#and if it's all the wheels then you skid forward

[bunnyb34r]

Snooooooooow

[jobean12-blog]

Slow Ride

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 3,002

Summary: Joel picks you up (sorta rescues you) and your attraction to him is instant even with the state of the world, but does he feel the same?

Author's Note: Honestly, my friend @lizette50 shared the gif below with me and just his hands on that steering wheel sparked 3k words of nonsense. I'm not only obsessed with his neck but also his hands (and the rest of him!) Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy 💕

Warnings: there's some tension- both sexual and other, softness, grumpy Joel, flirting

The gif below is from pinterest HERE

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The sound of tires on the road draws your attention from your hiding spot but when they skid to a stop you stay in your unseen position and sneak a look. You can never be too careful and staying hidden and quiet has been an essential part of your survival so far.

But all your rational thoughts drain and every muscle in your body coils tightly as you lay eyes on the man that steps out of the old truck.

Before anything else registers, you notice the way he moves. His long, thick legs carry him surely toward the nearest broken-down car and when he bends over to check the gas tank you get a glimpse of his ass in the tight jeans.

With a huff of frustration he straightens and walks toward another car, this one closer to you, and you can see the hard set of his jaw, his eyes much the same as they scan his surroundings.

You can’t stop your gaze from tracking down over his broad shoulders and wide chest.

Without remembering to keep quiet you shift to get a better look and accidentally knock into a rusty metal part, sending it careening down to the pavement with a loud clang.

His gun is out and cocked before you even register your error and with shaky hands you stand up and reveal yourself.

He locks eyes with you across the small space of separation and you have the satisfaction of watching his shoulders relax and his eyes slowly peruse you from head to toe. Perhaps it was merely to check if you were armed…or infected…or maybe he just wanted to look.

Either way, it sets your nerve ends tingling and when his gaze lingers, warmth races across your skin.

“I’m not a threat,” you say, squaring your shoulders but keeping your arms and hands high above your head.

He still doesn’t speak and keeps the gun trained on you, his expression wary.

“I promise. I’m just trying to get to Jackson.”

At the mention of Jackson, his eyes narrow and he steps closer. You don’t budge.

“How do I know you’re not infected?” he asks.

“Well, I’m all alone and have been for days. I’d let you check me out but we just met…usually I have a man at least take me out to dinner first.”

Your joke gets the opposite reaction you hoped for. His jaw clenches and his teeth grind under the pressure.

“I do need a ride though.”

You lower your hands, smoothing them over your hips and brushing the dust from your knees.

“That is, if you don’t mind me bumming one.”

Your hope starts to slip with his extended silence.

He finally drops the gun and pinches the bridge of his nose.

You slowly walk forward and extend your hand to introduce yourself. He stares at it for a moment before taking it in his larger one.

“Joel,” he rumbles.

“You wouldn’t leave a girl stranded, would you Joel?”

“Fine. Get movin’.”

You slide a glance across the console of the rattling old pick-up truck and watch him under the cover of your lashes. He hasn’t looked at you once since loading you into the vehicle, instead keeping his dark eyes glued to the road, jaw still tight with obvious tension.

You were sure you caught him giving you another once over when you bent down to sift through your bag but by the time you felt his stare and peeked his way he was muttering something incoherent and running a rough hand through his hair.

“So…” you start, turning his way slightly. “How long is the ride?”

He shoots you a look that says, “are you serious?”

“Shouldn’t take us more than a day.” He grinds his teeth, something you’ve come to notice he does often, and lifts his eyes to the rearview mirror. “Long as we don’t run inta any trouble.”

“I see…” You cross your legs, hoping to appear relaxed. “Maybe we’ll see something cool on the way.”

His bushy eyebrows shoot up to his hairline but he doesn’t grace you by meeting your eyes when he asks, “ever been to Wyoming?”

You’re surprised silence keeps you quiet for longer than you mean to be and you see his hands flex on the steering wheel.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to ask me any questions.”

He sends you an unamused look. “Ain’t one for much talkin’ these days.”

You nod in understanding but don’t hide your smile. “And no, I haven’t. But I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

“What do you plan on doin’ when we get there?”

With a shrug you turn to look out the window, tracing your finger down a smear of dirt on the other side of the glass.

“Help out of course…and I was hoping I could do some planting. You know grow food…or something like that...breed animals…farm?”

Your thoughts trail off as you realize how silly and inadequate your plan sounds but you turn when you feel the heavy weight of his stare and realize he’s studying you.

“You know you should keep your eyes on the road,” you say with a half-hearted smile.

He stares for a beat longer before turning his attention back to driving.

“Yeah because there’s so many other cars out here.”  

You gasp. “He makes a joke? Pull over, I think I’m feeling dizzy.”

He merely grunts in reply but you’re sure you catch the side of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“What do you plan on growin’? The weather can be pretty harsh in the winters.”

“Do you really want to know?”

He frowns at the windshield.

You let out a yielding sigh and start to rattle off a list.

“I dunno…I was thinking maybe…mangoes, bananas, pineapple! Oh kiwi!”

At his dark look you smile brightly to assure him you’re joking.

“Very funny.”

“About time you noticed.”

His gaze turns from the road back to you, raking down your body and back up to meet your face.

“Oh, I noticed sweetheart.”

The interior of the truck suddenly becomes too hot and you start to crack the window for some fresh cool air.

You try your best to settle into the seat and focus on the rush of the scenery, letting the tension filled silence stretch until he speaks again.

“What are you thinkin’ about over there?”

Unsure of where to take the conversation after that unexpected turn, you fall back on your humor.

“Kiwis..and mangoes and bananas..”

This time you see the corners of his eyes crinkle with a genuine smile and you cheer inwardly.

His hand relaxes on the steering wheel before tightening again, long fingers wrapping easily around the worn leather as he slowly slides along the curve, the action drawing your attention and holding it.

His hands are big, dwarfing the wheel with rough and calloused fingers. Your thoughts quickly drift away from tropical fruits and fill with the fantasy of how it would feel if he touched your bare skin.

You seek the air from the window but find it too warm and gently press the back of your hand to your cheek. Your skin is hot and it does nothing to alleviate the feeling so you let your hand drift to the top buttons of your shirt and undo them, leaving the material agape.

When he shifts in the driver’s seat you try not too look. Try not to notice the way his legs are spread wide and his jeans pull tightly between them.

He turns and catches you staring, holding your gaze before his drops to your lips. The hot look in his eyes, the one that continues to dip and linger on your exposed neckline, is hard to ignore and your breath hitches.

By the time you reach Jackson the air inside the truck is thick with tension and you throw the door open and take a deep inhale.

Tommy runs to greet Joel, his eyes shifting to you suspiciously. They talk in hushed voices, Joel standing with his head cocked, hands on hips and signature clenched jaw.

Tommy finally smiles your way and walks over to greet you. He’s handsome and much friendlier than Joel and you instantly feel welcome.

“I can’t believe you survived the whole ride with him,” Tommy jokes.

A laugh bubbles from your throat.

“I see you inherited all the charm and wit.”

Tommy’s smile widens and he casually throws an arm over your shoulder as he leads you into the town.

“I like her better than you already,” he shoots over his shoulder at Joel, who follows your steps with a scowl.

After you get settled in your new place Joel comes to retrieve you for a bite to eat.

“Hungry?” he asks

“Starving actually.”

His dark eyes study you before he gestures toward the large bar/hall with an arm held out. You walk ahead and feel the press of his hand at your lower back as he reaches to open the door for you.

You lean into his touch and search the space, feeling slightly overwhelmed as several sets of unknown eyes turn to examine you.

Joel’s fingers splay at your back, sending tingles along your spine, then slide over to the curve of your waist. He pulls you into his side and walks you to an empty table.

“Don’t mind them,” he whispers. “They aren’t used to new people.”

You nod and miss his touch instantly as he releases you to pull out your chair. Your meal is eaten in relative silence but you don’t miss how his eyes drift to you at every opportunity.

“You know,” he starts, surprising you once again by speaking first, “if you need help building anythin’ for your plants…your mangoes, I can help.”

You giggle at his joke and lean in closer.

“Do you know a lot about farming?”

He pauses with the spoon half way to his mouth and the corner of his lips lift slightly.

“Enough.”

You let out a playful scoff. “That’s convincing.”

“I can definitely build you plant beds…”

“I’ll take any help I can get,” you say with a smile.

The next week goes by in a blur of meeting new people and adjusting to new routines. You still can’t believe you’ve found a safe place to be. It may not last forever but for now you’re going to be nothing but grateful.

You seek Joel out regularly, stealing as much time with him as you can even if he remains quiet more often than not. He’s more talkative than before and always answers your questions, adding an occasional playful joke here or there, but seems to prefer the comfortable silence between the two of you.

It’s on one particularly warm and sunny morning that Joel scratches at the back of his neck, a feeling of anxiousness crawling over his skin. He tries to tamp down the twitch of alarm but it’s useless, the sense only growing stronger as more time passes.

Where did you say you’d be this morning?

He drops the tool from his hand and heads for the old barn shed, remembering your words about looking for some old planting equipment. He’s almost at the partially closed doors when he hears voices. At first he can’t make out the words since they are hushed but when he hears your clear, “no, move,” he pushes open the doors with a bang.

He enters the barn with his fingers digging into his palms and his breath coming in deep through his nose. Your eyes shoot wide when you see him and Jack, the man who has you cornered, follows your line of vision and steps back immediately.

“You ok sweetheart?” Joel asks through clenched teeth.

You look at Jack and narrow your eyes. “I am now.”

“We were just…” Jack starts.

Joel holds up his hand and steps closer to Jack. “If you ever have trouble understanding the word ‘no,’ again, I’ll be more than happy to explain what it means.”

Jack stiffens at Joel’s dangerous tone and warning words and with a barely perceptible nod he walks out without looking back.

Joel’s eyes follow him until he’s out of sight then he moves purposefully toward you with long strides.

“I’m sorry,” Joel says quietly. “Are you ok?”

“You’re sorry?” you repeat. “But…”

“I didn’t warn you. I shouldn’t have let him within ten feet of you.”

“Well you took care of it. I don’t think he’ll ever come near me again.”

“Better not,” he grits out. “Or he’ll have to deal with me.”

A small smile plays upon your lips and you take a step closer, resting your hands on his biceps.

“I should be thanking you.”

You stare up at him and in a move he never expects you lift your hands to his hair and slide them through his soft curls, pulling him down for a kiss.

For a moment you think he’s going to pull back but when your tempting curves mold to his body and you let out a soft moan he smooths one hand up your back and the other around your waist, tucking you into him as he deepens the kiss.

You whisper his name, brushing your lips to his and getting some air before you kiss him again. He walks backward until you hit the wooden wall behind you, his entire body slotted against yours so you can feel every inch of him.

“Fuck,” he groans out, maintaining intense eye contact when he traces your jaw with his thumb then gently sweeps it across your swollen lips.

“Been wantin’ to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you sweetheart,” he admits.

“Just kiss me?” you ask, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

He dips his head, his nose softly bumping yours as his lips hover above yours.

“No…not just…”

“JOEL?!”

At the sound of Tommy’s loud call Joel grumbles a curse and rests his forehead to yours. He reluctantly steps away but takes your hand in his and lifts it to his mouth, gently kissing your palm and then the curve of your fingertips.

He doesn’t say anything as he backs away and disappears between the doors with a tender release of your hand. You remain rooted in place, unable to do more than press your tingling fingers to your tingling lips.

When the rest of the day passes without any sign of Joel you start to worry you imagined the spark between you and maybe pushed him too far. Dinner time comes and goes and you still don’t see him but before you head to your small house to retire for the night you catch Tommy’s wife, Maria, outside and rush over to ask her if she’s seen Joel.

Her expression is somber before she answers.

“They left this morning,” she says quietly as she delicately rubs her belly.

“Left?”

Maria nods. “Trouble at the border. Tommy wouldn’t get into details but he seemed worried.”

You swallow thickly and thank her, letting her know to get you if she needs anything. Once you’re back inside your place you lean against the door and go over every interaction and every word, although few, between you and Joel.

Why didn’t he tell you and say goodbye? When would he be back? He had to come back…

Two full days pass with no sign of them. You linger at the window every morning and night, hoping to hear the distinct clop of hooves on the dirt.

It isn’t until midnight comes and goes and the clear sky is filled with twinkling bright stars that you’re awakened by the sound of a heavy knock at your door.

You startle from your sleeping spot on the couch and listen again, wondering if it’s your imagination.

Knock, knock.

“Sweetheart. It’s me. Let me in.”

You stand just beyond the threshold, your fingers hovering over the doorknob.

“Open the door for me darlin.’ I have to see you.”

The lock turns and very slowly the door opens.

You’re standing there in his flannel, barefoot and fragile.

“You’re back,” you state, your tone wary.

He waits for any sign of apprehension then brushes past you and spins around, taking you with him and bracing one large hand above your head to push the door closed with a click.

When he leans in closer and crowds you against the hard surface your lips part in awareness and his mouth grazes yours gently.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you before I left.”

“Joel,” you start, shaking your head. “You don’t owe me any goodbyes…”

“But?” he adds.

“I was so worried…and I missed you.”

His fingers fall to the buttons of his shirt, slipping through the large openings at your waist and coasting over the front of your panties.

“Missed you too sweetheart. Been thinkin’ about how sweet those lips taste for the last two damn days.”

Without wasting another moment he brings his mouth down on yours, a low groan spilling from his throat. His hands cradle your face, his lips trailing along your jaw to your ear.

“Are you gonna let me find out if you’re sweet all over? he whispers.

Instead of answering, you thread your fingers through his hair and tug him down for another searing kiss. He presses you harder against the door and circles his hips so you can feel him hard along your stomach.

“You gonna give me a nice little taste darlin’?”

Your fingernails lightly drag down his chest, watching as his eyes darken and the muscles in his throat work over his hard swallow.

When your hands fall to the first closed button of his shirt, the one you’re still wearing, he groans and let’s his gaze fall to track the movement. You slowly unbutton it and drag a finger down, parting the fabric until you reach the next button and do the same, inch by inch exposing your bare skin.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re drivin’ me outta my goddamn mind.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @kmc1989

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 22 - This Was Not the Spa I was Looking For

Uuuhhh, I don't even know what this was. I had an idea and then this other idea fought the first one and won? so, it's completely different than what I had in mind, but ya know what? its written and done.

