thought choosing Wanda’s punishment woud mean you get to cum faster.” Her voice is a soft whisper, filled with knowing amusement, as if she’s fully aware of the thoughts that ran through your mind.

She grips your hips firmly, lifting them so you’re forced onto your hands and knees. With a swift motion, she pushes you down, guiding your back into a deep arch. You surrender to her touch, allowing her to position you just as she wants, the desire to please and obey coursing through you, making you still and compliant.

“Wanda, sit in front of her,” Natasha commands, her voice steady and authoritative. Wanda responds with a simple nod, acknowledging the instruction before gracefully moving to take her place, sitting directly in front of you, spreading her legs wide, giving you a complete view of her soaking folds.

“Now, since you thought you were clever, you don’t get to cum until she does,” Natasha growled as her eyes locked on Wanda’s bare cunt. The intensity in her gaze was palpable, and her voice, though strained, carried an unmistakable edge. “Go on, make Mommy feel good.”

You immediately set to work, your focus absolute, as if your very life hinged on the task at hand. Natasha was pushing your face hard in Wanda’s cunt, as if you didn't need to breathe. In your eyes though, you would die happy if it was right there, between her thighs; licking and sucking in the exact way she taught you.

“F…Fuck, you’re so good at that,’ Wanda moaned, her hips pushing even further into your face. “Need to put that pretty mouth of yours to use more often.” Her voice was breathless, her eyes locked on yours, pupils wide with desire.

You can’t help the way your chest swells with pride at the praise. The compliment sent a jolt directly to your core. You swore you felt yourself clench around nothing, and a moan accidentally slipped from your lips.

It didn't take long, though, for it not to be nothing; suddenly, Natasha was behind you, her strap stroking through your folds as she got it wet using just your juices. You all knew it would be enough, you had felt them dripping down your thighs ages ago, you’re pretty sure she could slide right in with how turned on you were right now.

And she did. She didn't give you a single bit of warning before she forced the whole thing in at once, in one long thrust. You cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure tearing through you at the stretch. Your body shivered, and you instinctively tried to pull away. Natasha’s grip was firm on your waist as she stayed still.

"Shh, it’s okay," she murmured, her voice softer than anything she’d said all night. "Take a moment, detka (babe)." The tenderness in her words was a stark contrast to the intensity before, offering a brief respite that you hadn't realised you needed.

She waited, giving you time to adjust, but it was clear she waited too long when your hips began moving of their own volition. She watched with amusement. She could see that you were seeking more, but she wouldn't be moving until you used your words, even if desperate little whines were falling from your lips.

Plus, the vibrations from the whines only added extra pleasure for Wanda, so really, it was only you losing out. Natasha was having fun as always, and Wanda had you eating her cunt. They were on cloud nine while you were waiting to join them.

"Use your words," she scolded as she landed a spank to your right ass cheek. The sensation, though not particularly harsh, jolted through you, and you couldn’t contain the sharp cry that escaped your lips, especially with your ass still raw from Wanda’s earlier strikes. The sting felt amplified, every nerve on edge, and the sound you made was almost instinctual.

Natasha laughed at your reaction, and the sound only deepened the flush of heat spreading through you. It was as if her amusement made everything feel sharper, more intense.

Before you could fully register it, another blow landed, and this time, you jolted forward, and she harshly pulled you back until you had taken her to the hilt again. Yet another noise left your throat, a sound caught somewhere between a moan, a whine, and maybe even a sob.

You knew you needed to get the words out if you wanted more, but the difference between understanding that and actually doing it felt impossible when your brain was starting to melt from the feeling of Natasha’s cock buried inside you and Wanda’s soaking cunt on your face.

“Just use your words, and you can have what you want, printsessa (princess),” she coaxed, her tone both soft and demanding.

You huff, the frustration building up inside you. The words feel thick on your tongue, as if they’re stuck, unwilling to come out. You whine softly, a mixture of embarrassment and desperation creeping up in your chest.

Finally, you force the words out, each one scraping against the rawness inside you, “Please, Daddy. Please fuck me.”

"There we go, was that so hard?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of satisfaction as you finally managed to answer her. You shook your head, ready to respond, but before the words could leave your mouth, she silenced you when she pulled out and slammed back in again, and again, she gave you no time to breathe, no time to recover. She just pounded relentlessly, and you just took it, mouth hanging open, eyes glazed over, moans tumbling from your lips.

“Is this what you wanted, hm?” Natasha’s voice was a low growl, laced with raw desire as she drove into your soaked cunt. “To be shown who owns you? Why, we own you, hm?”

“Mmm…shit, yes. Daddy!” You pant out, lifting your head from between Wanda’s thighs for a second. “Want you to use me, Daddy. Make me your toy, your doll. Just please, please don’t stop!” you end up practically screaming the last of that sentence as your desperation to finally get to the edge spikes.

Natasha groaned at your words, the sound escaping her before she could stop it. She took a deep breath, collecting herself as best she could, her composure slipping for just a moment before she regained control. “Then get your face back in your Mommy’s cunt and make her cum,” natasha ordered.

You followed her instructions, knowing that this was the path to getting what you desired. You poured all your focus into Wanda’s cunt, trying your best to push aside the mounting pressure building in your core.

Soon, Wanda's body language shifted, her legs quivering, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. A glistening sheen of sweat coated her skin, the evidence that she was close to her own high, clear to both you and Natasha. “Gonna cum,” she breathed, “doing so good, so close. So close!”

Then, without so much as another breath, she reached her peak, her head tilting back as a loud moan escaped her lips. You slowed, allowing her to ride out the wave, a lazy smile settling on her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, her entire body relaxing as she savoured the aftermath.

You turned your head, resting it gently on her thigh as her hand came to cradle your hair, her fingers brushing through it with a tender touch. Natasha was still fucking into you, but less intensely allowing you both a moment to settle. “Thank you, little one,” Wanda murmured softly, her voice full of warmth. “You did so well. Made Mommy feel so good,” she praised.

But the softness of the moment was shattered, as Natasha got impatient and gripped your hair, pulling you sharply upwards. Your body arched involuntarily, until your back was pressed against her front, and a high-pitched squeal escaped your lips as the strap inside you shifted almost painfully.

”Now, it’s time I show you why it is us that you belong to, whore,” Natasha growled lowly in your ear, her hand moving from your hair to around your throat as her thrusts became even harder, even deeper than before.

Each thrust left you breathless, your mind a haze as you surrendered completely to her, trusting that you were safe in her care. Your skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve alive with a sharp, buzzing heat, and your legs began to tremble.

“Taking my cock so well,” Natasha purred, her breath wet and hot against your ear as she watched your whole body writhe below her. She kept up the relentless rhythm, her free hand making its way across your stomach and down towards your clit. She applied pressure, rubbing small circles against your clit and you stopped even trying to contain yourself. You moaned and whined with no shame.

“Just like that,” she panted as she continued thrusting. “I know you can take it, I know you can! Good girl, Khoroshiy malen'kiy kotenok (good little kitten),” she mutters, focused on nothing but thrusting in and out, losing herself in the moment.

Natasha’s voice was starting to fray at the edges, laced with something raw and hungry, like she was losing the battle to keep control. There was a roughness to her tone now, not just command but craving, deep, aching and barely restrained.

She sounded desperate, and it did something to you, hearing her like that. Like she loved the way you needed her. The way your body trembled, the way every sound you made was a plea you didn’t know you were making.

Each second that passed, you slipped further, your need unravelling in waves, and she was watching it happen like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

She squeezed your throat tighter, before gently kissing your hair, as if she couldn’t decide whether to break you apart or hold you together. You whimpered, and she let out a low groan in response, the kind that came from somewhere deep in her chest, and you felt the weight of her hunger press down on you like gravity.

“Look at you,” she breathed, her fingers still working your clit, but her other hand was gripping your neck, maybe hard enough to bruise. “Falling apart just for us.”

You tried to answer, but your voice cracked, your throat too tight from the relentless hold. Wanda was still in front of you, eyes heavy-lidded and warm, a flush on her cheeks that told you she was still riding the high you gave her.