There is slight SLIGHT angst, but everything is good in the end :)

so sorry for the delay - will be updating a lot this weekend!

like always comments, questions, concerns, messages in my inbox, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated! Love you all and enjoy :D

Budapest Not Included

Champions Standings 

Max Verstappen – 284 points 

Charles Leclerc – 227 points 

Lando Norris – 189 points 

Y/n L/n – 163 points 

Carlos Sainz – 112 points 

Oscar Piastri – 91 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 83 points 

Alex Albon – 44 points 

Fernando Alonso – 41 points 

George Russell – 40 points 

Logan Sargeant – 30 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 23 points

Lance Stroll – 15 points 

Pierre Gasly – 12 points 

Yuki Tsunoda – 8 points 

Valtteri Bottas – 1 point 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Kevin Magnussen 

Zhou Guanyu 

Esteban Ocon 

Constructors Standings 

Red Bull – 447 points 

Ferrari – 339 points 

McLaren – 280 points 

Mercedes – 123 points 

Williams – 74 points 

Aston Martin – 56 points 

Alpha Tauri – 31 points 

Alpine – 12 points 

Alpha Romeo – 1 point 

HAAS – 0 points 

f1 has posted

f1 Y/n L/n and Max Verstappen are out of the Belgium Grand Prix after the Red Bull of Verstappen hit the back of L/n. The latter skidded across the track before rolling over. L/n will be looked over at the medical site, especially after her last DNF back in Japan.

liked by y/n.nation, maxverSTOPpen, orange_army, and 802,394 others

max_and_rookie nah man, I like max but that was seriously his fault

y/n_on_top y/n had the priority to make way for him to win. he just ruined both of their races

max_all_the_way y/n should have just let him keep going tho?

redbullcan no she shouldn't cause Red Bull gave the 2-1 strategy, putting priority for the second car

maxiel333 I fear this is Azerbaijan 2018 all over again

f1fan well there goes that amazing teammate bond. great job max, what is this, 7 teammates? bout to be 8

Once again, you were hanging upside down, in the rain. But thankfully, this time you were conscious and talking. 

You pressed the button that immediately went to your panicking race engineer. 

“I’m fine Mitch. Stupid rain. This was definitely not the Spa I was looking forward to. You tell my asshole of a teammate that he owes me.” 

You switched your radio off before Mitch could reply. You were fuming as the marshals were trying to get you out once again. Your race suit was becoming wetter and wetter by the minute. Your back ached as you tried to move. 

So, how did this all happen? 

You had been able to get around Max, per team request to make way on the track that was a little less rainy. Apparently, Max thought that you were trying to get the jump on him and completely rammed the back of your RB20, sending you flying. It was definitely a mirror reflection of Azerbaijan 2018. 

How you ended up rolled over once again, you didn’t know. Maybe your car just didn’t have great balance when it came to kerbs and getting rear-ended. 

In a few minutes, the marshals were able to get you out. As you stretched when you got out, your eyes landed on Max’s RB20 with its nose crumpled and wheel hanging off. You smirked under your helmet. 

“Serves him right.” 

You two were doing amazing that weekend. Max had gotten pole once again, and you were right behind him. Except that Charles was so close behind Max most of the race. Mitch had given you the 2-1 and had told you that GP had also given the Dutchman the same order. 

There was still time for you to have given the position back, but you were quicker on the slicks. You could have easily brought home another 1-2 race. 

But now Charles would probably get his third win of the season because Max was too selfish. 

You watched as he climbed out of his own cockpit and your blood began to boil. He not only ruined his race, but yours as well. Your arms were crossed as you stood in the rain. Replays of the wreck were playing on the big screens, just for your enjoyment. 

The longer you watched, the angrier you got. 

A push to your arm brought your eyes from the big screen to the Dutch driver. 

“The fuck was that?” he angrily questioned. 

Your eyebrow raised under your helmet. Although you were shorter, you knew how to throw your weight around. So, you shoved his shoulder back. 

“Me? The fuck was that with you Max. I was given priority! This was your fault!” you shouted, earning looks from the marshals around the two of you. 

Max just glared. “My fault? That was clearly a rookie mistake.” 

He pushed you again. 

You let out a dark chuckle. “Rookie mistake? No Max. That was a you mistake.” 

Your pointer finger dug into his chest, earning you another shove. One that sent you to the ground. You were now down, looking up at Max as he glared down at you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched him stalk away. 

A marshal was quick to help you to your feet. Max didn’t ride back with you to the paddock and walked the entire way. You, however, took advantage of the ride back and immediately tried to hide inside your drivers room when you got back. You kept your helmet on the entire time and wanted to refuse to go to the medical room. Mitch was adamant about you going since the last time you were bruised pretty badly. 

She made sure it was quick: just a check over. After, your race engineer left you to yourself. While you undressed and peeled off your wet race suit, your mind started swimming. 

Feelings of guilt and anxiety were building in your core. Soon, you were beginning to sob as you sat on your little bed. Really, all you wanted to do was curl up and sleep, preferably with your boyfriend, who was all the way in the Ferrari garage. 

Your sobs quieted down as your eyes began to droop. Taking a nap right now seemed to be a good choice as you lied down on the small bed, curling up in a ball. A nap would keep you safe from whatever was going on. You didn’t have to deal with anything if you were asleep. 

Right as you were falling asleep, Max had just gotten back to the garage. His helmet was in his hands and his eyes were to the floor, missing the disapproving looks from everyone. On the way back, he had time to think about what he had done. 

Yes, he knew that you were given priority, but didn’t know exactly why. You didn’t seem faster on the slicks or were gaining. He didn’t expect you to go around him like that. And now looking back, he could see that you were making a way for him by getting rid of some water on the track so he could get more grip. 

What he didn’t expect was a shove to the back and a punch to the face. He barely had time to turn around before he landed on his ass on the concrete of the garage. He was so taken back that he really couldn’t understand what was going on. 

All he knew was that his face hurt, his ass hurt, and his pride hurt. 

How could he have done that to you? 

When he got his bearings, he finally saw a certain Monegasque be held back from jumping on him. Spits of French and English were thrown at him, and he deserved it. Once he was back on his feet, Arthur took two handfuls of his race suit and pulled him down. 

There was hardly a height difference, but right now Arthur looked a lot bigger than Max did. 

Arthur leaned close to Max’s face. 

“How dare you? You know that she would do anything for you and what do you do to thank her? You push her down. You break her down. You blame her for your mistake.”

Silence was all that Max could offer. 

Arthur scoffed as he let go. 

“You’re no better than her parents.” 

With that, he left and walked toward your room. He harshly pushed the door open, only to find you sound asleep, oblivious to the world outside. Arthur turned off the lights before gently climbing into your bed. He didn’t know how the two of you had fit, but you did. 

He guessed that you must have sensed him as you turned over and dug your head into his neck almost immediately. Arthur pulled out his phone before googling flights back to Monaco, back to home. He’d keep you in his pocket if he had anything to do it. 

Race Results: 

Charles Leclerc – 25 points 

Carlos Sainz – 18 points 

Oscar Piastri – 16 points (fastest lap) 

Valtteri Bottas – 12 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 10 points 

George Russell – 8 points 

Fernando Alonso – 6 points 

Alex Albon – 4 points 

Logan Sargeant – 2 point 

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point (highest placing this season) 

Lando Norris (spun out on last lap and barely missed the points) 

Daniel Ricciardo 

Yuki Tsunoda 

Kevin Magnussen (highest placing this season)

Nico Hulkenberg (highest placing this season) 

Pierre Gasly 

Esteban Ocon 

Lance Stroll 

Y/n L/n – DNF 

Max Verstappen – DNF 

Champions Standings: 

Max Verstappen – 284 points

Charles Leclerc – 252 points 

Lando Norris – 189 points 

Y/n L/n – 163 points 

Carlos Sainz – 130 points 

Oscar Piastri – 107 points 

Lewis Hamilton – 93 points 

George Russell – 48 points 

Alex Albon – 48 points 

Fernando Alonso – 45 points 

Logan Sargeant – 32 points 

Daniel Ricciardo – 23 points 

Lance Stroll – 15 points 

Pierre Gasly - 12 points 

Valtteri Bottas – 13 points 

Yuki Tsunoda – 8 points

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point 

Nico Hulkenberg 

Kevin Magnussen 

Esteban Ocon 

Constructors Standings

Red Bull – 447 points 

Ferrari – 382 points 

McLaren – 270 points 

Mercedes – 141 points 

Williams – 80 points 

Aston Martin – 60 points 

Alpha Tauri – 31 points 

Alpha Romeo – 14 points 

Alpine – 12 points 

Haas – 0 points 

Max had gotten a long talking to after everything was over. Christian probably screamed at him for over an hour, plus what GP and then what Mitch had to say after. He had wanted to apologize beforehand, but it seemed as though Arthur didn’t wat Max near you within a 25 foot radius. 

And when the Dutchman thought he could speak to you at the hotel, he had to find out the hard way that you had left that afternoon to go back to Monaco before the second Italian Grand Prix. Max huffed as he thought over what he should do. 

Just as you had anxiety and guilt about the incident, Max dubbed his as 10 times worse. This was it. In the past, everyone told him that he always messed up teammates for other drivers. That’s why Daniil didn’t work out, or Carlos, or Daniel, or Pierre, or Alex, or Checo. One way or another, Max always fucked it up. 

Well, that’s what his mind was telling him. 

And he didn’t want you to just be another name to the list. 

So with phone in hand, and pilot on call, he made the executive decision to fly back to Monaco. He knew exactly where your apartment was, since you gave me the address when you first moved in and a key for emergencies. 

When he landed, he went straight to the grocery store. Knowing that you had the cooking skills of Arthur and Charles combined and the pickiness of Lando amplified, he guessed that you and Arthur probably haven’t had dinner yet. So, he grabbed ingredients to make pizza. Simple enough. 

He drove to your flat and was suddenly enveloped with fear. He hit his head on the steering wheel once he parked. 

“I’m so stupid,” he whispered to himself as he gazed at the lights on in the windows. His head was still on the wheel as he turned to look down. What he failed to notice was you looking through the window. 

“Cheri? Is everything alright?” you heard Arthur call out from the kitchen. You two had just burnt some pasta while trying to make dinner. You gazed down at the familiar car parked in front. 

“Cheri?” 

Now Arthur was close, also looking out the window. 

“It’s Max.” 

The Monegasque scoffed. “What’s he doing here?” 

You hummed. “He’s probably wanting to apologize. I know what he’s like. Thur, he didn’t mean it.” 

Arthur’s eyes changed from cold to understanding. He had heard enough stories from his own brother along with gossip in the paddock about Max’s childhood (or lack thereof). 

He huffed once before saying, “Go to him and then invite him up.” 

He watched as your eyes lit up, before you placed a kiss on his lips. A smile formed on his lips as he watched you slide shoes on and go out the door. Arthur turned back to the kitchen. He guessed he needed to clean up before you invited thee Max Verstappen into the house. 

Max was so caught in his head that he missed you peering in. Only when you slightly knocked on the door, did he jump. He accidentally pressed the horn, making it echo down the empty road. He quickly unlocked the door, which let you slip in. 

His blue eyes gazed into yours before he started to cry. You looked at him with a frown on your face as he tried to desperately wipe his tears. He took many harsh inhales, trying to get his emotions under control. 

Max expected you to yell, scream, and hit at him. Yet, you gently placed a hand on his back and started to comfort him, like he’s done many times before. 

You let him cry and cry until he was ready to talk. 

“I’m such an asshole,” was the first thing that escaped his lips after his sobs started to break. 

You chuckled. “I could have told you that.” 

Max’s lips curved upwards in a small smile before going straight once again. He took another shuddering breath before continuing. 

“I don’t want to repeat the past. I am so sorry for what I did to you, that was unfair of me. I wanted to apologize before you left, but I was too late. And I didn’t want to end today without apologizing to you. Because I don’t want you to be another teammate that I failed.” 

He turned to you, eyes still glossy with leftover tears. 

You leaned to give him a hug across the dash, one that he was thankful for. 

He was the first one to part, still wiping at his eyes. You only gazed at him with compassion. When he was done sniffling, you started to talk. 

“Max, look at me please?” 

He turned his head so his bloodshot blue eyes could look at you. He looked utterly exhausted and your heart broke. If he was anything like you, you knew how much guilt he was carrying. 

“You’re not, we’re not, going to repeat the past. I just need you to understand that I am your team player. And when I’m given a team order, I will follow it every time.” 

Max’s head nodded in agreement. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I already forgave you before I left the paddock. I heard Christian yelling at you.” 

A snort left his nose. “It was probably for the best.” 

The car was filled with a comfortable silence before Max broke it. 

“Did you and Arthur have dinner yet?” 

“Max. What do you think?” 

“I’m going to take that as a no. Good think I bought groceries. Seriously, I am getting you and the Leclercs cooking lessons for Christmas.” 

“I’m not that bad.” 

“You almost burnt down my entire kitchen.” 

“Not on purpose.”  

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 have pizza, teammate, and bestie - will travel

liked by maxverstappen1, arthur_leclerc, logansargeant, and 90,294 others

y/n&co guys I was super worried but now I'm perfectly fine

rookie+maxie guys I truly believe that y/n is going to stay his teammate for as long as possible

best_duo frfr - no one has been on his level and he finally has a teammate that can keep up with him

y/n.nation generational talent right there

maxverstappen1 glad I could feed you two

y/n.89 we would have been fine on our own maxverstappen1 sure, after you burnt your food and almost set your apartment on fire y/n.89 hey, Arthur was there too? arthur_leclerc what is with this slander?????

f1_fan guys guys guys, it's the Dutch Grand Prix and then MONZA hello?????

true_tifosi I know I want to see Charles win again, but y/n deserves something

dutch_anthem_on_repeat time for MAX MAX MAX SUPER MAX

orange_army we are ready with flags and capes, bring it on Netherlands!!

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part ten

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Ten - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 2.3k

"Look at that, yeah. See them big old hands coming through? Is there not a one-hundred-nothing inside that?" Or at least that’s what I think he said. It’s hard to tell over the roar of the wind whipping through the open windows, his thick accent muddling the words, and the cramped space in the backseat where Logan and I are squeezed together. My focus is elsewhere, drawn to Logan, who stares out the window with that familiar, distant expression, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He always seems to have something on his mind, and I can’t help but wonder what it is this time.