She looked at you with such tenderness that it almost hurt. Her gaze was a soothing warmth, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket, contrasting sharply with Natasha's burning fire. Together, they created a balance that made you feel like you were slowly melting, and you were.

“Breathe,” Wanda murmured, reaching out to brush her fingers across your cheek, her touch feather-light. “You’re doing so good, little one.”

You nodded weakly, eyes shimmering, tears slipping down your cheek, not from pain, not even from pleasure anymore, but from the sheer intensity of it all. From being seen, being wanted. Being claimed by these two beautiful women.

“I wanna keep you like this,” Natasha whispered, a promise and a threat all in one. “Forever desperate. Always Needy. Ours.”

And god, you wanted that. You wanted them, both of them. The roughness, the tenderness, the way they made you feel everything all at once until it overwhelmed you in the best possible way. You were already theirs, in every way that mattered.

There was a tremble in Natasha’s touch now, barely noticeable, but you felt it. She was shaking too. For all her dominance, her unwavering commands, she was just as lost in this as you were. And something about that made your chest ache.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your voice was buried under the moans she forced out of you with every brush of her fingers against your clit, every thrust of her hips.

You felt Wanda’s eyes still on you, soft and steady, grounding you again when Natasha felt like too much. That balance between them, between being cherished and undone, was addictive. You needed it like air.

“I love watching you fall apart,” Natasha mumbled, more to herself than you as she continued her merciless assault on your cunt. “Every time, you’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You couldn't help the way your breath hitched sharply in your throat, overwhelmed by her words. The position she had you in left you with nothing to grasp, no solid ground to hold on to as your body trembled beneath the weight of it all.

A stuttered gasp escaped your lips, your fingers digging into your own thighs, nails sinking deep into your skin in a frantic attempt to ground yourself, to find something to cling to.

Then Wanda reached for you, her touch gentle but insistent as she pried your hands free, interlacing her fingers with yours and holding tight. The moment her palms met yours, warmth flooded through you, grounding and steadying.

“We’ve got you, baby,” she whispered, voice thick with affection and something far deeper.

You managed to look at her, your eyes wide and wet, rolling back like you couldn’t focus. You were barely present, teetering on the edge, and they both saw it, even felt it. Your breathing was erratic, shallow, desperate, and your body gave itself away with every uncontrollable twitch. You were close. And they knew.

Wanda squeezed your hands, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles like she was trying to soothe the storm in you. Behind you, Natasha’s grip tightened with intent, and the pressure between their presence and your own unravelling senses pushed you that much nearer to the brink.

“Please, please! Please let me cum!” you finally sob, the words ripped from you like a confession. Your voice trembles, thick with desperation and barely contained emotion. You’re falling apart at the seams, and you know you need permission; you need it.

Every nerve in your body is stretched tight, every second dragging you closer to a release that feels like it might break you. “I can’t…I can’t hold on,” you whisper, breath hitching as your body quivers under their touch.

Natasha leaned in then, her breath hot against the back of your neck, lips barely grazing skin as she murmured low and deliberate, “Don’t hold back. Let go for us. Make a mess on my cock.”

The command coiled through you, and your whole body went taut, your back arching involuntarily as sensation surged through you, wild and uncontrollable. It didn’t feel like one thing; it felt like everything all at once. Pleasure, pain, safety, release. Like your chest was caving in and expanding at the same time. Like you were unravelling from the inside out, piece by piece, and yet being held together by the grip of their hands on your body, their voices grounding you in the chaos.

Wanda’s eyes were locked on yours, her expression soft and awestruck, her lips parted like she was witnessing something sacred. “That’s it, malyshka (Little One), just like that,” she praised. “So pretty for us, so perfect when you cum.”

And Natasha, still behind you, didn’t let up. Her movements steady, her voice low and encouraging, even as her hands tightened around you to hold you up so she could continue thrusting.

Your breath came in broken gasps, your hands trembling in Wanda’s grip. You weren’t sure if you were sobbing or moaning or both. Your body was shaking so hard it barely felt like it belonged to you anymore. “No more…I can’t. Too much!” you gasped, your words choked and breathless.

But despite your pleas, Natasha didn’t stop. She knew you, knew your limits, so she pushed you further, drawing out every last tremble, every shuddering breath, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from your body until you were barely able to stay upright, your eyes fluttering closed, your body nothing more than deadweight in her hands.

Natasha knew then it was time to stop. With a care that contrasted the intensity moments before, she eased you back down, guiding your trembling form gently until your head came to rest in Wanda’s lap once more. You didn’t even think about it, you just nuzzled your cheek into the softness of her thigh, chasing warmth, comfort, the closeness you craved. Her hand was already there, running through your hair with slow, soothing strokes, her touch quieting the aftershocks still rippling through you.

Natasha settled beside you, her presence grounding in its own way, and began peppering your face with soft kisses, your temple, your jaw, the corner of your lips. “You’re so good for us,” she murmured, her voice a soft hush against your skin, barely louder than your unsteady breaths. “You took everything so well.”

She kissed you again and again until your breath hitched into something lighter, a small, surprised giggle escaping you. That sound, fragile and warm, made her smile. “I’m going to get you some water, okay?” she asked, fingers brushing your cheek.

You nodded, though your lower lip jutted out in a faint pout that made her laugh under her breath. “I’ll be back in two minutes, little one,” she promised, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before slipping away.

True to her word, Natasha returned quickly, a glass of water in one hand and a small bowl of fruit in the other. “Let’s get some of this in you, then we’ll relax a bit before we clean up, alright?” she offered, her tone gentle and coaxing.

You nodded again, still too dazed for speech, the world around you muffled by the sheer weight of everything you’d just felt. Wanda’s arms came around you as she helped you sit up against her chest, cradling you close.

Natasha took the glass and held it to your lips, careful and patient, feeding you sips of water and little pieces of fruit. You let yourself be taken care of, basking in the warmth of their attention, their quiet smiles, their steady hands.

In that quiet moment, your body drained, your soul exposed, you felt it envelop you completely. Fulfillment. Peace. Satisfaction. But above all, love. You knew, in that instant, that you would need nothing else for the rest of your life, as long as you were with them.

As if she’d plucked the thought right from your head, Natasha spoke up, her voice low and teasing, “Was that enough of a reason to tell the blonde whore to leave you alone?” There was a smirk playing on her lips, but her eyes still glinted with that possessive edge, like even now, hours later, the idea of someone else touching you made her jaw clench.

You let out a breathy laugh, your smile soft as your head rested against Wanda’s chest. “I would happily never speak to her again,” you murmured honestly. “Though you guys had nothing to worry about.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing her nose affectionately against your temple. “We know,” she said, her tone warm and reassuring. Then she chuckled, light and unbothered. “But if we didn’t get a little jealous sometimes, we wouldn’t have amazing sex like this, now would we?”

"I mean, we definitely still would," you teased, a playful smirk tugging at your lips, knowing full well that jealousy wouldn’t have been necessary for tonight's events to unfold; it just made everything that much more intense.

Their teasing wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and familiar, easing the last of the tension from your bones. Eventually, Natasha scooped you up without warning, ignoring your sleepy protest as she carried you to the bathroom. Wanda followed close behind, humming softly to herself as she gathered towels.

You took your time together, rinsing off the remnants of the night with gentle touches and sleepy smiles, stealing kisses between lathered hands and whispered reassurances. When you finally dried off and made your way back to bed, everything felt heavy with satisfaction.

You curled between them, limbs tangled together, the soft fabric of the clean sheets brushing against your skin. Whispered "I love you"s floated between you all, each one met with a kiss and an even tighter embrace, as if holding on could make this moment last forever.

Wrapped in their arms, safe between their steady breathing, you let your eyes flutter closed, your body at peace, your heart completely full.

---

While unplanned originally, there is now a part 2!