The car ride to Cassandra’s lair is pure chaos. Elektra grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, her eyes sharp as she navigates the treacherous terrain. The engine growls in protest as we barrel down the uneven road, jostling everyone inside. Laura, Blade, and Gambit are crammed into the backseat with us, their bodies pressed against one another, while Wade rides shotgun, his usual irreverence barely contained.

Up ahead, Johnny flies through the sky, a streak of flame cutting across the clouds as he scouts for any signs of trouble. His flames cast flickering shadows on the ground below, illuminating the path as we race toward our destination.

Deadpool breaks the tense silence, his voice cutting through the wind. “What Gambit’s trying to say is getting Juggernaut’s helmet ain’t gonna be easy. I’m just making stuff up with this.”

Blade doesn’t miss a beat. “Gun.”

Deadpool glances back, spotting the massive firearm Blade has in his hands. “Where do you get that little beauty?”

Elektra’s voice is cold and steady. “That’s the Punisher’s ’84.”

A split second later, the car jolts violently as Blade fires the gun out the window. The force of the shot nearly deafens me, and I flinch as the blast tears through the giant, skeletal hands of Ant-Man, shredding them into a shower of bone fragments. The car skids to a stop, screeching to a halt within the crook of his shattered arms, which now lay lifeless and splintered around us.

We all clamber out of the car, the scent of gunpowder and burnt metal lingering in the air. As we gather ourselves, my eyes are drawn upward to the horde of mutant variants that have gathered to protect Cassandra. They stand like an army ready to defend their queen. High above, Cassandra watches from the eye of a massive skull, her silhouette dark and menacing.

Blade’s grin is feral, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Gambit cracks his knuckles, a wild gleam in his purple eyes. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Whoo, I’m about to make a name for myself here.”

Logan’s expression darkens, and he looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his knuckles brushing against my elbow. I return his gaze with a sad smile.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” Logan mutters, his voice low and filled with a grim certainty.

Gambit grins, unperturbed. “You just make sure people know what happened here today. When you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

Blade steps forward, his tone commanding. “You guys stay on our six, get inside. We’ll make sure you get the package.”

Elektra nods, her gaze steely. “Then we’ll get our ending.”

As if on cue, Johnny lands beside me, his flames flickering out as he touches down. “They’re toast,” he says with a smirk.

I cringe at his words. “You did not just say that.”

He just laughs, but the laughter is cut short as the shouting begins. The battlefield erupts into chaos, a cacophony of clashing blades and explosive gunfire. I charge into the fray, my blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. I sweep my legs over an opponent, feeling the satisfying crunch of bone as I drive my blade into their chest. The adrenaline pumps through my veins as I move with deadly grace, each strike calculated, each move precise.

A vision flashes in my mind, warning me of an enemy approaching from behind. I pivot on my heel, spinning just in time to deflect their attack and drive my blade into their heart. The battle rages on for what feels like an eternity, my body moving on instinct as I cut down one foe after another. Azrael appears before me, his eyes burning with a malevolent fire. We clash again and again, the power of our strikes sending shockwaves through the ground. But I’m faster, and after a brutal exchange, I manage to land a few hits, weakening him just enough to create an opening.

Wade, Logan, and I sprint through the chaos, slipping past the front lines and into the mouth of the skull, where Cassandra awaits. The interior of the skull is dimly lit, the air thick with the stench of decay. Cassandra reclines in a chair, her posture relaxed, a delicate cup of tea in her hand. She looks every bit the picture of calm amid the storm raging outside.

“You three escaping I could live with,” Cassandra says, her voice dripping with condescension. “But coming back, willingly. You’re so silly.”

Deadpool’s voice is strained, his usual bravado tempered by exhaustion. “I just need to get home.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold and devoid of warmth. “Well, that’s not on the menu, I’m afraid. It’s death or enslavement, a la carte, of course. Up!” With a flick of her wrist, Wade is flung into the air, his body slamming into the ceiling with a sickening crunch. He crashes to the floor, groaning in pain as Cassandra turns her gaze on me.

“I think you may be of use,” she muses, her eyes narrowing as she studies me.

Before I can react, she flicks her wrist again, sending a searing pain through my skull. I fall to my knees, clutching my head as the agony intensifies, my vision blurring to white. My mind feels like it’s being torn apart, but just as quickly as it started, the pain stops, leaving me gasping for breath.

“Stay,” Cassandra commands, and I feel my muscles lock into place, immobilizing me where I kneel. My head and neck the only thing I can move.

“It’s nice to give someone else a chance to talk,” she says, motioning towards Wade, who is still groaning in pain on the floor.

Logan’s eyes blaze with fury as he charges at her, claws extended. “Not my strong suit,” he growls.

But Cassandra is faster. With a wave of her hand, she redirects his attack, forcing him to stab his own legs. Logan collapses, blood seeping through his jeans as he gasps in pain. I flinch, unable to bear the sight, and turn away.

Cassandra circles Logan, her curiosity piqued. “You are an interesting one, aren’t you? I do feel like you get lost behind all of this,” she says, gesturing vaguely around her. “Deadpools are a dime a dozen here in The Void. But you, what’s going on in here?” She taps his forehead lightly, her fingers pressing into his skull.

Logan’s pained screams echo through the chamber as she delves into his mind. I close my eyes, trying to block out the sound, but it’s impossible. The anguish in his voice cuts through me, and I grit my teeth, fighting against the hold she has on me.

“Not what I expected back here,” Cassandra murmurs, her tone almost gentle. “You’re hiding from them, from all the ones you let down. So much pain. My little animal.”

Her words ignite a fury deep within me. Logan has spent his whole life being treated like an animal, caged and forced to fight for survival. The anger surges through me, and I struggle against the invisible bonds holding me in place.

I catch sight of Laura throwing down a bag, and Wade, now healed, slowly approaches it. My heart races as I realize what he’s about to do. I stop resisting, instead focusing on keeping Cassandra’s attention on Logan as Wade retrieves Juggernaut’s helmet. I hold my breath as he steps closer and slams the helmet onto her head, gripping her arms tightly as she screams in rage, recoiling from Logan.

Wade’s voice is a deadly whisper. “You’re gonna send us home, then I’m gonna twist your fucking head off.”

Cassandra laughs, the sound sharp and grating. “Why are you laughing?” I ask, a cold dread settling in my stomach.

“I can’t send you unless you get this thing off my head,” Cassandra explains, her voice dripping with malice. “And as soon as you do that, I’m going to boil your brains on an atomic level whilst flicking my bean. Either you kill me, or I kill you. Both wonderful options.”

Deadpool tightens his grip. “You want me to do it?”

Logan shakes his head. “No, I’ll do it.”

Deadpool scoffs. “I have her neck right here, it’s really no problem.”

Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade, his words sharp and unyielding. “You’ll screw it up.”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, exasperation lacing his tone. “Oh, come on, Mr. PG-13, it’s the last one.” His usual bravado feels almost forced, like he’s trying to break through the thick atmosphere hanging over the group.

Suddenly, a gunshot rips through the air, loud and jarring. My heart lurches in my chest, skipping a beat as the sound reverberates around us. 

“No, no, no,” I whisper, my voice trembling with panic. The horror of what’s just happened begins to sink in.

Pyro stands there, his hand still clutching the smoking gun, his expression a mix of defiance and desperation. He’s shot Cassandra. The blood spreads quickly across her clothes, a stark contrast to her pale skin.

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Pyro stammers, his voice shaking as he tries to justify his actions. “Day after day, ‘shovel the shit,’ ‘fetch the meats.’ I have spent my entire exist—”

But Logan doesn’t let him finish. With a brutal efficiency, he silences Pyro with a single, powerful punch. The force of it sends Pyro crumpling to the ground, his words cut off as his body hits the floor.

Logan’s eyes are cold, almost detached, as he looks down at Pyro. “Not everyone gets a speech,” he says flatly, his tone devoid of any sympathy. “She’s gonna die.”

Deadpool, trying to diffuse the situation, steps forward, his voice taking on a slightly desperate edge. “Okay, hey, if I take this helmet off, you promise you won’t kill us?”

Cassandra, even as she bleeds out, doesn’t miss a beat. Her voice, though weaker, is still laced with that same venomous edge. “I promise I will kill her first.”

Logan’s growl is low, menacing, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. 

Deadpool throws up his hands in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

Cassandra sighs, the sound almost wistful. “I wish I knew.”

“Take it off,” Logan orders, his voice brooking no argument.

Deadpool looks at him, confused. “What?”

My eyes dart between Cassandra and Logan, anxiety gnawing at my insides. “Logan, she said she’ll kill me. I don’t like that idea.”

But Logan remains calm, his gaze steady as he meets mine. “Trust me. Take it off.”

Deadpool presses, his voice tinged with doubt. “Why?”

I take a deep breath, the tension in the air almost suffocating. After a moment, I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Take it off.”

Deadpool hesitates, his usual confidence faltering. “This is our only chance to fix our shit.”

Logan snaps, his patience fraying. “Take it off! I am wearing this suit. And that means a lot of things, but most of all, it means I’m an X-Man. I am the X-Man. And I know your brother. As much as I want to fucking kill you—every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you—he would not let me stand here and watch you die. Take your hands off. This is for him. This is for Charles.”

With deliberate movements, Logan removes the helmet, the gesture heavy with significance.

Cassandra’s expression softens, her voice losing some of its harshness. “My brother loved you.”

Logan nods, his voice quiet, filled with a deep, unspoken emotion. “He loved all of us.”

Cassandra sighs, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “Hmm. Must be nice.”

Logan’s voice is steady, filled with quiet conviction. “He would have loved you too. If he knew about you, if he knew where you were, he would have torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.”

Cassandra’s smile turns bitter, her eyes darkening. “This is home.”

Logan’s gaze is intense, almost pleading. “Then at least let us save his.”

Cassandra’s eyes flicker with something almost like understanding. “You wanna hear something crazy?” she says, her tone shifting. “An amateur magician roamed through here a while back. I killed him, of course, wore his skin around for four days. But I found this little trinket on his lovely fingers.”

With a flourish, she begins to open a portal, the swirling energy forming a glowing circle.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in amazement. “Strange. Marvel’s sparkle circle.”

Logan eyes the portal warily. “What is that?”

Cassandra smirks, the glint of mischief returning to her gaze. “This is your way home. I do owe you for saving my life, but let’s keep things interesting. I’d say you have about four seconds before your life’s through.”

Wade grins. “Race you!”

Without hesitation, the three of us bolt toward the rapidly closing portal, the adrenaline surging through my veins. We leap through it just in time, the sensation of free-falling overwhelming as the portal closes behind me, leaving us to face whatever awaits on the other side.

Next Part

A/N: Boring chapter imo but i have big plans tehe

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw @100percentlazybonez @obsessedwthdilfs @sun7lowxr @corvid007

[bingwriterxo]

the chase

pairing: vada cavell x reader

summary: in which you and vada play a game of cat and mouse

warnings: none

word count: 4100+

author's note: does this make any sense? great question!

The moment Vada slipped into the passenger’s seat of Nick’s car, words were flying out of his mouth faster than she could comprehend, which was saying a lot considering how often she’d find herself rambling about the most random of things.

“Where were you yesterday?” he started as he shifted the car into drive, beginning their short ride to school. “I called you seven times, and you didn’t answer once. It was Sunday, and you do nothing on Sundays! I was beginning to think you were dead until I texted your mom and--”

Vada shook her head. “Wait, slow down. Back up. You text my mom? When did you get her number?”

He waved her off. “Not important. What is important is you telling me what you were doing yesterday.” He rolled past a stop sign, barely even glancing in its direction as he drove past. “I mean, seven calls, V, and you answered not a single one! So, what were you doing?”

She grinned, giggling in her seat at what she was about to reveal. “I had a date!”

Almost immediately, Nick whipped his head to look at her, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “With who?!” he practically shouted.

Vada reached out, took his chin between her forefinger and thumb, and turned his head back in the direction of the windshield. “Eyes on the road, stupid. I’m not trying to die today.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Vada, if you don’t tell me who you went on a date with in the next five seconds, I’ll purposely drive us into oncoming traffic.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she teased with a roll of her eyes. He glared at her quickly before focusing on the road again. She bit her lip, trying to quell the excitement raging in her stomach as she said, “It was with Y/N.”

The car skidded to a stop and Vada was jolted forward, her seatbelt pressing tight against her body.

“Dude, what the fuck--” she began, but she was silenced as Nick twisted in his seat, his eyes hard as they set on her and his frown so defined that it made her uncomfortable.

“What,” he deadpanned.

She rubbed at her chest, right where the seat belt had dug into her. “What?” she asked, confused.

“You went on a date with…Y/N? Popular Y/N? Like, most-popular-girl-in-school Y/N?”

Vada tilted her head. “Uh, yeah?”

“Why the fu--” Nick was interrupted by a car honking at him. He threw his arm up in annoyance before starting to drive again, and Vada gulped as he stewed in his seat. “I can’t believe you went on a date with Y/N!”

“Why are you saying it like that?” Vada asked. She shifted, disliking the tension that was starting to fill the air. “You make it sound like a bad thing. I thought you’d be excited! I finally went on my first date with a girl! You’ve been waiting for this moment since the second I came out to you.”

“First of all, I’ve been waiting for this moment since the second I met you, because, baby, the closet is glass.” He took a hard right. The school loomed up ahead. “Secondly, I wanted you to go on a date with basically anyone other than Y/N.”

Vada furrowed her eyebrows. “I’m not that obviously bisexual.” Silence filled the car and she huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine, maybe I am. But why is going out with Y/N such a bad thing? She’s funny and cute and really smart. Basically, she’s perfect.”

“She’s not perfect, V,” Nick said, sitting up a little straighter as he pulled into the parking lot. “Haven’t you ever noticed that she’s got a new girl hanging off of her every month?” Vada’s stomach dropped, a sudden sense of anxiety flooding through her veins. “I mean, she goes through girls like you go through sugar.”

“No she doesn’t,” Vada tried, but her denial fell on deaf ears.