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda #daddy natasha #wlw smut #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #Bishovapls Fics #our little one

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gothgoblinbabe · 11 months ago

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The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: You can’t stand each other, so it’s a mystery to you and Logan why you’re sent out together on an assignment. To make it worse, you’d have to act much closer than you really were.

Warnings: mutant!reader (no specific power mentioned, though), fem!reader, enemies to lovers, swearing, fake dating (technically fake marriage), mentions of violence, a little bit of suggestive stuff, a little bit of fluff i guess, and mild alcohol consumption. I think that's all but if i missed any, please let me know! also this is def loosely inspired by the movies 'Mr. and Mrs. Smith' and '10 Things I Hate About You'

Word Count: 5K

part 2

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

You hate the way he dresses.

You hate his stupid hair.

You hate the pet names he calls you.

You hate his voice.

You hate his hazel eyes.

You hate his smile.

You hate Logan Howlett.

It was no secret and neither was the fact that he couldn’t stand you either. You bickered like a married couple, constantly fought till you bled when you were training and couldn’t go a day without one of you insulting the other. Truthfully, it was probably because you were too alike - fire versus fire - and knew exactly how to press each other's buttons.

That’s why you were both confused when you stood in Charles’ office - dumbfounded expression on your faces - as he told you that he assigned you to a mission together.

“Oh, no way,” you nearly laughed, thinking it was a joke.

“Yeah, not happening,” Logan agreed. It may have been the only thing you’ve ever agreed on.

“That’s unfortunate for both of you, as I am sending you anyway. You are the only capable people that aren’t already out on an assignment or teaching a class full time.”

“How do you expect us to do it without killing each other?” you raised your eyebrows.

“You are adults. I trust you will navigate that on your own.”

Logan scoffed beside you, his arms crossed over his chest.

You sighed, closing your eyes in frustration and biting the bullet, “what do we have to do?”

“There is a safe hidden in the home of a very wealthy socialite who’s been involved in orchestrating attacks on mutants - injecting them with a serum that replaces their mutation gene with that of a normal human,” Charles began to explain.

Your chest felt heavy. It always made you anxious and a little ill when you’d hear the stories of people who hated you so much that they’d go as far as to harm or violate you in some way, all in the name of trying to rid the earth of you completely or turn you into one of them.

“The only known sample of the serum is locked in that safe,” he continued, “and I will need you to retrieve it. You are to infiltrate a gathering being held in her home, obtain the contents of the safe and return promptly.”

“So, we’re…going to a party?” Logan asked with one eyebrow raised.

“A dinner party,” Charles replied, “and another thing - you must not attend as yourselves. You’ve been invited on the good word of another guest - someone we trust - but you’ve been invited as a married couple to avoid arousing suspicion.”

He must’ve been getting some sick enjoyment from this.

“Married couple,” you repeated, your eyes narrowed, “Us. You want us to pretend to be a couple.”

“What, do I have to like - touch her? I’m not doing that,” Logan piped up.

“Oh, i’m so disappointed,” you rolled your eyes, sarcasm clear in your voice, “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off.”

“No, you.”

“I said it first!”

“Enough,” Charles interrupted, “you will be attending as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“Huh,” Logan hummed, “that’s creative.”

“Its inconspicuous,” he replied.

“What are our first names, then?”

“You have creative liberty. I trust you will come up with something just as unremarkable.”

“How about Sid and Nancy?” you scoffed, chuckling a little in disbelief.

“Does that mean I get to stab you?”

“You’d miss.”

Charles had his head in his hands.

“How about Jack and Jill?”

You both turned your heads to him when he spoke, pausing the back and forth between you that you were sure to continue later. You glanced at Logan and shrugged, indifferent to the names.

“That’ll work,” Logan mirrored your actions.

“Lovely. Tomorrow evening at five. I will have the address ready. In the meantime, here,” he opened his palm and placed two rings on the table, “these are your wedding bands.”

You huffed and took the smaller of the two, Logan picking up the plain silver band. Yours was simple - a false diamond in the middle and two smaller ones on each side.

“What, you couldn’t get me anything bigger?” you joked to Logan, holding up the ring.

“Oh, you want somethin’ big?”

Your eyes went wide and you elbowed him in the arm, groaning in disgust, “Gross.”

—----------------

Five o’clock came fast, your nerves seemingly increasing the speed of time. You’d made a mess of your wardrobe looking for something to wear that was comfortable, but not too ‘you’. What would a rich person wear to a dinner party? How the hell were you supposed to know?

Some nice pants, a blouse and complimenting shoes would have to do - it was the only thing you had that looked relatively formal. Adding some jewelry made it just a little more convincing.

You went down the stairs to meet Logan at the front door, dreading the coming hours. You turned the corner and finally saw him, leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He wore a white t-shirt tucked into his jeans, his boots, and he’d traded his usual leather jacket for a suit jacket. He actually cleaned up pretty nice, but you weren’t gonna tell him that.

He heard your footsteps and turned towards the sound. He could feel the sweat starting to form at the back of his neck.

He’d never seen you in anything nice like that - you never really had any occasions to dress up for - and he hated how much he liked it. Your pants hugged you perfectly, your blouse was buttoned low and you even had on a little bit of makeup.

“You don’t look too bad,” he managed to comment, opening the door for you.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you realized aloud, the both of you heading towards Logan’s truck, “You look alright.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Smith.”

He opened the car door for you, uncharacteristically gentlemen-like.

You shot him an odd look and got in anyway.

“I’m practicing,” He explained, shutting your door and walking around to slide into his seat, “can’t have anyone thinkin’ I’m a shit husband.”

“Good luck.”

“Uh-oh,” Logan had an amused expression, his eyes glued to the road as you began moving, “that’s not wife behavior, sunshine.”

“Bite Me.”

He clicked his tongue, “Feisty. Oh - I can use that when people ask about us! I’ll say it's one of your absolute worst qualities that any man would be repulsed by, but that our love is blind.”

You scoffed, “Great, and I’ll get to tell them you spend sixteen hours brushing your hair into cat ears and shed all over the bathroom like an animal.”

“See - now, that one seems a little personal.”

“It is.”

“Just pretend for a night that I’m the man of your dreams, okay?” he asked, “pretend I’m, uh - I don’t know, some celebrity guy you have a crush on.”

You were silent for a second, engrossed in thought, “you look nothing like Hugh Jackman.”

“Who? You know what - sure, pretend I'm him, alright? Just squint.”

Truthfully - and you’d rather be stabbed than admit it - Logan wasn’t far off from who you could picture yourself with. Strong, kind of handsome, good with kids. He was humble, most of the time. He was just terribly annoying and way too cocky.

It wasn’t long before he was shifting the truck into park and yanking the keys from the ignition. You let him open your door and walked beside him up the front steps.

“You ready, Jack?” you teased.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Jill.”

He rang the doorbell and you stood awkwardly, eyes scanning your surroundings. The house was huge - probably only a bit smaller than the mansion - and modern, something probably built in the last ten years. The front lawn was impeccable, as were the marble statues strategically placed between foliage and flora.

The door opened and you inhaled sharply, trying to prepare yourself to lie your ass off.

“Hello! You must be Mr. and Mrs. Smith! So lovely to meet you, please - come in,” a woman ushered you in, her neck and ears decorated in pearls. You recognized her immediately, Charles having shown you both a picture of the hostess beforehand. You politely greeted her and introduced yourselves, already scanning the room for an emergency exit in case things went sour.

“So,” she continued talking, leading you to sit in the living room with the other mingling guests,”tell me a little about yourselves! John wasn’t very descriptive when he mentioned you. What do you do for work?”

Whoever John was, you silently thanked him.

“Uh, well,” you began, nervously glancing at Logan, “I’m a bank teller.”

Plain, boring, inconspicuous,

She then looked to Logan expectantly, awaiting his answer.

“Cage fighter.”

Jesus Christ. You were glaring daggers into the side of his smiling face and he pretended not to notice.

“Really?” the woman in front of you inquired, a hand on her chest. You watched her eyes scan him up and down, landing on the pecs prominent through his shirt. You scoffed out of instinct, faking a cough to cover it up.