“She’s the biggest player this school has,” Nick said, leaning forward as he tried to pull into his designated parking spot. “She’s probably the biggest player in the damn county. She chases after a girl, stays with her for a few weeks, gets bored, and then does it all over again.” He turned to her as he shifted the gear into park. “Vada, she’s worse than John Tucker.”

“Are you seriously referencing a movie right now?” She scoffed and unbuckled her seatbelt. “She’s not like that.”

“Fine,” Nick conceded. “But when you get hurt, don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s just in it for the chase.”

Vada clambered out of the car and pulled her backpack onto her shoulder. “And when we live happily ever after,” she started as she and Nick started to walk into the school, “I’ll say ‘I told you so’.”

He glanced at her before looking forward, his eyes widening. “...I’m not so sure about that one, V.”

She frowned and followed Nick’s line of sight, a sharp pain shooting through her at what she saw. You had your back pressed against your locker, trapped there by Stacey from Vada’s history class, who had her hand flat against the metal and was leaning close to you. Stacey was batting her eyelashes and giggling, and you were smiling along.

“Oh,” Vada said, voice quiet and small. She tore her eyes away and blinked hard, looking back up at Nick. “Well, I guess you were right.”

He offered her a pitiful smile. “I’m sorry, V. But, you should be glad you won’t be another girl stuck in her revolving door of girls.”

“Yeah,” she said, voice low and filled with sorrow. “So happy.”

Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulder, leading her toward his own locker. “Don’t be so sad. It’s for the best.”

Vada glanced away. “I just don’t get it. I mean, if she’s in it for the chase, then why is she flirting with another girl? Was I not good enough to chase?” She frowned. “Am I just too boring? Or do I talk too much?” She looked up at Nick. “Nick, be honest with me, do I talk too much? Could that turn someone off?”

“Yes,” he said simply, nodding his head. Vada huffed. He pulled away as the two reached his locker and focused on putting his combination into the lock. “Don’t think too far into it, though. I don’t think you wanna go through the pain of it anyway.” He shrugged and then hit the metal door when it wouldn’t open. “Stupid, old locker.” He glanced at her. “You’d just end up getting your heart broken.”

Vada sighed and leaned against the locker beside Nick’s, her shoulder pressing against the cool metal. “That’s dumb. And unfair. And not very nice.”

Nick’s locker door finally popped open. “Just ignore her from now on, okay?” He glanced at her and started to put his books into his locker. “Don’t talk to her, don’t text her, don’t even think about her. ‘Y/N Y/L/N who?’ That’s how you should be acting.”

She nodded hesitantly. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“Good.” He slammed the door shut. “Now let’s go to class.”

* * *

The first few periods rolled by smoothly. Vada had no classes with you until after lunch, and she didn’t even get a glimpse of you in the hallways. While part of her was still disheartened by your act, she also agreed with Nick’s words: it was probably for the best that she didn’t get tangled up with you.

That is, until she asked to use the bathroom during her science class, and upon walking inside, found you standing by the sinks, fixing your hair in the mirror. Almost immediately, your eyes landed on her figure through the reflection and you grinned, showing all your pearly-white teeth, before turning around to face her. Vada’s breath was practically sucked from her lungs as she stared at you.

“Vada! Hey!” you greeted, voice happy and excited.

It made Vada uncomfortable, how easily you were able to put on that mask. Nick’s voice rang in her head: Don’t talk to her. She bounced on the balls of her feet before promptly making the decision to hide in one of the stalls, slipping away from your field of vision without a word.

“Oh…kay…” she heard you say. There was the shuffling of your feet before she could see your shoes beneath the stall door. “Text me, okay? I had fun yesterday.” You turned and Vada listened as your footsteps receded.

When she knew she was finally alone, she let out the breath she had been holding and leaned forward, her forehead bumping against the metal of the stall.

“C’mon, Vada, get it together,” she mumbled. “She’s a player. She doesn’t want anything from you.” She clamped her eyes shut and shook her head. “She doesn’t want you.”

That was the mantra that repeated in her head for the entire day. It was what she heard when she saw you during lunch, waving at her from across the cafeteria. She reminded herself of it when you sat down beside her during English class and tried to make conversation, to which she entirely ignored you--it did hurt her heart a little when she saw your wide eyes and jutted out bottom lip when you realized she wouldn’t talk to you, but she tried to ignore that, too.

It all came to a head at the end of the day, when Vada was trying to pile as many of her books as she possibly could into her backpack. She was almost done when you sidled up beside her, a gleaming smile on your face and your hands tucked sheepishly in the back pockets of your jeans.

“Hey,” you said softly, like Vada was a scared animal that would run away.

She swallowed, half of her so desperately wanting to talk to you and ask why you would ask her out just to play with her, while the other half of her was set in her stubborn way of not speaking a word to you. The latter half won as she shut her locker door and walked away, but she couldn’t shake you.

You followed beside her, looking down at her as you walked. “I don’t know what happened between yesterday and today, or if you’re just having an off day or something, but I really did have fun on our date, and I’d like to take you on another one.”

She glanced up at you, unable to stop the quickening of her pulse. What if you were telling the truth? She shook her head, Nick’s words in her ear: Don’t even think about her.

Vada managed to lose you in the crowd of students all trying to exit the school at once, but she still heard your voice call over the sound of everyone else.

“I’ll text you then!”

Something about your determination made her want to melt right into your arms, but she stood up a little straighter and continued walking. You didn’t actually want her, she reminded herself. You just liked the chase.

* * *

After a night full of text messages from you that Vada never answered, she sauntered into school the next day with Nick by her side, completely set on avoiding you as much as she could. Unfortunately for both her and Nick, it seemed like you wanted to make that impossible.

The minute she passed through the front doors, you were walking beside her, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Vada glanced at them quickly, feeling butterflies stir in her stomach at the sight, but Nick slapped her on the hand, forcing her to keep her stoic face as she picked up the pace and tried to walk away.

“What, do you not like roses?” you asked, just a step behind the pair. You sounded dejected, defeated--some part of Vada felt bad; the other part thought ‘good. she should feel bad’. After a moment of silence from you, she heard the smallest, “Well, okay,” and when she looked over her shoulder, you were gone, the roses sticking out of the top of the nearest trash can. It was a depressing sight to see.

She sighed. “I feel kind of bad, Nick,” she admitted, and the boy shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said firmly. “She deserves to be humbled for once.” He scoffed. “She can’t just have anyone she wants and then throw them away when she gets bored because she’s pretty and popular. And she most certainly can’t do that to you.”

“But, yesterday she said that she had fun on our date and wants to go on another one. What if she was telling the truth? What if she actually likes me?”

Nick shook his head again. “It’s all part of her sick game. She wants you to fall for her, and then she’ll pull the rug right out from under you.” He patted Vada on the shoulder. “Trust me; she’s bad news.”

Vada glanced back over her shoulder again, and this time she found you in the same position as the day before--leaning back against your locker with Stacey standing in front of you, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

Your eyes flitted toward her for a split second, wide and forlorn, before they were focusing on Stacey again. You broke out into a grin, throwing your head back as you laughed.

“Right,” Vada grumbled, an ache forming in her chest and radiating throughout the rest of her body. “Bad news.”

* * *

The ‘bad news’ didn’t seem so bad anymore when, in the middle of English class, Vada was tapped on the shoulder by the boy behind her. When she twisted around to see what he wanted, he unceremoniously shoved a folded piece of paper in her direction, a scowl on his face as he waited for her to take it.

With furrowed eyebrows and a frown, Vada grabbed the paper and turned back in her seat, glancing up at her teacher to make sure he wasn’t watching as she unfolded the sheet.

Vada,

Thought I might try the old-fashioned way. Are you free on Friday night? The drive-in is showing The Princess Diaries, and I remember you saying you had a crush on Anne Hathaway. Wanna go together?

Y/N :)

Vada glanced toward the back of the room, where you had found yourself sitting that day, and saw you already looking at her, hope painting your face prettily. She cursed herself internally at the butterflies in her stomach as she looked back at the note you had sent forward. It was cute--she’d give you that--and she was tempted to say yes, but the image of Stacey flirting with you flitted through her mind, and that was enough for her to crumple the paper in her hand.

She didn’t look back at you.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident: you didn’t try to speak to her in the halls, and by the time she went to sleep, Vada hadn’t received a single text from you. Just before she drifted off for the night, she briefly thought that you had given up--perhaps you had grown so used to girls falling into your lap that chasing Vada was just too much energy that you didn’t want to use.

She was proven wrong when she woke up to a voicemail from you in the morning. You had called her late at night--the timestamp reading nearly three o’clock--and when Vada played the message aloud, your voice filling her room, shame bloomed in her stomach.

“Hey,” you started, your voice quiet and scratchy. “It’s me. Or, it’s Y/N. I--I don’t know if you’ve deleted my number or something. I just…Look, I know it hasn’t been long since our date, but…” You sighed, and Vada could hear the faintest sound of a sniffle. “The cold shoulder from you doesn’t feel great. I just wanna know where we stand. I had fun on Sunday. Uh, it’s okay if you didn’t. I just wish you would tell me.” You sniffled again. “I guess if you don’t answer this, that’s my answer. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you in school.”

Vada threw herself back into her pillows with a sigh. She ran a hand down her face, groaning. “Fuck,” she mumbled. “Fuck.” You sounded so sincere in the voicemail, but what if that were just another one of your ploys? What if you did this with every girl? What if—

“Bitch, why the fuck are you still in bed?” Nick asked as he burst into Vada’s bedroom.

She groaned again, throwing her legs up and down like a small toddler not getting their way. Her heart was pulling toward you, but her brain was trying to run away from you as fast as possible. She was torn, and she had no idea what to do.

Luckily for her, she was given more time to think than she had expected. You were absent that day, your missing presence a large hole in her day. There was no one to offer her flowers, or to try to pass her notes during class, or to wave at her in the cafeteria. As much as she hated admitting it to herself, she still liked you, and the lack of you carved a deep pit into her stomach.

That night, when there was still no sign of you--no texts or calls or even posts on any social media--she fell asleep with worry itching beneath her veins and guilt pricking at her chest.

The next morning wasn’t any better. Anxiety sat heavy like a rock in Vada’s stomach as she got ready, while Nick sang some random song in the car, when she walked through the parking lot and into school.

Her eyes immediately flitted toward your locker, a mixture of relief and sorrow surging through her at the sight of you standing there, alone, but with your head hung and your eyes trained on your feet. You were in sweatpants and a baggy hoodie. It was all completely unlike you.

“Nick,” she called, getting the boy’s attention. She subtly pointed at you. “Do you think she’s okay?”

He scoffed. “I’m sure her outfit just didn’t look as good in real life as it did in her head. What else does she have to worry about?”

Vada shrugged, her eyes still locked on you. You didn’t look up once.

* * *

It was at night that Vada’s worry had turned into all-out panic. Throughout the school day, you had avoided her like the plague, making sure to never interact with her. At one point, you had locked eyes with her down the hall and then swiftly spun on your heel and walked back in the direction you came from.

That, combined with getting absolutely no notifications from you, led her to a terribly easy decision as she stood from her bed, grabbed a hoodie, and lied to her mom that she was going to Nick’s house. She slipped out the front door, her pace quick as she rushed the few blocks to your house.

When she arrived, it was almost completely dark, save for the fluorescent light coming from your living room, where Vada had found herself just days before after you had taken her out to dinner.

With a hesitant hand, she knocked on your front door. It took only a few seconds before you appeared, looking completely unsurprised to see her.

“Vada,” you said softly, and she was immediately surrounded by the scent of alcohol on your breath. “What’re you doing here?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Are you…drunk? On a Thursday night?”

You shrugged. “So what if I am? What’re you doing here?” you repeated.

Pushing aside her concerns about your drinking habits, she asked, “Why did you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Chasing me,” she said, like you should’ve known.

You forced out a dry laugh, tilting your head to the side. “You know, you’re a confusing girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you completely ignored all of my attempts to talk to you, and now you’re upset that I’ve stopped, even though it seemed like that’s what you wanted.” You narrowed your eyes. “Sounds kind of confusing, don’t you think?”

Vada swallowed, crossing her arms and shaking her head. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair,” you muttered beneath your breath. “Okay. Sure. I was unfair to you.” You leaned back on your heels, your hand gripping the doorknob. “Now, if that’s all, then I’ll see you at school.”

You started to close the door, but something about your indifference made anger rise in Vada. “I just didn’t want to become a girl in your revolving door of girls!” she shouted.

You stilled, your eyes widening before glazing over. “Right. My revolving door of girls. That’s what everyone says, right?” Your voice was hollow, sad. Vada didn’t understand why.

“They say it because it’s true,” she huffed. Your posture fell and you glanced away, clenching your jaw. “You chase, you get, you grow bored.”

“That’s not true.” You looked at her, and faintly, she could see tears glossing your eyes. “That’s not…true. Those girls chase me; they use me; they leave me.” Your volume grew steadily, a sort of rage backing your words. “But since I’m the one factor that stays the same, everyone blames me. And it’s not--” You sighed. “It’s not true.”

You scoffed. “And you know what, I thought you might be the one person that didn’t believe what everyone else said. You seemed real, authentic, like you didn’t really give a shit about the crowd, Vada. That’s why I liked you, why I was trying. I thought you were your own person. But I was wrong. You’re just like the rest of the school.”

With all of the new information thrown at her, confusion and guilt and shame and hurt burning her, the only thing Vada managed to say was, “Oh.”

You nodded, glancing away. “Yeah. ‘Oh’. So, I’ll see you at school.”

When you shut the door, leaving Vada standing alone on your front porch, realization struck her like a tidal wave, and everything from the past few days came crashing down on her.

You didn’t chase. Or, at least, not until her.

“Shit.”

* * *

Vada (11:42pm): need ur help

Vada (11:42pm): 911

Mia (11:43pm): ???

Vada (11:43pm): help me ask Y/N out

Vada (11:43pm): ur her best friend. pls.

Mia (11:45pm): bro u fucked up big time

Mia (11:45pm): shes forgiving and all but…

Vada (11:45pm): mia pls

Mia (11:49pm): fine.

Mia (11:49pm): only b/c i know how much she likes u

Mia (11:49pm): dont fuck up again

Mia (11:50pm): heres what u should do

* * *

You didn’t show up to school again the next day, but it barely registered in Vada’s mind. She had already known beforehand that you wouldn’t be going--Mia had slipped her some ‘secret intel’ that your hangover had you sleeping the day away. Instead, she spent the hours mentally preparing herself, and as soon as the bell rang to signal the end of the day, she set her plan into motion.