‘Oh, yeah. Undefeated MMA champ.”

You looked away to hide the scowl on your face when your eyes locked on the vodka bottle sitting on the table a few feet away with a collection of other booze. Bingo.

“Will you excuse me for just a moment?” you smiled politely and walked away before Logan could protest, leaving him to his own devices.

You twisted the top off the bottle and picked up a glass, filling it with Vodka and some soda that was left on the table.You almost walked away with it, planning to keep it in your hands until you felt your nerves subside, until you remembered you were supposed to be a wife. Wives brought their husbands drinks, right? Not doing so would look rude and rude might blow your cover. So, you reluctantly picked up another glass and filled it partially with whiskey, knowing it was something he’d drink. You happened to glance across to the kitchen and notice a neat little rack of spices and condiments on the counter. A bottle of soy sauce was front and center, like a message from the universe, and you giggled to yourself as you snatched the bottle and hid it up your sleeve - this could be a good night if you made it entertaining.

You returned to Logan with both glasses, handing him the one filled with significantly darker liquid. He looked a little surprised but accepted it anyway.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said with narrowed eyes, a look that asked ‘what are you up to now?’

You simply nodded in acknowledgement, smiling at the hostess still standing in front of you.

“She’s a keeper,” he continued, holding the glass up to his mouth, “ always knows exactly what I like.”

You bit back a snicker as you watched him tilt the glass and finally take a sip.

His eyes went to yours immediately. He pulled the glass from his lips, mouth still obviously full of whiskey and soy sauce. If looks could kill, you’d be long dead.

“Good, honey?” you smiled wide then, taking a sip of your own drink.

“Mhm,” he hummed, clearly fighting a grimace. He swallowed and nearly gagged, coughing into his fist, “mhm, just a little strong.”

“Oh,” the hostess began, “Jack was just about to tell us how you met!”

A couple of guests had gathered in the same spot, all lingering in a semicircle. Logan was quite the charmer and it wasn’t a surprise that he already had a couple of women gawking at him, hanging on his every word as if any of it was true.

“Was he?” your tone was shrill but you attempted to appear playful, lightly smacking him on the arm, “Oh, honey, you should really let me tell it.”

Whatever he was about to come up with, you hoped it was not in the same outlandish category as cage fighting. Before you could begin, though, he dismissively waved his hand in your direction.

“No, no - you’re a little forgetful, sweetheart,” his grin was mischievous as he turned to speak to the surrounding guests, “so, it all started with a tshirt competition at a bar where the girls had to - “

“Nope! Nope,” you interjected, doing your best to keep your tone light and shaking your head, “haha - that must have been another girl, honey!”

That earned a few chuckles from the guests around you and you took the opportunity while everyone's attention was on you to try and spin a tale of your own.

“So, we actually met a couple years ago,” you started, mulling over what true details to sprinkle in or if you should make it up entirely, “uh - in a library.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. You’d been at the mansion for a couple days before you bumped into him in the library while gathering books to try and put together your first lesson plan. You had a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of books in the other - admittedly stupid - but you’d always been careful. Except for that once.

You had a book open in your arms, resting atop the stack you already gathered. You were walking and reading - again, admittedly not very smart - when you bumped into someone, spilling coffee on both of you and sending the stack of books to the floor with an audible thump.

“Fuck, sorry -” you began to apologize, finally looking up to the strangers face. It was Logan, of course, though you didn’t know that at the time. You remember thinking he was handsome with his scruffy mutton chops and well groomed hair - until he opened his mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?”

You knew it was partially your fault but were irked by his attitude.

“Dude, you weren’t paying attention either, obviously!” you snapped back, looking down at the beige stain now adorning your white button up.

“I’m not the one who carries coffee and a shit ton of books at the same time.”

“Whatever.”

That was your grand introduction, neither of you even exchanging names.

Logan remembered it about the same way you did, though the version he tells is a little different. He loved to tell people that when you bumped into him, it was because you were so lovestruck that you just walked right into him. The part he always left out, though, was the first thing he thought when he saw you. He’d scolded you before even looking up to see who you were and when he had, he wished he’d reacted a little differently.

You were beautiful, even with coffee spilt all over yourself. You looked like a girl he’d only ever dreamed of, all the way down to the color of your hair and eyes. Unfortunately, he’d already been an asshole. So, from then on, that was basically your shtick - bickering over little things, calling each other names - all to the amusement of everyone around you. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but it was obvious to everyone else that the kind of teasing you did was only because you had feelings for one another - like two elementary school kids - and neither one of you seemed to know how to approach it. The mask would slip sometimes for either one of you - when he’d place a hand on your lower back, the times he’d managed to pin you to the mat during training - and you’d always find yourself staring at the ceiling that night, overthinking every interaction you’d had until the sun came up. He was never any better off, pacing in his room to try and decipher what the hell it was he actually felt for you.

Anyway, you decided to stick to the real story, minus the part where you insulted each other.

“We bumped into each other, literally, and I had coffee and a bunch of books in my arms. So, I drop the books, coffee spills everywhere - of course. Then I looked up at him, and..” you paused, the truth caught in a lump in your throat.

“And it was love at first sight,” Logan added, grinning down at you, “for both of us.”

His eyes were trained on yours and he continued to contribute to the story.

“The second I saw her, I fell in love.”

He was still looking at you. Why was he still looking at you like that? You were supposed to be husband and wife, right, but he was leaning into it far heavier than you expected. It felt like you were the only ones in the room.

A couple ‘aw’s were shared between guests and you smiled politely at the reminder that you were in fact not the only people in the room. As the conversation switched to another topic and someone else began to speak, you felt Logan’s hand at the back of your head, gently playing with your hair. Your face was pink - he was being too nice.

A short while later, you were sitting on the couch beside him, listening to someone’s drawn out story that you stopped paying attention to after six minutes.

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Logan uttered unceremoniously and stood from the couch. He disappeared into the house and not even a minute later, another guy came to sit in his spot.

“Hey,” he put his arm around the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

You looked at the fingers grazing your shoulder and sat forward to shrug them off, “nope.”

He told you his name and you couldn’t have cared any less, deciding to actually tune back into the story being told rather than converse with him. He was alright looking, but his approach was far too off putting.

“So, did you come alone?”

You rolled your eyes at his question, opening your mouth to answer before he cut you off.

“Cause It looks like it, and I can’t stand to see a pretty girl alone.”

You groaned in disgust, hoping if you were dry enough in your answers, he’d leave you be.

“mhm.”

It wasn’t really an answer to anything, just a noise of affirmation. You hoped he’d get the hint then, but of course, he didn’t. In what would probably be the stupidest thing he’d done that night, the guy moved his arm from the back of the couch so he could squeeze your thigh. Right as you were about to tell him to fuck off, you saw a hand grip his shoulder from behind. Logan was leaning over the sofa, bringing his face a little lower so he wouldn’t cause a scene, his dog tags hanging when he leaned forward. He had a death grip on the guy's shoulder while he used his other hand to steady himself against the sofa.

“Hey, bub.”

The guy looked a little terrified, to say the least, but Logan didn’t let up there.

“Do you always go around hittin’ on people’s wives? Or is it just mine?”

His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to run but that wasn’t going to happen as long as he was in his grip.

“I-I didn’t, uh, I didn’t know she - “ the guy sputtered, trying to nervously laugh it off.

“Mhm. Hey, tell you what - why don’t you leave my girl alone and maybe I’ll give you a five minute head start to get the fuck out of here.”

He let go of his shoulder and that was enough to drive him away, the guy scurrying to his feet and finding somewhere else to mingle.

You didn’t know why you found yourself smiling the moment he’d said ‘my girl’. You rid yourself of it with a shake of your head, reminding yourself you were there to do a job.

“Hey,” Logan leaned himself down even further so he could whisper, “I gotta show you something, c’mere.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him but got up to follow. He stopped in the hallway in front of the bathroom, looked around to see if anyone would notice you, and promptly dragged you in with him before closing and locking the door. He hit the light switch and you looked around.