At exactly six o’clock at night, Vada was standing at your front door again, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and her (Mia’s) car keys in the other. She knocked on the wood, waited, and when you pulled the door open, her words immediately pushed themselves out of her mouth.

“The drive-in is showing The Princess Diaries tonight, and I know you don’t like Anne Hathaway as much as I do, but I’d like to take you to see it.” She inhaled deeply and continued. “And I’d also like to apologize because I’ve been shitty to you these past few days, and I shouldn’t have listened to the rumors, and I should’ve just talked to you about it all, and I’m really sorry about everything that happened, and I just”--she gasped, her lungs stinging with lack of air, and kept going--“I really do like you, and I did have fun on our initial date, and I’m sorry. Can I take you to the drive-in?”

You blinked once, twice, before you raised a single brow. “What?”

Vada sighed. “The most important thing from all of that is that I’m sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know that can’t just go away, but I’d like the chance to make it up to you, if you’d let me.” She shoved the flowers in your direction. “Want to go see The Princess Diaries?”

You glanced down at the flowers, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth, and then took them from her. With the smallest and softest smile that made Vada’s knees buckles, you nodded.

“Okay.” Your face fell. “But on one condition.”

She nodded fervently. “Anything.”

You grinned. “Let’s get milkshakes after and talk.”

bonus: “like, how could you not have a huge crush on anne hathaway?” vada asked, her eyes glued to the big screen.

you hummed. “i’ve got my eye on someone else.”

when she looked at you, ready to argue about anne hathaway’s attractiveness, you were already staring at her, smiling. 

[blindmagdalena]

Hide and Seek

18+ 6.2k homelander x f!reader. predator/prey, consensual non-consent, dirty talk, cockwarming, outdoor sex, oral sex, there's a lot. check AO3 for full tag list. shout out to @mari-thesimp and @whatevermonkey for the prompts that inspired this fic!

Nothing could have prepared you for the reality of this moment. The chase had sounded like such lighthearted fun in theory. A jaunt through the forest with your superpowered boyfriend never far behind, pursuing you through the woods. Upping the ante by agreeing to do it at night seemed—at the time—like simply removing the training wheels. You were wrong.

The pound of your heart nearly drowns out the sound of branches and woodland debris snapping under foot as you run blindly through the woods, the moon above barely serving illumination through the dense tree canopy. What you hadn’t realized at the start of all this was that your body wouldn’t know the difference between running for your life for fun, and running for your life for real.

A blast as sharp as a gunshot whips by overhead, bowing the trees with the force of it and startling a scream out of you. The startle causes you to lose your footing, and your momentum is too great to catch yourself. You hurdle forwards, rolling end over end into the mess of brambles, landing flat on your back, gasping for breath. You hear the thud of something landing in the distance. You lay there a moment, brain frantically recalibrating while you stare up at the dense tree cover, trying to catch your breath. That’s when a new sound cuts through the ambient sounds of the forest; someone whistling a cheery little melody. Shortly after that, you begin to hear footsteps. “You made it further than I thought you would,” Homelander calls into the night, his chipper tone replacing that jaunty whistle. “But c’mon. Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

You scramble to your feet, bracing against a tree to look wildly around yourself. It’s too dark to even make out his silhouette, but what you see instead turns your insides to ice. Maybe twenty feet away, two glowing red eyes cut through the black of the night, peering around until, abruptly, they lock onto you. The glow of them is just enough to illuminate the way Homelander’s lips pull into a sharp smile. “Got’cha.” Immediately, you take off running. There’s no thought behind it, nothing but the pure animalistic panic to escape. He may be the love of your life, but that was terrifying. The dense treeline breaks into a clearing, and you run for the path of least resistance, even as your muscles scream. A small hill near a babbling stream catches your eye, and though every breath you suck back makes your lungs burn, you push yourself to it, desperate for a place to hide. You skid to a stop just beyond the hill, and then hurl yourself back against it, clamping both hands over your mouth, screwing your eyes shut as you desperately try to quiet yourself.

The agreement was that Homelander would not utilize his x-ray vision. Your only hope was that the sound of the stream might mask the thunder of your heart beating in your chest. In this state of flight, you find it impossible to gauge the passage of time. It might be seconds that pass, it might be minutes. You can’t fathom it. Either way, it isn’t long before you begin to hear heavy booted footsteps crunching through the underbrush. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," Homelander's voice rings out, that wicked smile audible in his tone. "You can come easy, or you can come hard. You're mine either way." You bite into your own hand, tucking yourself further in against the grassy mound. His words hurl you into a dizzying haze of panic and excitement, leaving your brain bordering on short circuiting, unsure if you should be running from or towards the honied voice calling you from the shadows. Abruptly, the sound of footsteps stops, and you are left with nothing but the thrum of your heartbeat, and the burble of the stream.Time passes, but still you hear nothing. Tentatively, you peer out around the edge of the mound, into the clearing where you heard him approaching. Seeing nothing, you cautiously rise to your feet and crane to get a better look. Empty. There isn’t a trace of him anywhere. There’s more light in the clearing, lending a touch to your bravery. You don’t need the cue of his eyes to see him here, but the fact he’s disappeared somewhere into the treeline worries you. You glance down to the river. Perhaps your sound-based subterfuge was successful, and he believes you kept moving forward. You take the opportunity to backtrack, and hopefully throw him off your trail. After all, if you get back to the cabin by yourself, you win this little game.

Not wanting to run the risk of him hearing you, you pick up a modest trot back towards the thicket you had emerged from. Reaching out to brace your hand on a passing tree, you scream when a crimson gloved hand closes suddenly around your wrist, another hand catching you around the waist and yanking you backwards, lifting you clean off your feet, and up into the air with him. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts. “Not so quick. We haven’t even gotten to enjoy the view together yet,” he says, his words warm huffs in your ear, prickling goosebumps all the way down your spine. You thrash against him with everything you have in you, but you may as well be pounding against pure steel. He’s unyielding. Homelander drops back down onto the ground, and with unbelievable ease, spins you around to pin your back against the tree. Slotting his thigh between your legs, Homelander lifts you with just that. Effortlessly catching both of your wrists in a single hand, he traps them up above your head. He leans forward, his knee braced against the tree. “There’s my girl,” he purrs, lifting a hand to stroke your cheek. Any other day, you would lean into it. The rumble of his voice when he calls you his never fails to make you melt. Right now, however, the two of you are playing a game, and you aren’t going to be the one to ruin it.

You yank your face away from his hand, leaning as far as you can to the side. “Let me go,” you gasp, still thoroughly out of breath. “Mm, nope, no. That… That I don’t think I’ll ever do,” he says, catching your jaw tight between his leather clad fingers, yanking you back to face him, forcing you to meet his eyes, which flare a dim crimson. “You’re all mine, sweetheart.” Homelander kisses you hard, swallowing up the cry you give. You nearly succumb, you almost kiss him back before you remember yourself. Instead, you twist as violently as you can in his grasp, trying anything you can to gain leverage, but nothing works. He has you lifted off your feet, and he’s pressed in too close for you to utilize your legs against him. Meanwhile, he relishes your struggle. You can feel him smiling against your lips, followed by the hot wet press of his tongue. You yield to him only for the opportunity to bite down hard on the appendage. It’s soft beneath your teeth, but it doesn’t give. There’s nothing you could do that would damage him.

Homelander hums a delighted little noise, breaking the kiss. His smile is like that of a wolf, fangs and all. “Now you’re really getting me excited,” he says, punctuating it with a slow grind up between your legs, startling a moan out of you. He lets go of your face in favor of dragging his hand down your body, cupping your breast through your shirt and squeezing, making you keen. “I was gonna be a gentleman and take you back to the cabin, but if you’re gonna behave like a fucking animal–” he says, his rich, molasses sweet voice veering into a rough growl as he rips your shirt wide open, exposing your chest to the night chill, “–then I will gladly fuck you in the dirt like one.” Struggling against him only intensifies the friction of his thigh against your pussy, your clit throbbing against firm muscle behind the confines of your pants. You turn your head away as he kisses down your throat, wringing a gasp out of you when he bites down. You feel him chuckle against your skin, dragging his tongue over the stinging mark, his soft hair tickling along your jaw. “So, what’ll it be? You gonna behave for me?” He asks, drawing back to meet your stare. The question makes you ache, worsens the throb of your clit against his thigh. His perfect blonde locks are set askew now, giving him an untamed look. You feel as wild as he appears. Heart thundering in your chest, you make a play without a second thought, and you spit in his face, spattering the corner of his mouth and his cheek.

For a split second, Homelander looks sincerely shocked, his eyes wide. Slowly, he begins to laugh. The sound of it rolls chills all the way down your spine. You’ve never heard him sound this menacing. His tongue darts out to lick away the mess of it from the corner of his mouth. Pulling one of your hands down from above your head, he uses your palm to wipe it clean, turning his face to nuzzle into your hand, despite how you try to close it from him. When he looks at you, his pupils have reduced the blue of his eyes to a thin ring, making his eyes look almost completely black. His sharp grin has turned him wholly into a predator. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he says, voice pitched low. Faster than you can track, he dips down and hauls you up over his shoulder with ease, that abysmal eagle pauldron digging into your side as he carries you back into the clearing. You ball up your fists and pound on his back with every ounce of strength you have in you, twisting against his grip on your legs, but nothing fazes him. “Scream all you want, sweetheart,” he laughs, giving your ass an indulgent smack. “No one to hear it but me.” Homelander hurls you forward, and though you hit the ground much more gently than you braced for, the motion is no less disorienting. Sprawled on your back, you move to roll over, but a sudden weight on your thigh stops you. You look down and see his muddy red boot pressed firmly there, pinning you. Above, you hear the familiar sound of him unzipping his pants. Once his cock is free, Homelander grips it with a heated sigh, staring down at you through heavily lidded eyes. His lips are parted, and you can see the sharp edges of his canines glinting in the light of the moon. “Look at you, such a fucking mess,” he says, pumping his cock in slow, even slides of his hand. He’s already fully hard, the engorged head of his cock leaking drops of precome with every stroke. You can feel how bad he wants you in the way he watches you, the way his breath hitches. He looks like a wild animal drooling over a fresh cut of meat.

You writhe beneath him, but the weight of his boot alone is more than enough to keep you in place. “Please,” you whine, fighting to keep the desire out of your voice. “Please don’t, please, let me go, I won’t tell anyone–” “Ssshhhhh, shhh,” Homelander hushes, lips quirked in a lopsided smile. “I know you won’t.” Reaching out, Homelander bends at the waist and lifts his boot off of you just before he catches a handful of your hair, maneuvering you up onto your knees. The way he handles you is exceedingly gentle. He has no need for rough or forceful movements when his strength can bend steel. You have no choice but to move with him. “I’m gonna give you one chance to redeem yourself, alright?” Holding you steady, Homelander guides you to his cock, arching your head back with his grip in your hair. “Open up, pretty girl,” he croons, the only warning he gives before shoving his cock between your lips, smearing precome along your tongue, all the way to the back of your throat. The salt-sex taste of him is immediately intoxicating, and though you gag at the sudden intrusion, you suck him down without meaning to, reflexively swallowing. “Ffffuck, ah, hah, that’s it. Mmm, such a natural little cockslut. Taste good, sweetheart?” He asks, positively destroying you. He’s never called you anything like that before, but the ease with which he says it now makes it sound like the hundredth time. You want to hear it again. You make a sound that’s close to a moan, pushing your hands against his thighs, digging your nails into the padding of his suit. Letting go of his cock, he cups the side of your face, and picks up a steady rhythm with his hips, fucking your mouth shallowly.

With his thumb, Homelander caresses your lips, following the line of them where they stretch wide around his dick. He’s entranced by you, watching with endless intensity. Your jaw is slack, drool coating his cock as he fucks your mouth. “Ohhh, fuck. Fuck, look at you. Wanted it all along, didn’t you? I can smell your pussy, baby. You’re so fucking wet for me.” He fucks deeper, and you stifle the gag this time. Your eyes well with tears that collect on your lashes, weighing them down against your cheeks. The weight of his cock on your tongue feels so good, you lose yourself briefly, forgetting that you’re supposed to be putting up a fight. This time, you let yourself gag when he pushes in deep, and you try to pull off of him, fighting back against the hand he’d flattened at the back of your skull. “No, no, sshh, not yet. Almost there,” he says, tightening his grip in your hair, his voice fraying as he begins to come apart. He starts thrusting faster, adjusting his hands to hold either side of your head, using you so thoroughly that you feel like a fucking toy in his hands. Your breaths become shallower, short little gasps between the frenzied snaps of his hips. “Aaalmost there. That’s it, take it, taking it so fuckin’ good. Knew you could, baby.” Between the praise and lack of air, you’re starting to feel lightheaded. You’re not fighting against him anymore, but instead gripping his thighs for dear life, eyes rolling back into your skull. You feel like you’re floating in and out of your physical body, barely tethered to reality.

Homelander comes with a choked-off noise, shoving you all the way down onto his cock. You don’t even taste the come, you just feel the heavy pulses of his cock against your tongue, the heat of it sliding down your throat, warming you from the inside out. Just when you’re starting to feel like you might pass out, Homelander pulls out of your mouth, holding you as you cough wetly. You gulp down breath after breath, gradually coming down from your delirium. Homelander strokes your hair through it, breathing heavily through his own aftershocks. “Now there’s a redemption arc,” he says through a breathy little chuckle. He lets go of your hair so that he can tuck himself loosely back into his pants. Before you can get any ideas, Homelander knocks you backwards, visibly pleased by the easy way you sprawl out on your back, still dazed. Crouching down, he gets a good grip on the hips of your pants, and with a swift outward pull on either side, rips them clean apart, along with your underwear, leaving just the scraps of them hanging off your thighs, fully exposing your pelvis. Inhaling deeply, Homelander’s smile is downright predatory. “My turn,” he says, hooking your legs up over his shoulders, leaving just your upper back touching the ground below. He takes hold of your hips, and lifts you up to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he moans like a man mad with hunger as he drags his tongue through the slick mess of your cunt, closing his lips around your clit.