“Do you always take girls to the bathroom on first dates?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“You’d have to go out with me to find out,” he remarked, “besides, it’s not like that. Look.”

You watched him get low to the ground to open the cupboard under the sink and you crouched with him, following his pointing finger to the wood paneling in the back. It looked like a fake back - a board that appeared to be the back of the cabinet but definitely had something behind it. There was a sliver of metal visible behind it when you shined your phone’s flashlight.

“I figured we should look everywhere, so while I was in here I was checking it out - saw that. You think that’s it?”

“Could be,” you answered honestly, “that, or it’s some sort of electrical box we’re about to rip out of the wall. It’s an odd hiding spot for a safe.”

“Not really. Think about it - where's the first place you’d look for a safe?”

“Bedroom or office, maybe.”

“Right, and where's one of the last places you’d check?” he gestured to the open cabinet.

“Under…the sink,” you realized aloud, looking between him and the wooden board.

“Exactly,” he nodded, swiping the contents of the cabinet onto the floor to gain access, “here’s the thing, though - I’m too big to get in there.”

He could maybe stick his head in, but in order to duck under the pipes from the sink, he’d need to have shoulders that were much less broad.

You sighed, knowing what that meant.

“Alright, alright - move. This better be it.”

You reluctantly crawled under the sink and into the cabinet on your hands and knees. You yanked the wooden board with all your strength and it came free, revealing a metal safe.

“Got it! You were right, it’s the safe.”

Logan simply hummed in response, clearing his throat. You figured he’d be a little more enthusiastic.

Truthfully, he was too busy staring at your ass in the nice pants you were wearing to pay attention. When he heard your voice, he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the thoughts he was having about you so he could think of a response. He’d always thought you were beautiful, but seeing you all dressed up drove him a little crazy.

“Yeah? Is it locked?”

You inspected the metal box, holding the absurdly large padlock hooked around the latch that opened the door.

“Uh-huh. Padlock - we’re gonna need the numbers.”

“No, we don’t. Bring it out.”

You did as you were told, crawling back out with the safe under your arm and placing it on the bathroom rug. It was a pretty small one - probably a little bigger than a basketball.

Logan picked it up and set it on the counter beside the sink. He unsheathed a claw and sliced through the metal latch that held the door closed in one swift motion.

“Well, yeah - that's one way to do it,” you shrugged.

“Easiest way to do it.”

He reached in and took out the small glass vial. He put it inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What if it falls out?” you asked.

“It won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Alright, kid,” he sighed, “what do you want me to do with it? ‘Cause i’m sure as hell not lettin’ you carry it.”

You rolled your eyes and looked him over.

“How about you wrap it in your jacket, like cushioning?”

“Fine.”

He reluctantly shrugged off his jacket, keeping the vial in the pocket but folding the jacket into a ball. You hastily replaced everything in the cabinet, safe included, and you followed Logan as he opened the door to step out - only to be met with another guest, her fist raised to knock.

“Oh! Dear,” she chuckled, clearly a little startled. She looked to the both of you, a grin appearing on her face, “Young love, what a gift. Don’t worry, I didn't see a thing!”

You shot her a confused look, chuckling nervously before you happened to catch a glance of your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Your hair was mussed and your blouse was untucked on one side from having to bend up and down. Logan had taken off his suit jacket and you realized what it was she was implying.

“Oh, oh - we weren’t -”

“It’s alright, honey,” she responded as you stepped out, “like I said - my lips are sealed.”

She shot you both a wink, went into the bathroom and shut the door.

“She thought we were fucking in there,” you mumbled, eyes wide in embarrassment.

“Is that so bad?”

You snapped your head towards him, a confused look on your face, “what?”

Logan shrugged, “we're supposed to be husband and wife, aren't we?”

You shook your head in disbelief and decided to ignore him, both of you joining the other guests back in the living room. Dinner was finally ready and everyone took their seats in the dining room. There were a couple of things on the table you couldn’t even pronounce.

“Is that…meat? A vegetable?” you leaned over to logan, whispering behind your hand and nodding towards one of the dishes.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered, “I don’t think I wanna find out.”

You both piled on the few things onto your plates, poking at it with your forks.

“Do you wanna get a pizza after this?” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he replied, pushing around an unrecognizable sludge with his utensil.

“So, how long did you two say you’ve been together?” You both looked up, only to be met with the hostess’ stare. You had never mentioned how long you’d been ‘together’. Her smile was polite but her stare was piercing, as if she knew something she was not supposed to.

“About three years,” you replied, looking to him for back up.

“We got married a couple months in,” he added, grinning at you. Again, he had that look - like he wasn’t just pretending to be in love with you.

“We were in this restaurant - this little place we go to all the time,” he kept talking, “and I just told her I thought she was beautiful, that I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.”

“Really? I have to say,” she began, sipping from her glass,” for a young couple who got together so quickly, you two don’t seem very affectionate towards each other.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You shot Logan a panicked look, but he appeared unbothered.

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue,” it’s this rule she’s got about PDA. I’d be all over her if I could.”

You hated the way your face became hot. You couldn’t tell if he was leaning into it to be convincing or flirting just to make you flustered. You heard a muffled snicker from somewhere across the table and your eyes shifted to the source - it was the woman from earlier, the one who’d thought you and Logan were getting busy in the bathroom.

“Can I at least get a kiss, babe?” Logan cooed, a smug look on his face.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, eyes wide.

“Being a husband,” he replied in a hush voice.

It all happened within seconds. His hands cupped your face, warm and soft, and he leaned in to plant a kiss right on your lips. It was gentle and you melted into his touch, kissing him back. When he pulled away, you were still stunned, your lips parted in surprise.

Logan kissed you.

His lips tasted like the remnants of cigar smoke. His touch was nearly intoxicating, like you were drunk off just the way he held you. You inhaled sharply and finally turned your face out of his grip, eyes glued to the table cloth. You had almost forgotten where you were - feeling like the room was spinning - and you let out a nervous laugh.

The topic of discussion moved on quickly and it seemed like any suspicion the hostess had about either of you had dissipated. You and Logan decided to say your goodbyes immediately after dinner, making some excuse about having to wake up early the next morning. When you stepped out and he shut the door behind him, you couldn’t hold your tongue any longer.

“What the hell was that?” you spat, eyebrows knitted.

“What was what?”

He was completely nonchalant as he continued to walk next to you towards his truck.

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He stopped with you at the passenger side of the truck, standing in front of the door so you couldn’t get in.

“What if I wanted to?”

You swallowed hard. It was dead silent outside, save for the chirping of crickets.

“What?”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, chewing his bottom lip, “I wanted to kiss you.”

You didn't know what to say. He hated you, didn’t he?

“Logan, I - “

“You can’t tell me you didn’t feel anything in there, pretending to be together.”

His voice almost sounded strained, like he was pleading.

“You don’t even like me, you hate me,” you deflected, but he shook his head.

“That’s not true. I never hated you. I figured you’d hate me after I acted like an asshole when we met, so I went with it. I don’t hate you. I think you’re funny, I think you’re pretty - I just never really knew how to tell you that.”

When you only stared in response, he moved aside and opened your door with a defeated sigh. You were still speechless but you hesitantly slid into the seat anyway, letting him close the door. When he got into the driver's side and started the ignition, you couldn’t stop looking over at him.

“So, you like me,” you finally said aloud.

He kept his eyes glued to the road when he responded in a low voice, “why do you think I bother you so much?”

“You pick on me because you like me? Like a little kid?” you couldn’t help the amusement in your voice as your confused expression turned to a smile.

You saw him bite back a smile that mirrored yours, shaking his head.

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, you’re not too bad, you know, and I guess you’re kind of handsome.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm, but don’t make me take it back.”

The rest of the short ride home was spent in comfortable silence, both of you seemingly trying to figure out where you’d go from there. When Logan parked his truck and got out, he came around your side to open your door. You hopped out and he shut the door for you, but grabbed your hand before you started to walk away.

“Hey, c’mere for a second.”

You let him pull you a little closer, intertwining both your hands. The evening air was chilly and you could see his breath in the air when he spoke.

“Can I kiss you, for real this time?”

You could feel your heart beating fast and you nodded eagerly. The second you did, his lips were already on yours. His hands let go of yours to settle in your hair, threading the strands between his fingers. His touch felt warm in comparison to the cold air and you leaned further into him with your hands gripping his jacket to pull him close. When he pulled away, he rested his hands on your waist and planted another kiss on your forehead.

“Maybe we could, uh, try again,” he cleared his throat, running his hands up and down your sides, “be nice to each other this time.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t hate Logan, even though you tried.

You couldn’t hate his perfect hair.

You couldn’t hate his sweet voice.

You couldn’t hate his kind smile.

You couldn’t hate the way he dressed.

You just couldn’t hate Logan Howlett.

So, you kissed him again, smiling against his lips and letting him hold you as close as possible, almost lifting you off the ground with his arms around you.

“We should probably go inside, huh?” you mumbled when you leaned back, lightly scratching the mutton chops on the side of his face in an affectionate manner. Those were another thing you’d pretended to hate - probably because you were embarrassed to admit you thought he pulled them off well.

“As you wish, Mrs. Smith.”

He held his hand out for you to take and you did, eyeing the ring on your finger.

“You know,” you held up your hand to show him the jewelry, “I think i’ll keep this.”

He grinned, bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving a chaste kiss, “I think i'll keep mine, too.”

You were both still holding hands when you went inside, blushing like two little kids. You were so engrossed in one another that you didn’t notice Jean and Ororo in the hallway ahead of you as he leaned down to kiss you again. Now that he knew he could actually do it, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ll take it your night went well,” Ororo giggled, Jean doing the same. You jumped a little in surprise, covering your pink face in mild embarrassment.

“What changed? I thought you hated each other,” the latter of the two asked.

“Eh, he’s not so bad,” you teased, shrugging your shoulders.

‘’Turns out, we make a pretty good fake husband and wife,” he explained, “I guess we got a little too carried away with it.”

As the two of you walked hand in hand further down the hall, Ororo elbowed Jean lightly, leaning over to whisper behind her hand.

“You owe me twenty bucks.”

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

A/N: If you've made it this far, thank you sm for reading!! I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep this as is or add smut so I'll leave it how it is and if enough people ask for it, I can make a part two <3 pls reblog and like if you enjoyed/want more and my inbox is always open :)

Edit: here is the link to part 2!

#wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #logan howlet smut #wolverine smut #logan wolverine

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differenteagletragedy · 3 months ago

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Simon gets discharged after an injury sidelines him, and he’s sooooo annoyed about it. Sure, he’s older now, he’s not as spry as he used to be and the injury, a bullet that tore through some of the muscle in his leg, makes it worse, but he can still do the job.

Except he can’t, because the powers that be won’t let him, so after two decades of service, it feels like he’s back where he started. Aimless. It eats at him.

Eventually he lands on becoming a cop, figures the structure will be good for him. He knew it wouldn’t be exactly the same as the military was, but he’s not prepared for how boring it truly is.

He sits in his patrol car for hours sometimes, checking for people speeding or having the audacity to drive around without the right stickers on their vehicles. Sometimes he pulls people over just for the hell of it — he’ll ask “You know why I stopped you?”, just hoping for something fun to come from it. He’ll write tickets to assholes for no real reason, and he’ll let worried mothers with small children in the backseat off with empty warnings.

There are times that he sees some action, but it's always short-lived. A drug bust here, an assault there. There's a bit of adrenaline rush when someone resists, and yeah, it's a little exciting when he gets to use his strength, but it's nothing like what he had before. He can't find a way to sink his teeth into it.

Then he gets a call, a little hope of reprieve from the mind-melting boredom of a slow Tuesday night: drunk and disorderly female at a bar close to him. Yes, he can take care of that.

When he arrives, you're just outside the door, arguing with a bouncer. He can see immediately why police were called — you're clearly wasted, all flushed with messy hair and smeared makeup, but you've got some fight in you. Some fight that you're presently showing to the bouncer.

"This is so fucking unbelievable," he hears you sneer, words coming out all slurred. "I didn't do anything wrong! I'm not the one who should have gotten kicked out. This is bullshit and you know it, and --"

"Evening, miss," Simon interrupts, sauntering up to you. "What seems to be the problem?"

You turn, stumbling as you do, to face him, and he's immediately met with the vitriol you'd just been spewing at the poor bouncer, who looks at him now with a pitying gaze, his message clear: you're Simon's problem now.

"The problem," you begin, stepping closer to him, "is that all I was trying to do was have a good time and nobody wants me to."

"That right?"

"Yeah, that's right," you say, your voice a bit softer now. Simon knows what it is when you look up at him, lips pouty and lashes fluttering — it's just a tactic. But he still smirks, because at least he's not writing tickets.

"Actually, the problem is that you got drunk off your ass and when our bartender cut you off, you started causing a scene," the bouncer interjects.

"Nobody fucking asked you, Tom!"

Simon bites back a chuckle, but he can tell the conversation isn't going to go anywhere — just looks like you're a regular who had a little too much. He gives a nod to the bouncer, he tells him that he'll take care of you, then guides you back to his patrol car.

Or at least he tries.

But god, you're just so difficult. You're mouthy and stubborn, telling him that you know your rights, you're an upstanding member of society and he’s going to be sorry, just a constant stream of whatever nonsense pops into your head. He was just going to get you away from the bar, give you a ride home if you needed, but you won't shut up long enough for him to offer.

"This how you were acting inside?" he finally interrupts, leaning against his car. "No wonder they called me in, you're a bloody nuisance."

You gasp, and then you put your hands up, giving him a hard shove. He puts his hands on your arms, to steady you more than to stop you, then tuts, spinning you around and holding your wrists together with one large hand.

"Have it your way," he mutters, pulling out his handcuffs.

"Are you fucking arresting me?" you ask, bewildered. "Seriously?"

"Public intoxication and assaulting a police officer," he tells you. "Getting quite the rap sheet, aren't you?"

They’re empty words — of course he’s not going to charge you with anything. You’re just drunk, you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else. He’s a big boy, he can take a little pushing around. But the way he sees your eyes widen and your lips part when he spins you back to face him, a clear look of apprehension on your face, it makes him want to play, just a little.

“Assault on an officer … believe that’s a felony, yeah? You want to deal with that, or you want to keep your pretty little hands to yourself?”

“I’ll be good,” you answer automatically. “I promise.”

He considers. Imagines what you’d look like bent over the hood of his car, or draped across his lap in the front seat. He can see it in you — you would be good for him. He’d just have to pull it out of you first.

“One more chance,” he concedes. “But the cuffs stay on.”

PART TWO

#simon riley #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #call of duty simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #ghost x you #call of duty ghost #ghost x reader #simon riley asshole cop

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aciddrattboyy · 6 months ago

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Wԋҽɳ Yσυ Mҽʂʂ Wιƚԋ Lσʋҽ

┆ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - "your boyfriend arrives late for your study date and things(sex) happen"

ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛꜱ: ★ Starring: Mark Grayson x F! Reader ★ Run Time: 3.9k ★ Genre/Warnings: [Rated R: Drama/Rom/Adult Film] smut, both reader and mark lose their virginities, fingering(f!receiving), vanilla sex tbh, there will be eventual angst, set in au where they are in college before... (gulp) chicago incident, two part story ★ soundtrack: karma police, basta ya ★ pls pls pls any invincible fans HIT MY LINE i have no friends in this fandom and i desperately need them ★ 01 . 02 .