You arch your back with a cry, pushing into the wet heat of his mouth. He’s ruthless in the way he feasts on you, plunging his tongue into you and lapping up every drop he can coax out. When he’s gotten all he can, he goes back up to your clit and sucks, swirling his tongue over it, reducing you to a whimpering mess. He laps at your clit until there’s more sweet slick for him to drink up from your pussy, fucking you with his tongue, demanding more. Homelander gets his wish when you come, an explosion of pleasure that radiates through your entire body. Your thighs lock up on either side of his head, squeezing him tight, but all he cares about is the rush of your release that spills down his chin, wetting him so thoroughly the excess drips onto the ground below. He swallows every drop that he can. He groans with it, licking eagerly between the quivering lips of your cunt. Your orgasms have always driven him insane, the flood of endorphins making you taste fucking exquisite. Suddenly the ground falls out beneath you as Homelander stands up, leaving you hanging in his grasp as he devours you, your moans of pleasure rapidly dissolving into broken sobs, overwhelmed with sensation. “S-stop,” you gasp, grabbing hold of his wrists. “Too much, please, it’s too much.”

Homelander’s only response is a rough little shake of his head, nuzzling into your pussy, lapping up the aftermath of your orgasm and rapidly hurdling you hot and heavy towards another one, your hips convulsing against him entirely of their own accord. “Please, oh god, please stop!” You cry, voice raw. You hang helplessly in his grip, squirming with nowhere to go. He’s got you dangling precariously on the razor's edge between pleasure and pain, the sensations so intense that they almost burn. “S-stop! It’s too much! Please!” You have a safe word, you and he both know you could save yourself if you wanted to, but the reality is that you don’t. It feels good to beg for what you know he will not give you. You’re starting to feel dizzy, hanging upside down, gasping for breath as he continues to gorge himself on you. He drags his tongue up and down, drawing deft figure eights before sucking your clit, pressing his tongue firmly to it. You come again, and this time the experience is so overwhelming, you scream.

Falling limp, all you can muster are weak, oversensitized noises. Your body spasms involuntarily while Homelander licks you through the aftermath of your orgasm, milking every last drop of it. He finishes with a refreshed, wet exhale, audibly licking his lips of the mess while you dangle in his grasp. Gingerly, he lowers you back down onto the grassy forest floor, slipping out from between your legs to loom over you. Your brain is so addled, it takes you ages to realize that he’s kissing you, licking your own flavor into your mouth. You whimper when you feel his ungloved fingers brush your overstimulated cunt, the contact making you jolt. He clicks his tongue softly. “Look what you did,” he murmurs between kisses, plunging his fingers into you, despite your weak protest. You’re so wet, the slide of them is a frictionless ache. You whine into the press of his lips. “You went and got me hard again,” he sighs, as if you’ve inconvenienced him. “Now I have to fuck your pretty pussy.”

Homelander’s fingers pump in and out of you, the sound of it obscene and wet. Your breath hitches, and you try to protest, but his gloved hand falls over your lips, silencing you.

“Shhh, shh. Save it, sweetheart. Save it for my cock.” His fingers sink in deep, and your lashes flutter, eyes nearly rolling back into your skull. Already, you’re aching to feel him deeper. All you can do is whimper into the warm leather of his glove, squirming under the weight of his hold while his fingers work you open. While it’s a reprieve for your thoroughly used clit, the expert way he crooks his fingers inside you already has you fighting the climb of another orgasm. So much so that when he slips his fingers out, you whine, the sound of it bordering on a sob. Nothing happens for the next couple of seconds. Uncertain, you open your eyes, and find Homelander staring down at you. There is a slight tenseness to his expression, an expectation you can see in his gaze as you meet it. His hand is still over your mouth, but his other hand has settled on your thigh, thumb stroking your bare skin in minute movements. You can see the question written in his eyes clear as day; You okay?

The way he looks at you settles something warm deep in your core, chasing the night chill and leaving only the heat between your bodies. You break character for just a second, and give him a slight nod. In an instant, Homelander flips like a switch back into a stranger, the change subtle and yet glaringly obvious to you. You gasp when he pulls his hand from your mouth to flip you over, the smell of fresh grass pungent as he pushes your head down, lifting your ass up into the air. “That’s better,” he purrs, effortlessly slipping back into character. The cold, dangerous edge to his tone makes your stomach clench in a giddy blend of anxiety and excitement. With one hand braced on the back of your head, Homelander grips his cock in the other, and guides it to the soaked, velvety lips of your pussy. He drags the head of his cock up and down, smearing it through the wet mix of his saliva and your own slick. You jerk involuntarily when he rubs it against your sensitive clit, whimpering.

You feel overworked, but Homelander has made it clear he’s only just getting started. Slowly but surely, he opens you up on the thick head of his cock, moaning a low cuss under his breath. His powers protect him from pain, but not pleasure, and you’re not the only one affected by the aftermath of your release. Regardless, he moves his bare hand to your hip, and holds you steady as he sinks the rest of the way into you in one slow, agonizingly good slide, finally reaching that aching itch deep inside you. “Nnnngh, please,” you moan, screwing your eyes tightly shut. “Please what?” Homelander prompts, giving a deep little thrust that startles another pitchy sound out of you. “Go on, beg for it. I want to hear you beg for my cock like a good little slut,” he says, the low snarl of his voice–his words–paired with the heat and weight of him inside you making you delirious. He moves his hand from your hip to your clit, the wet slide of his fingers making you cry out, writhing against him. He rocks you back on his cock, fucking right into your cervix. “No sense denying it now. So goddamn wet for me. You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a cheap whore. Beg. Beg me to fuck you stupid.”

Whatever few strands you had left tethering you snap. The degradation, the truth in his words, the transcendent agony of pleasure taken too far all tip you over the edge of sanity and reason. Shame and arousal burn you in equal measure. “Please fuck me stupid,” you obediently beg, tears gathering in your eyes not from pain, but sheer overwhelm. You barely get the words out. Homelander starts to fuck you in earnest, groaning at your plea, at the complete crumble of your resolve. “Use me.” The noise Homelander makes at that is animalistic, caught somewhere between a groan and a growl. He shifts his hand from your head to your shoulder and grips tight, gloved fingers biting into the meat of you as he yanks you back onto his cock, picking up a relentless rhythm that punches the air right out of your lungs with every snap of his hips. All the while, his fingers grind against your clit with every thrust, surging you up towards the release previously abandoned.

“Fuck,” Homelander rasps, practically trembling with restraint. Despite the brutal way he’s fucking you, you know it’s nothing compared to what he could do. You can feel pressure building rapidly between your thighs, each thrust like the strike of a match inside you, igniting more and more heat. You can’t move, pinned between his hand on your shoulder and the crack of his hips against your ass. All you can do is endure him as your orgasm builds, whatever scarce breaths you can manage to inhale leave you as sharp little whimpers. “Don’t fight it. Feels good, I know it does. You’re taking me so good. Fucking made for me. C’mon, do it. Let me feel you come on my cock.” Your orgasm hits like an earthquake, a sudden eruption that renders you silent, your lips falling open on a noiseless scream. Your body locks up like a vice as wave after wave of mind blowing pleasure rolls through you. You hear Homelander give a choked off noise as he fucks you through it, your cunt seizing around him so tightly it catches him off guard. He doesn’t stop, instead moving faster, reducing you to a keening mess, limp in the grass. He uses you until on a final thrust, you feel him still, followed by a rush of heat so intense it nearly feels a burn inside you. Your whole body shudders, and you exhale a broken little noise, dizzy from the magnitude of it all.

Everything around you feels bleary, your vision fading in and out. For a moment, you feel as though you might float away from your body entirely, your consciousness barely holding on, but the feeling of Homelander pressed against your back, sinking down against you, grounds you. You whisper the safeword you’ve been diligently holding onto, and just like that, the game is over. Homelander pushes a hand through your hair, kissing a trail from your neck to your ear, gently adjusting your head on the ground. He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, bent over you, the wet weight of his cock still buried deep and warm inside you. He’s panting softly in your ear between kisses, the breaths catching every so often, still reeling from his own release.

Tenderly, he lifts off of you, and withdraws from inside you, hissing a soft breath as he does. The mess he left inside you trails hot, wet streaks down your thighs. You wince at the loss of him, nearly collapse without his hands on you, but he holds you steady with a hand on your hip while he adjusts himself.

You’re practically dead weight as he rolls you over, hovering over you with a hand in the grass, next to your head. You smile up at him, lazy and still dazed. He returns it, the corners of his eyes crinkling generously as he strokes your cheek with his bare knuckles, analyzing your expression. “Was I good?” He asks, the tone of his voice leagues and miles away from what it had been. He sounds tentative now, curious, a little hopeful. “Good?” You echo, borderline offended he would use such a meager word to explain the most intense sexual experience of your life. “That was… you were… amazing,” you tell him breathlessly, mustering the strength to push a hand into his mussed hair, your lids feeling heavy as you blink. “I can’t feel my legs, and I think you bruised my cervix,” you admit, to which he looks sheepish, but you continue, “And I’ve never felt more incredible in my life.”

Homelander visibly preens at that, his eyes narrowing, lips curving into a small smile. He leans in to nuzzle at your neck, inhaling deeply. You offer a few more strokes through his hair, but the muscles in your arm protest enough that you drape it over his neck instead, sighing. He takes that as his cue to scoop you up into his arms, your limbs dangling like cooked noodles. He floats to his feet, settling back down on the ground with you nestled snug against his chest. “C’mon,” he says quietly, kissing your forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” ~~~~~~ Back at the cabin, Homelander is quick to start a hot bath running. The only garment of yours to survive was your bra, but even then, you and it are thoroughly grass strained. Homelander helps you sink into the oversized jacuzzi bath, chuckling at the exaggerated moan you give as the heat washes over you. It feels like heaven on your aching legs. The water sloshes to and fro as Homelander joins you, sliding up to you right away. Baths have always been both of your preferred methods of aftercare, where you can recover from his strength and he can luxuriate in this intimate form of pampering. Automatically, Homelander pulls you in to straddle his lap, the water making you both feel weightless. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you go about wetting his hair, massaging his scalp. He moans when you begin to work in the shampoo next, dragging your nails all the way down to the back of his neck. He’s much leaner without the suit. You sweep your hands down his shoulders, following the trail of wiry muscle to his back. His body relaxes gradually beneath your touch, breathy little sighs escaping him. He makes you feel like you’re playing an instrument, and you know precisely where to touch to draw out the right note. Neither of you speak much during the bath. Your limbs are heavy, muscles tired, and the narrow space between your bodies feels too quiet and intimate for words.

You take your time conditioning his hair, and he wrings soft moans from you when he massages wash into your shoulders, mindful of how they ache. He’s deft with his hands, impeccably aware of his strength. It thrills you a little every time you remember how different he was in the woods, how wild and brutal he had felt. Once you’re both clean and satisfied, the bed calls your name as hypnotically as any siren. You’re the first to slip under the covers, immediately relieved to be off of your feet, your legs still shaky. Homelander follows shortly after. He’s always been clingy, but tonight especially, he’s practically glued to you. When he slides into bed, he doesn’t cuddle in next to you, but instead lays himself over you, nestling between your legs so that he can rest his head on your chest. You smile down at him. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” he rumbles, moving his hand to rest near his face, just over the beat of your heart.

Silence hangs heavily in the air. Sensing there’s more to it, you press, “Do you want to talk about tonight?”

Homelander is quiet for a moment longer. “You were scared.”

“Being chased was scary, yes,” you admit, combing your fingers through his hair. “That was the intention, though.”

“Were you scared of me?”

You pause. There’s something vulnerable in his voice—anxiety, perhaps—that he’s halfheartedly trying to mask, but you see through it. You give yourself time, wanting to answer the question with the thought it deserves, but Homelander doesn’t take the silence well. He lifts his head to scrutinize your expression, brows pinched. “You were scared of me.”

“You scared me, but I wasn’t afraid of you,” you correct him, settling your hand over top of his. “I liked it. In the same way I like movies that make me scream, or roller coasters. You scared me, and I loved it,” you say, bringing up both hands to cup his face, emphasizing your words by pulling him into a kiss. He moves easily, pushing into the kiss, needy for the assurance you offer. Stroking his cheeks with your thumbs, you ask him, “Did you like it?”

Homelander licks his lips, sliding his arm under you as he settles back in against your chest. “Yeah. It was… fun. Raw. I didn’t know you could act like that. Might have to get you a role in Vought’s next production,” he says, giving your collarbone a playful little nuzzle. “No thanks, I’d rather be waterboarded,” you reply with a laugh, earning a low chuckle from him. You stroke him from the crown of his head all the way down to the base of his neck, and then back up. “I’m glad you had fun. I know that I was asking a lot of you with it.” He’s quiet for a moment, head resting heavy on your chest. He rubs his cheek against your skin. “I really liked it. But if it goes too far, and you see something in me that you don’t like, and I see you scared of me, even when we’re not playing, it…” the sentence trails off. You feel his grip around you tighten reflexively, and you can only imagine what awful scenario he’s playing in his mind. “John,” you call gently, though your tone is firm, catching his attention immediately. He tips his head back to look up at you. “I promise you, there is nothing you would do to me that could change the way I feel about you. I love you. I worship you, John. That’s what love means to me. Reverence. You didn’t want to hurt me tonight, did you?”

“No,” he answers quickly, enraptured by you, by your words. “But I did.” “Only as much as I asked you to,” you soothe, stroking along the side of his face. “You would have stopped if I said the word, right?” Homelander nods, closing his eyes as he leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You checked in on me, too. If anything, all tonight did was show me how much I don’t need to be afraid of you.”

Looking at you, there is a magnitude of emotion in Homelander’s eyes that is difficult to put into words. You realize immediately just how badly he needed to hear every word you’ve said. He has always thrived on your words, on your loving deeds, but tonight they scrape him particularly raw. There are times when you think the depths of his need for you scares even him. Homelander kisses a path from your collarbone to the space between your breasts, slow, deeply affectionate. Where you most easily show your worship in words, he shows his in touch. He strokes a hand down your side, to your outer thigh, squeezing it against him, like he simply cannot be close enough. “Come here,” you murmur, nudging him with your leg. “Let me warm you.” Homelander glances up at that, his lips twitching in a small, pleased smile. “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you confirm, encouraging him with another little nudge. Of all the tricks you’ve introduced him to, this has been his favorite by far. Licking his lips eagerly, Homelander shifts, lifting himself to grab the lube from the bedside table, dispensing enough to slick his cock up. He uses what remains on his fingers in you, sliding his slick fingers into you with ease, earning a sharp little inhale from you before you relax into it. Once you’re properly wetted, he carefully slides his cock into you, less than half hard, but that isn’t the intent. Though you’re still tender, once he settles against you, the fervid weight of him inside feels divine. Having him inside always feels as though you are kindling a live flame within you.

“Mm, that’s it. Feel good?” You ask, kissing his forehead. Homelander nods, slotted against you as perfectly as a matching jigsaw piece. He turns his head to kiss your breast, transitioning quickly from that to closing his mouth over your nipple, sucking gently. You flex your grip in his hair, sighing in pleasure. “I still need to rest, you know. We can’t all have super stamina,” you remind him with an amused little smile.

“So rest,” he says dismissively, gaze flickering up to meet yours. He kisses your breast reverently before placing his head back down, staring up at you with such utter contentment, you feel the  warmth of it to your core. “I can be patient.” In other words, he’ll wait as long as he can before the temptation grows too great. The thought of waking to him taking advantage of you like that broils a little fire of your own in your gut, and you laugh softly, nodding. “Okay. Wake me in a few hours. Be creative,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him. Homelander’s lips curl deviously. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Eventually, your exhaustion wins over the giddiness of what’s to come. Homelander is a comforting weight against you, the heat of him chasing any and all chill from you, and you drift into one of the deepest sleeps you’ve ever known.

[ghoulsbounty]

If you’re still taking requests I would love Baby Billy with the reader giving him a blowjob in a car if you can. You can do the plot and all that, thank you! I might request more if you’re taking them at the moment.

Heaven Itself

Uncle Baby Billy Freeman x Wife!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), blowjob, oral (m receiving), cum eating (kinda), fingering, roadhead, spitkink-ish, rough oral sex, messy, face fucking, choking, gagging, dirty talk, reader is a good girl, porn with a little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: OH BOY I love writing dirty things with this weird man. I realise I took 'giving him a blowjob in a car' and completely ran with it but I hope you enjoy it regardless, Anon. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

It unfolded just as you had expected. You wished that Baby Billy would stop with the schemes, cease seeking approval from everyone else, especially his late sister's family. Yet, the allure of the coveted position of pastor at the new Locust Grove location, and the payday that would come with it, had drawn him back into their fold. You remained supportive, though with a quiet pessimism that always accompanied your husband's involvement with the Gemstones. It wasn't that you didn't like them, but they seemed to bring out the worst in him, and it was a side you rarely saw when it was just the two of you back home at Freeman's Gap.

Of course, it had happened again. Another argument with his brother-in-law, and Baby Billy had stormed out of the church, relinquishing the title of pastor and dragging you along with him to the car. It was a scene that played out at least once a month, and so when you caught Eli's exhausted eye roll as you were pulled through the doors, you gave him a silent nod. It was a signal that conveyed your resolve to sort everything out—not for Eli, of course, but for the sake of your husband's reputation and perhaps your own sanity.

Baby Billy gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity as you hurtled down the narrow, curving roads. The tires skidded on the tarmac with every tight turn, your stomach rising and falling with each dip as he accelerated so forcefully that you were pressed back into your seat. His eyes were wild, fixed in a furious glare at the road ahead, completely ignoring your pleas to slow down as your hand tightened around his thigh.

The rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins, mingling with a hint of fear as you clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your attempts to calm him, he seemed consumed by a reckless determination, his foot heavy on the pedal as he pushed the car to its limits.

With each passing moment, the world outside became a blur, the only constants the roar of the engine beneath you and his frustrated rant about the head of the Gemstones. His words came out in a torrent of anger, punctuated by the car's aggressive growl as it hurtled forward.

"Fuck Eli Gemstone," he declared vehemently. "He thinks he's so high and mighty, but he'd be nothing without Aimee-Leigh. And who made her? That's right, Baby Billy Freeman, that's who. He'd be nothing without the both of us."

His words hung heavy in the air, charged with anger. The car sped on, each mile marker blurring past as he continued to vent his frustrations. His grip on the wheel remained tight as he poured out years of pent-up resentment.

You had heard it all before. You'd listened to him lament the loss of his sister and his career, watched him pine over what he had once had, and seen him almost scream in frustration over the fact that he had to keep going back to his brother-in-law for handouts.

The weight of his struggles was heavy on your shoulders, a burden you bore alongside him with each passing day. You had witnessed the toll it took on him, the way it gnawed at his pride and eroded his sense of self-worth. Yet, despite it all, he persevered, driven by a determination to reclaim what he had lost and prove himself worthy of the respect he felt he deserved.

After each failed business venture, it always took so long to rebuild Baby Billy, to piece him back together again. You had been through this cycle before, weathering the storms of disappointment and setbacks together. Each time, you had stood by his side, offering unwavering support and encouragement as he picked up the pieces of his shattered dreams. And as the darkened landscape passed you in a blur, you mentally prepared yourself for the arduous task ahead, knowing that it would begin with getting him out of his own head.

Your hand on his thigh slid higher, your fingers teasingly dancing over his crotch as you swiftly worked on the belt and zipper of his jeans. His rant lost momentum, his gaze locking onto you with a wondrous glint before watching your hand disappear into his pants.

"Keep those eyes on the road, Baby," you instructed, a mischievous smirk playing on your lips as you boldly grabbed his cock through his boxers. He emitted a low groan, desire igniting in his eyes, yet he dutifully complied with your command, refocusing his attention on the road ahead.

"Ol' Baby Billy getting some roadhead, now? Alright," he chuckled, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he adjusted himself in his seat and spread his legs wider, eagerly anticipating your next move.

Baby Billy seethed through his teeth as you liberated his cock from the confines of his tight jeans, already half-hard and throbbing in your palm. You felt the weight of him as he sat thick and heavy in your hand, hummed affectionately when he pulsed against your touch.

With practiced skill, you began to stroke him gently, feeling him grow harder, larger, in your grip. Your thumb traced teasing circles over his weeping slit, eliciting a low, guttural moan from him as he instinctively bucked into your hand, craving more of your touch.

You chuckled, unclipped your seatbelt and manoeuvred in your seat so that your legs were folded beneath you, leaning over the arm rest that sat between you both. His hand closest to you left the wheel, hung over you almost hesitantly before resting on your back with a soothing stroke. 

The air around you crackled with tension, the sound of his ragged breaths mingling with the steady hum of the engine as he slowed the car to an normal-pace. You smiled to yourself, inwardly praised yourself for knowing how this man ticks. You always managed to bring him back from the ledge that he put himself on. 

As you took one tentative lick at his slit, Baby Billy gasped, his grip tightening on the fabric of your dress. You squeezed the base of his cock, flicking your tongue over him again and lapping at the salty tang that you craved.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips instinctively rutting upwards for more as you pulled away with a teasing smile. Undeterred, you continued to stroke him leisurely, lifting your head up to kiss him momentarily on the cheek before dipping back down. With deliberate slowness, you spat a thick slew of saliva onto his aching, red tip before spreading it over him with your tongue, eliciting a low groan of pleasure from him.

"Well, if that ain't the best gotdamn thing I've ever felt," he sighed with satisfaction, his hand releasing its grip on your dress to tangle into your hair. "Hallelujah!"

As you hummed appreciatively around his cock, he guided your head down further, his hand urging you to take him in completely. The sensation of your throat constricting around him was intoxicating to him, a release of pent-up frustrations manifested in the rhythmic thrusts of his hips. Each choked gasp and whimper that escaped your lips fuelled his desire, a primal need to dominate and possess.

This dynamic between you had evolved over time, growing increasingly raw and intense with each passing year. You had embraced your role as the devoted wife, willing to fulfil his desires and provide him with the release he sought, no matter how unconventional or demanding they may be. And for Baby Billy, this unwavering loyalty was a source of comfort, a reassurance that despite the challenges and setbacks he faced, you would always be there for him, ready to support and submit to his needs.

You concentrated on keeping your jaw how you knew he liked it—slack and drool dripping down his shaft as he began to bob your head up and down with his grip in your hair. He set a rhythm that had you gasping for breath. The slickness between your thighs grew with each thrust, the taste of him—a salty bitterness—overwhelming your senses as he bullied his way deep into the back of your throat.

"Fuck, you look so good like this," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Choking on my cock, drool everywhere... you love it, don't you?" His hips thrust harder, his grip in your hair tightening as he took his pleasure from your willing mouth.

You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure building between them. His words of praise and filthy words always had you burning for his touch, your desire growing with each moment as he continued to use your mouth as a cocksleeve. Yet, despite the overwhelming urge to seek your own pleasure, your focus remained solely on his.

His grip on the back of your head tightened as he began to thrust up to meet the descent of your mouth, his movements growing more urgent with each passing moment. You felt a sharp intake of breath escape him as he pushed down roughly, hitting the back of your throat yet again but holding you there, your breath cut short as his cock filled your mouth entirely and you retched around him. His prideful chuckle cut through the air, and you clenched your eyes shut, thinking of how bruised you were going to be after this but revelling in it none the less as you willed your throat to relax it's spasms. 

Finally, he released you, bringing you up for a gasp of air as your fat tears mixed with the thick saliva coating your chin. You took in deep, ragged breaths, your chest heaving with exertion as you blinked away the tears. Your body trembled from the intensity he loved to put you through, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He looked down at you with a mixture of pride and satisfaction, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "That's my girl," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. "Always so good for me."

You shivered at his words, the ache between your thighs was almost unbearable, your arousal heightened by his praise and the soft touch amidst the rough handling.

"Such a good girl," he repeated, his hand moving to cup your cheek. His fingers traced your lips before slipping inside your mouth. "Get them good and wet, now."

You eagerly obeyed, swirling your tongue around his fingers as he watched you intently, his gaze dark with desire and satisfaction. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he suddenly veered off the road, coming to a hard stop on the dirt path. You jolted back against your seat, Baby Billy pulling you back over the armrest with your face in his lap and your ass in the air, on display to anyone who would drive past you on the dark back road. The hand that was on the wheel now gripped the back of your head instead, guiding your mouth back to his cock with a sense of urgency.

As he directed you with one hand, the other deftly flipped up the fabric of your dress, slipping beneath your soaking underwear. The touch of his fingers against your heated flesh sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting a fire of desire that burned hot within you.

You moaned around him as his digits glided through your wet folds, your body instinctively seeking more of his touch as you swivelled your hips back hungrily to find friction against his palm. He laughed, his head thrown back against the headrest as he looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I know you get yourself all worked up looking after me, now," he told you, the warmth of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "But you know Baby Billy will look after you too, sweetheart. A man's got to see to his wife."

You whimpered as two fingers entered you, thick and demanding, your body eagerly accepting the intrusion as you arched against his touch. The squelch of your cunt burned your cheeks with embarrassment as he fucked his fingers in and out of you with a relentless pace. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building the tension in your body to unbearable heights.

Your screams vibrated around his cock as his thumb rubbed deliberate circles on your clit, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, as he expertly manipulated your sensitive nub, driving you closer and closer to the edge with each tantalizing stroke.

His other hand now rested at the back of your neck, holding you in place as his hips thrust up to fuck your mouth aggressively. You remained slack-jawed and slobbering over him, completely at his mercy as he took control. This was Baby Billy in his element, relishing in the power he held over you, using your mouth as a tool for his pleasure while simultaneously bringing you to your own bliss. 

He liked to push you to your limits, to see how much you could take as he drove himself deeper and deeper into your throat. Each thrust was met with a gasp from you, your body straining to accommodate his relentless rhythm. Yet, despite the discomfort, you remained obedient, knowing that this was what he wanted, what he needed.

"I know you like it," he groaned, his eyes closed when your tongue began to lap greedily at his cock with every thrust. "Fuck, you love it when I fuck your mouth, don't ya? Having you here, stuffed with my fingers and my cock, you—fuck—you just eat that shit right up." His voice was rough with desire, each word punctuated by the rhythm of his thrusts as he surrendered to the pleasure coursing through him

You could feel it building, the tell-tale signs of his impending release. His thighs tightened, his hips stuttered against you, and his breathing became ragged as praise fell from his lips. You knew it was coming soon, the moment when he would finally give you his load, and you braced yourself for the inevitable surge of ecstasy.

You were almost there, too. The familiar pit in your lower stomach, the delicate feeling of teetering on the edge as his fingers curled inside of you, pressing into that spongey spot that had you seeing stars. A muffled cry escaped your lips as you pushed back to meet his relentless assault on your cunt, the intense pleasure overwhelming your senses.

The sensation was electrifying, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation as you rode the waves of ecstasy crashing over you. With each thrust of his fingers and each stroke of his thumb on your clit, you felt yourself spiralling closer and closer to the edge.

And then it hit you, a wave of pleasure so intense it left you breathless. Your body convulsed with the force of your orgasm, pleasure rippling through you as you cried out. The sloppy sounds of him fucking you through your orgasm filled the car as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure shooting through you.

"That's it, let Baby Billy hear you, now," he panted, grinning as your garbled mewls grew louder, more spit gushing around him as he refused to stop his ministrations against you. You tried to wriggle away from his attention, your cunt now swollen and clenching around his digits that remained buried inside you. He chuckled breathily, his fingers coming to a still as they slid from you. He ran his hand up the expanse of your back.

Your body relaxed against the leather seat, tired and spent from your orgasm as your fingers released their tight grip on the arm rest. You pulled away from him, sucked in a deep breath, a string of spit connecting from his cock to your glistening lips. You felt empty and groaned at the loss of fullness, but didn't have time to contemplate it before both Baby Billy's hands were in your hair, using them to shove his way inside of you ruthlessly. He fell into a maddening pace, his hips rutting as his drool covered sac slapped against your chin. 

"That's it angel," he said encouragingly, his breath short as he dropped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "You take everything I give you."

With a few more powerful thrusts, he comes with a loud shout from deep in his chest, releasing thick, white ropes down your throat. You swallow quickly, determined to take his heavy load as he desires, but there's always so much of it. It drips from the corners of your mouth, rolls down your chin as your chest heaves to suppress the rest of it. After the last few spurts have subsided, you lick diligently at his swollen tip, gratefully lapping up any traces that you couldn't take beforehand. Tucking him back inside his jeans, you raise back onto your knees to look at him with a fucked out gaze that has his chest warming.