⋆｡°✩

noon. you invited mark over to your dorm at noon. it was three o’clock now, with no text messages or calls from your boyfriend; even after he assured you he’d be there about four hours earlier. mark had been… distant. constantly ditching you, not even showing up to dates or hangouts, or asking for rain checks if he had the decency to do even that. today was supposed to be a typical study date, with exams coming up you thought it would be nice. because even though mark left you hanging seemingly more often than not, the time he was there was, well, amazing. when he did manage to find the time for you he treated you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him, acted as the perfect, doting boyfriend. whether it was picking up your favorite food without asking or buying you a plushie of your favorite animal you didn't even remember telling him about, mark was loving.

but as the minutes ticked by, your phone continued being pathetically dry, and your dorm mark-less, you were starting to think maybe the good no longer outweighed the bad. with a sigh, you push back in your desk chair, slumping in the seat as you tipped your head back. you glanced over at your phone sitting atop a pile of books, almost mocking you with the lack of notifications, and thought about texting mark. again. dragging a hand down your face, you began to spin slowly in your chair, watching the room swirl by out of boredom.

as you spun lazily, you could see your door slowly opening. and then there was mark, peeking his face through the crack, sporting that same guilty expression you were starting to think you saw more than him smiling. you plant your feet on the ground, coming to a halt as you looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown.

“if your excuse is you had to help your dad with work, lost track of time, or ‘had something to take care of’, save your breath,” you turn back to your desk, staring at the open textbook with your jaw clenched and brows pinched together. mark grimaced at your words, his hand twitching hesitantly on the doorknob, not sure if he should even come inside.

“alright no excuses,” he murmured softly, scratching at his nape as he stared at your back. sheepishly, he held up a plastic bag, the contents inside rustling softly. “but… how about an apology? starting with some food from that place you said you wanted to try?” mark’s voice had a hopeful lilt to it, although he knew he couldn’t keep fixing everything with food. he was entirely sure he’s been fixing anything at all, like a bandaid on a broken bone. but he also couldn’t exactly say: “sorry for being late to our study date. i promise i wanted to be here but my alien space dad made me go train with him since i just got super cool powers.” it wouldn't be a secret identity if he started telling people. and unfortunately, people included you, no matter how much he didn’t want it to be this way.

your glare aimed at your text book softened at his words, once again he had gone out of his way for you. acting as if he cared for you even as he was constantly blowing you off. a few quiet moments of you contemplating what to do pass by before you speak, turning in your chair slightly to look at him.

“i guess that’s not a completely bad start.” marks face immediately lit up like an excited puppy as you spoke. it wasn’t a hard get the fuck out of my room and that was as good of a start as any when trying to make up for his major fuck ups. without missing a beat, he steps inside, closing the door behind him before toeing off his shoes, dropping his backpack near the foot of your bed and making his way over to you.

“i uh got you a little bit of everything- well not everything everything but y’know a reasonable amount of-”

“thank you mark,” you cut him off quietly, not entirely sure how mad at him you still were. you take the bag from him, not able to meet his eyes as you set the bag down on your now limited desk space. mark stood somewhere to the side behind you, shoving his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

“yeah, yeah no problem,” his voice cracked slightly and he winced at his own tone, feeling helpless and not at all sure how to really fix this without coming clean about his secret identity; something he could not do. the silence seems to drag on as you looked through the different containers. his eyes trailed over your desk and a fresh wave of guilt washed over him when he the notes scribbled into a notebook. “you.. um you got a lot of work done,” mark said awkwardly, grasping at straws to try to fix what he was rapidly breaking between you two.

“yeah well it would’ve been easier if you had been here to help.” both of you freeze at your words that came out just a bit more harsh than you intended. mark frowned, not sure what to say. he reached out a hand, hovering it over your shoulder as he slowly opened his mouth. but you sighed before he can get anything out, running a hand through your hair before you turn in your chair to face with a faint frown of your own. “look, i’m sorry for talking to you like that. let’s just eat yeah? i’ve done enough studying for the both of us” you offer mark a small smile, one that he returns hesitantly. he takes a step back when you get up from your chair, grabbing the bed and heading over to your bed.

“yeah that… sounds good.” mark nods, following you over to the bed. he sits next to you, mirroring your cross legged posture with his back leaning against the wall. he slowly scoots closer as you pull out the various containers until your knees are touching. you didn’t acknowledge it, but you didn't pull away and that was as good of a win as any. his eyes light up with an idea before leaning over the edge of the bed to grab his laptop. “thought we could watch something while we ate.” he offers softly, already turning on youtube and putting on the type of videos he remembered you telling him you watched sometime in the past. you nod at him softly, your smile growing both in size and genuineness just a bit.

“good thinking,” you respond softly, the anger already subsiding just from being with him. mark had a way of making you feel good, even if it wasn't for long, even if he upset you more often than you’d really like. you knew deep down he was still a good guy, and you desperately wanted to see him be better. wanted to see him start living up to his apologies.

the two of you eat in a somewhat comfortable silence, interrupted by laughs or brief commentary on what you were watching. and everything starts to feel normal again. for you, but also for mark. for just right now he wasn’t Invincible. he was mark grayson, a freshman in college with the more amazing girlfriend by his side. it felt nice to feel normal again, even if he had been waiting his whole life to get powers, to be just like his dad. you find yourself curled up against mark’s side, watching random videos with your head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. the sun was starting to set, the fading sunlight casting shadows and warm orange light through the blinds.

when you tilt your head to look up at mark, he meets your gaze. his lips slowly pull into a goofy smile that makes you huff with amusement.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” you murmur playfully while tracing idle shapes over the fabric covering his chest. he pulls you closer, the movement almost imperceptible as his expression turns warm.

“you’re just so pretty,” mark answered just as softly, getting lost in your eyes with a stupid smile. only a second passes before he realizes what he’s said; his eyes widen, face flushing red as he sputters out apologies while trying to pull away. “oh shit that was so stupid- fuck im sorr-” before mark could run away and hide, you grab his face and pull him into a kiss. he lets out a muffled noise of surprise, eyes wide before his brain catches up to what was happening. then he’s humming softly instead, hands finding your waist as he kissed you back gently. “wha… what was that for?” he whispered breathlessly when you pulled away, your faces only inches apart.

“am i not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” you ask teasingly, smile only growing as your swipe your thumbs over his cheeks.

“no- i mean yes- uh yeah you can kiss me,” he lets out an almost self deprecating laugh, hands squeezing your waist gently. “i’m fucking this up aren’t i?” you pull him into another kiss, languidly moving your lips against his.

“i think you’re doing just fine,” your fingers tangle in mark’s hair, deepening the kiss, starting it off slow, gentle, but one thing led to another and soon enough you’re pulling him closer as you fall back against the sheets. mark follows you willingly, hovering over you with his hands on either side of your head. one of mark’s legs slot in between yours, involuntarily pressing his knee against the apex of your thighs. you gasp softly against his lips, grip tightening in his hair. when you roll your hips, a shudder runs through both you and mark when he realized what you were doing. the revelation only served to send blood straight to his already semi-hard dick.

the kissing grows frenzied, the air between you heavy with harsh panting and even messier kissing. your laptop had been precariously moved out of the way and onto the corner of your desk. both of your shirts? thrown god knows where. was this all happening just a bit too fast? maybe… probably… definitely. but slowing down seemed to be the last thing on your mind along with mark’s. who was now practically buzzing with nervous excitement and lust. he’d kissed you before, many times actually. but never like this. never half clothed and making out with you as if you were trying to eat each other’s faces off while you ground your hips against his knee.

shifting slightly, mark props himself up on his elbow, body pressing more firmly on top of yours. he smooths his free hand up your waist, hesitantly thumbing over the hem of your bra as he waited for some sort of signal to stop. but none came, in fact, he could feel your back slightly arch into his touch. he let out a low groan, muffled by your lips, the obvious tent in his sweats pressed snuggly against your thigh. for a brief moment he thought maybe he should be embarrassed. but how could he when you seemed to just as affected. and somehow a lot more confident… with a gasp, and much reluctance, mark pulls his mouth off of yours, panting heavily against your lips.

“have you uh… y’know… before?” his voice was barely a whisper, face feeling hot and eyes slightly widened as he looked down at you.

“no…” you start, your voice equally as quiet as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “is it that obvious?” your brows twitched, just barely pinching together with a hint of worry and newfound self consciousness.

“no- no no!” mark quickly squeaks out, shaking his head with wide eyes. “i just- you seem so- so…” he trails off, not entirely sure what to say anymore.

“we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. do you want to stop?” your voice was soft, a small smile on your face in hopes of making sure mark knew his comfort was important above all. but it only served to make mark feel more… feel more of whatever was making his stomach flip and his cock twitch against your thigh in a way that was getting harder to ignore. he swallowed the lump in his throat when thought about what ‘keep going’ would actually entail.

“um… no. not really,” he murmured softly, a sheepish smile on his face. he feels his face heat up all over again at the admission. but before he can doubt himself, you’re smiling at him. and then you were kissing him, and it was like you had never even stopped at all.

the kissing quickly grows heated, hands fumbling to rip each others pants off through breathless giggles and sloppy kisses until mark was seated between your open legs; both of you in nothing but your underwear and your bra long gone. mark smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, chest still somewhat heaving from the rather heavy makeout session just moments ago. he swallowed thickly, thumbs tracing over the lacy edges of your panties. his head snaps up when he hears a small noise leave your lips. the kind of noise that has his body going hot all over again.

“can i…?” mark wasn’t sure what he was exactly asking permission for. but the way you were looking up at him made him pray to any existing god that he was granted the sexual prowess of a veteran pornstar just for tonight. upon seeing you nod your head, he sucks in a deep breath, feeling both a wave of arousal and anxiousness. with shaky hands, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slowly pulls them off of you. looking at your naked body, mark was afraid he’d bust right then and there. but then your voice, soft and playful, cut through his thoughts currently being led by his dick.

“c’mere,” you reach out, tugging on his hand and pulling him closer until he was hovering over you again. the backs of your thighs resting atop of his, the bulge in his boxers not too far from your pussy. you could tell he was a little nervous. and although you never got verbal confirmation, it was clear to see that mark was a virgin; somehow more a virgin than even you were. you card a hand in the hair at his nape, pulling him into a kiss that seemed to make mark relax just a bit. kissing was good. kissing was familiar territory. and after a small while, you placed your free hand on top of his hand not supporting his weight and slowly inch his palm downwards.

marks breath hitched in his throat, body temporarily going still. that is until he felt how fucking wet you were as you guided his middle and ring finger through your soaked folds. a guttural groan vibrates through his chest, only barely muffled by your tongue in his mouth.

you were panting against his lips now, soft mewls escaping you led his fingers to circle your clit. teaching him what you liked, how you wanted to be touched. and to mark’s credit, he was a very fast learner. soon enough he was moving on his own, your hand holding onto his wrist instead as he pumped two fingers inside of you. he ground his palm against your clit, making your hips buck into his hand as the pleasure just kept building.

“o-oh fuck-” you cry out when he hits that sensitive spot inside you, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face against the sensitive skin just below his jaw. if it were not for the string of muffled moans leaving your lips, even mark was able to tell you were getting close almost embarrassingly fast by the way your thighs trembled against his and how your hips snapped up to meet each thrust of his fingers. “fuck- fuck ‘m gonna- hah-”

mark felt like he was almost there with you; he could feel the damp patch on his boxers growing as his dick continued to throb in it’s confines, leaking a lot of precum. his hips twitched involuntarily, searching for some sort of relief. but he would continue to push his own wants aside, breathing heavily through his nose as he peppered your collarbone with wet kisses and focused solely on making you cum. and that he did. biting back a moan of his own at the feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers, your whole body going taut under him as you held onto him tighter.

after a few moments filled with only heavy breathing, your body goes limp against the sheets as he pulls his fingers out with a soft squelch. there was a very satisfied smile on your face as you looked up at mark, who somehow looked more fucked out than you.

“you were… surprisingly good at that.”

“ha, thanks… hey, wait what do you mean surprisingly?” you giggle softly at the small pout on his lips, lifting your head just enough to press a kiss against his lips.

“don’t think about it too much,” you mumble as you pull back, trailing your hands down his sides until your palms met the waistband of his boxers. “uh there’s condoms in the drawer if you…” you trail off, eyes widening when you realized what you had just implicated. “i- i didn’t buy them they were uh- a gift from my roommate a while ago…” you look up at mark with narrowed eyes after seeing the way his lips were pursed, twitching with the force he had to use to keep himself from smiling. for now, mark would bite his tongue, not wanting to face your wrath when his dick was so hard it was starting to hurt.

“condoms. got it.” the words were strained under the weight of his stifled laughter, but before you could comment on it, he was already leaning over you. rummaging through your night stand, he was able to pull one out, settling between your legs with the gold foil in his hands. “but are you sure you want to do this?” there was a hint of vulnerability in his tone, sounding almost worried that you’d regret being with him, or you were for some reason only doing this out of pity. but then you were giving him that warm smile and nodding your head, and suddenly all doubt jumped out the window.

through more muted laughter and clumsy, inexperienced hands, the two of you manage to get the condom on without mark blowing his load then and there. placing his hands on your hips, he leans down to kiss your lips, rubbing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs. you hum into his lips, gently holding onto his biceps as you kiss him back just as passionately. but when mark reaches a hand between your bodies to line his tip with your hole, the energy shifts. less playful and more so intense, romantic. like the both of you realize what you were doing, and what it means for the relationship going forward.

“are you sure?” mark whispers against your lips, eyes fluttering open to gauge your reaction.

“yeah, yeah i am,” you breathe out, eyes shining with something that made mark’s stomach flip in an almost scarily good way. he nods, adams apple bobbing before he presses his lips against yours again. he snakes his free hand up the bed, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head as his hips slowly push forward. it takes a little while of patience and whispering sweet nothings to each other before the two of you are comfortable enough for mark to start moving, the whole situation intense for both of you in a way that was both exciting and a little nerve wracking.

“h-holy fuck-” mark’s voice comes out as a shaky pant, head hanging as he looked down at where your bodies met. his hand in your squeezes gently, the other holding onto your hip as he slowly rolls his hips; pulling out until only the tip was inside before slowly pushing back. “feel s’good,” he groans softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he continued to slowly fuck into your wet heat. his hand leaves your hips, entwining his with yours and pinning you to the mattress. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers and moans spilling from your mouth. squeezing his hands tightly, you tilt your head when you feel mark starting to suck and nip at the skin of your neck

“y-you can- nngh- go faster,” your breathy words do not fall on deaf ears. mark’s whole body stills for just a second before slightly readjusts on top of you. the moment he quickens his pace, both of you are turning into moaning messes. kissing sloppily and exchanging spit as the cheap bedframe rocks slowly with mark’s movement. he lets go of one of your hands, reaching down to rub messy circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.

it didn’t take long for mark to get close, hips already stuttering as he teetered on the edge as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling any and all embarrassing noises that leaves his lips. your hips buck up to meet his with each thrust, thighs shaking with your own impending orgasm. your nails rake down his back in a way that has mark groaning against your skin.

intense orgasms hit you both at the same time; mark’s thighs trembling right along yours as his hips jerkily buck his dick inside you until he spilled every last drop into the condom. collapsing on top of you, the room is silent save for heavy breaths and the smell of sex. after a few moments, mark presses a soft kiss to your jaw before slowly pulling out and flopping onto his back next to you with a content sigh after tossing the condom into the trash bin under your desk.

“that was…” mark turns on his side, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling your back flush against his warm chest. nuzzling his face against your hair. “was… amazing,” he murmured softly, voice full of bliss as he held you tight. you giggle softly, letting your body melt into his warm embrace. at some point, you both clean up; with shrugging on a shirt and underwear and mark slipping back into his sweatpants. cuddling up under your sheets, it was easy to fall asleep in his arms, perfectly content and feeling loved.

i hope you enjoyed !! reblogs/comments are very appreciated <3 ʟᴏʙʙʏ ﹕ꜰɪʟᴍᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #mark grayson fluff #invincible #invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #f!reader #invincible smut #invincible fluff #mark grayson x you #invincible x you #fluff #smut #ac.drama #ac.adult film #ac.rom #ac.invincible

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