He smiled at you with tired eyes, reaching out to cup your cheek. With a gentle swipe, he collected the salty residue of his release from your chin and guided it back between your lips. He was adamant that not a drop of him go to waste. You obediently cleaned it from his thumb, watching him through wet lashes before pulling away with a soft pop.

Your husband held your chin between his thumb and finger, giving it a slight shake as he smiled. His voice was laced with satisfaction and affection as he murmured, "Sent from Heaven itself."

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Max Saving You From A Group Of War Boys

Max Rockatansky X FemReader

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, mentions of death, rotting bodies, stealing, vehicle accident, suggestive materials (reader is worried she'll be placed in Immortan Joe's harem), injuries

Word Count: 2.1k

(A/N:) I have had a heck of a time getting this bad boy finished. But I couldn't have got it done in more perfect timing with the Furiosa movie out in theaters! I'm going very soon and hopefully there will be more Max inspiration take place cause I love Fury Road! I rewatched it here recently and my love for Max has been kindled once more! So hopefully this helps feed my fellow Mad Max fangirls! Enjoy and until next time happy reading! ~Countess

To survive in the wastelands you have to do anything and be willing to suffer any consequences. You could always lay over and just die, letting the vermin that scuttled about in the sands, take care of the remains. Or you could stand and fight, taking whatever you need no matter who it's from. That's how you've survived for so long, scavenging, taking from unlucky fellow survivors that just so happen to be in your path. Food, water, clothing, guzzolene, anything of value it was all fair game. Your biggest score, was your car. Though you didn't take it from anyone living. Raiders had come across some poor sap, killing him and taking everything of value, except for his car. It had taken some doing but you found the key buried under the sand close to the rotting body of the man who had just found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. His loss became your gain. Now you could make it across in different areas of desert in less time. Though the need for guzzolene became a problem. So far you had had good luck being able to get it whenever you needed it. Though you knew for certain that eventually your luck would run out.

And run out it did. Unfortunately you had grown cocky with your string of wins. The tires of your car spun, throwing up clouds of sand as you tried to gain traction on the loose ground. You released the pedal, quickly shifting into all wheel drive. With a roar from the engine the car finally burst forward, pinning you back. The group of war boys behind you yelling as the chase was on. You hit the steering wheel cursing yourself for screwing up so severely, you'd be lucky to make it out alive. You had seen the war boys yards away and you knew they hauled all the equipment they needed, thanks to Immortan Joe. If you could score off of them, you'd be set for a month. But it hadn't been easy and though your skills was above average you didn't get to swipe one thing until they had swarmed you. Now you were trying everything to get away. Dodging lances and hooks that would kill you in an instant, you blinked back against the sand in your eyes. You hadn't had your car long enough to become an elite driver yet and they were gaining fast. Despair crushed your lungs as one war boy pulled up beside you. You darted away only to run into another war boy rig. The two drivers started to pull towards one another, pinning you in between them.

Your hands shook as you gripped the steering wheel harder. The war boys cackled and spit, toying with you before they ended you.

"Bring her to Immortan," they crowed. "Bring her to him! He'll take care of her!"

They all agreed and the two vehicles pulled away, leaving you free. With the pressure off the sides, your car slid fishtailing and you lost control instantly. The war boys only got louder as your car went airborne and crashed down on it's hood. Your face smashing against the steering wheel as your car began to roll over repeatedly. The last roll and you were ejected from the shattered windshield. The hot sand cushioned you, but it wasn't much as you skidded to a stop. Your chest wheezing as you tried to breathe. Your car destroyed and your life forfeit, any hope of living left you. The one thing that you wished to happen was the war boys finishing you here and now, you heard what Immortan Joe did to women he liked or wished to continue his line with. You blinked at the sand as several of the war boys raced towards you.

"Immortan Joe will be pleased with us," one sneered. "Steal from Immortan and pay the consequences."

You shook your head, trying to clear your sight. Apparently you had hit your head harder than you first realized as the illusion of a man walking towards you, refused to dissipate. No he only got closer and you surely knew the Grim Reaper was now on his way to bring about your end. You'd gladly take his hand if it meant that the suffering would end and you wouldn't have to face a fate worse than death.

"Eh what's that there?"

Okay maybe you weren't so crazy as the war boys were seeing the being too. His arm raised and gunfire had the war boys scattering while two of them fell beside you. A small flicker of hope kindled, unless you were trading an end brought by Immortan Joe's battle fodder for this stranger. Though if he wanted to end you, you were pretty positive that he would have ended you already. You were an easy target unlike the war boys that were scurrying around, trying their best to fight back. Screams and thuds surrounded you as the man only kept stepping forward. Not backing down or flinching at the bullets and explosions all coming towards him. When he was close enough for your hazy vision did you finally get a good look. With short hair and a stocky build, he was quite handsome for a desert dweller. Though he looked healthy it didn't mean that he had lived an easy life. A haunted look was in his eyes and his face would twitch every now again. Something was wrong with him, but beggars couldn't be choosers as he was saving your butt.

The last war boy fell to the sand, spraying blood from his wounds and you felt well enough to sit up. You whimpered at the pain shooting through your head but when the stranger knelt before you, you quickly bit back any more noises.

"Took a tumble," he mumbled.

"Just a little one," you agreed spitting a mouthful of blood out.

He rose back up looking through all the now abandoned vehicles and even searched through the wreckage of yours. You felt a little indignant as he took several items out of yours. Sure they were stolen goods, but you had pilfered them fair and square. You attempted getting up, your shaky legs barely keeping you up. Attempting a step, you stumbled and quickly caught yourself.

"That's my stuff in my car," you glared. Though you hoped that he would listen, there was no way you could fight him, if he wanted to.

He didn't reply just kept digging before he pulled out your worn pack. You protested loudly before he threw it at your feet. He still didn't say a word as he started searching through the war boy's vehicles and even going further and searching the war boy's pockets. When he decided that he had searched and grabbed everything of value, he handed you another bag and tank of guzzolene and jerked his head towards the direction that he had come from. You knew that if you wanted to survive the night you would need to follow him. He had proven himself trustworthy so far and your injuries were becoming worse, though your legs had finally steadied enough to walk.

On unsteady feet you remained close, the stranger not saying a word but waving at the air every little bit. Surely you didn't just survive the war boys only to be taken out by some mental man seeing ghosts? His car came into view, worn and beaten up, but sturdy and reliable looking. Tossing his gear in the back seat, he looked back and waved you forward.

"Why," you sighed, suddenly becoming dizzy. You wanted to ask why he rescued you? Why was he bringing you with him? But your adrenaline infused energy finally hit E and you collapsed to the ground.

"Don't go to sleep," he muttered suddenly at your side. Tapping at your cheek. "Wake up."

"Tired..."

He shook you harder, "Wake up."

You couldn't answer, losing the battle with the darkness overtaking your vision. And then you knew nothing else.

The rumbling of tires was all you could hear as you came in and out of consciousness. The sun was still so bright and the mystery man behind the wheel muttered to himself constantly. Promises dripping from his tongue and you licked your chapped lips before succumbing once more to the darkness.

You had no idea how much time had passed in your unconscious state, until at last your eyes opened and you were able to remain awake. A small fire crackling in the background provided a little bit of illumination in a small musty cave. Your body hurt and the ache in your head had your temples pounding a horrible drumbeat. Across the way your savior leaned up against the cave wall. His body lurched forward and his chest heaved as his eyes opened. You jerked, surprised by his sudden movement. He shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before his attention was drawn to you. He took a cup that sat by his leg and moved towards you.

"Drink," he muttered holding the dented tin cup to your lips. The water was warm and gritty from dirt but you didn't care as you gulped the entire contents down, but still your throat burned for more. Wordlessly he filled it back up and brought more of the precious resource to you.

"Why," you croaked when you finally had your fill.

He shrugged.

"There has to be a reason why you helped me?"

He shrugged again.

"Stubborn fool," you retorted. After a long, quiet, and awkward pause you finally spoke again, "Thank you."

This time he grunted.

Sitting up, it took a moment for the cave to stop spinning before you were able to see only one of him again. You scrounged around in your bag, searching for the bit of dried lizard you had kept. Finding it, you ripped it in half and offered him the larger piece. Sort of an offering of peace and that you could be a friend he could trust. He took it, before devouring it quickly.

"I wasn't going to take it from you," you laughed while ripping a bite off of yours. "Now that we have broke the proverbial bread, aka dried lizard maybe we can have an actual conversation now?"

Once again he shrugged and you really were fighting the urge to throw something at him.

"Gotta name at least," you asked, unwilling to give up. If he could be stubborn so could you.

He glanced around, his fingers tapping against the metal brace on his knee. Finally he sighed and turned dark eyes onto you.

"Max."

Finally a start. You gave him your name before sticking out your hand. Reluctantly he took it but he did shake your hand. Silence filled the cave again and you were beginning to feel exhausted again. You yawned gaining his attention.

"Get some rest," Max said his boots scuffing against the ground as he stood up. "We move in the morning."

Morning came so quickly, the fire had been doused and Max had packed up everything. The cave floor bare with no signs of someone staying there. You thought that you'd look around and he'd be gone, but his silhouette filled the cave entrance blocking out the majority of the harsh sun rays. Sitting up, you gained his attention and he nodded to his car.

"Can I ask why you're saving me now," you asked once in the passenger seat.

Max sighed, "Maybe I just want to redeem myself of all the times I failed."

His gaze towards you, looked sad, tired, and lost. Your heart broke and you could understand that ache buried within him. Why he seemed distant, but kind. This world had it's way of taking anything bright and lovely and tainting it in the worst way possible. Max started the engine and started to shift it into gear when your hand covered his.

"This world is ugly," your voice wavered causing Max to cock his head. "But that doesn't mean it has to make us ugly in the process. I've done things I regret, stealing, taking from others to survive. But I always want to reach out that helping hand when I can. Like you did for me. I owe you a lot now Max, maybe this was just a chance meeting or maybe it's meant for something more."

He nodded, shifting into gear and roaring off. The wheels churning dirt into a cloud. Honestly you both didn't know what was in store ahead, and it wasn't set in stone that you would remain with Max. But right now it felt right and you wanted to see where this path would take you. Maybe this was a chance of redemption for two hurt people to find their reason and place in a world gone mad.

[mirrology]

— Training Wheels .ᐟ ʚɞ

୨୧ "Training wheels are a set of additional wheels attached to the rear wheel of a bicycle, effectively turning it into a tricycle as beginners learn to ride independently."

Ft. Yanqing, gender neutral reader, mentions of jing yuan. wc: 1067

Content: child reader, reader is 10, reader falls from their bike, reader is implied to be wearing shorts, father jing yuan, big brother yanqing helps bandage reader!! mentions of blood. / You are learning how to ride a bike, then you fall and scrape both your face, knee and arms. So, you run to your big brother for help.

A/n: i need me more brother yanqing fics!! ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡), gēge means elder brother in a casual setting.

You took a deep breath in, building up courage once more to get on your bike that now had its training wheels taken off. You've had many instances where you were unsuccessful in properly maneuvering your bike into not crashing into a pole, or essentially (and accidentally) crashing into an ignorant pedestrian.

Your father — Jing Yuan, alongside your older brother Yanqing had been helping you in hopes that you would successfully be able to ride the pedal-driven vehicle.

Your dad had given it to you for your recent 10th birthday, ecstatic as you were, you quickly figured out that you needed those two tiny wheels beside your rear one to actually ride said bike. And so, the journey of learning how to ride a bicycle started.

Sighing, you finally got the courage to mount your bike and got into a starting position, while also holding onto a near wall for support. Putting your left foot on its respective pedal, you started slowly pedaling. Although wobbly, you were not immediately plummeting to the ground like the several other times. A big grin graced your face as you ecstatically pedaled faster, the wind brushing through your hair felt amazing. It was the first time that you managed to properly ride your bike without your brother or dad holding the back of your seat to stabilize you.

Whilst you were having the time of your life, you hadn't noticed the prominent rock on the sidewalk. The same sidewalk that you were on, and that rock was going to interrupt your feeling of freedom. The wheel collided with the rock and in an instant, you were leaning forward and falling off your bike.

Your hands shot out in front of you in hopes to catch yourself but fate had other plans for you. The impact had sprung you ahead, so unfortunately you landed face first and skid slightly forward. You felt the rough pavement underneath your skin and soon enough the burning feeling of pain spread through your skin as well.

Pulling yourself up from where you had landed, you felt something wet run down your forehead. You reached up a hand up, touched your forehead and retracted it again only to find the familiar color of blood staining your fingertips. Your eyes widened as you noticed your hand, it was scraped badly, dirt covering patches of your skin and red lines going down to your elbow as it also bled.

Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain finally catching up to you. "Ah..." you whimpered "ow! ow! it hurts!" you sputtered in pain whilst your tears ran down your cheeks and fell down onto your knee, which had also been torn open in the process. In a rush of desperation, you quickly stood up and ran to your and your family's shared house. Sprinting as fast as you could down the sidewalk, and eventually entering from the backside of the quaint home — right where the garden was located.

You ran past the gingko trees and extensive amounts of flowers and other interesting plants. as you got closer to the house by following the tiled path you could make out a familiar figure in the distance. "Gēge! Yanqing!" you shouted as you darted towards him while flailing your arms in a panic.

He had turned around right as he heard your rapid footsteps coming towards him, "Eh?" He muttered, quite clearly confused on why you were shouting. All of a sudden, you threw yourself into his arms and wrapped your arms around him, well as much as you could with your short arms.

Yanqing slightly jumped as he caught you in his embrace, he was about to ask you what was going on when he noticed your bleeding face, arm and knee. His mind immediately thought you were attacked but as he inspected the wounds a little more closely, he could tell they were scrapes. and really bad ones at that.

"(Name)!? What happened?!" Yanqing blurted out, he now, also, panicking from seeing the state you were in. You looked up at him with your teary eyes

"i- i fell from my bike"

You said quietly, your lips wobbling indicating that you were ready to cry once more.

"Oh, jeez..." Yanqing breathed out and quickly picked you up and brought you into the house. He sat you down on the couch and started to search for the first aid kit that they kept around. He crouched in front of you and brought out cotton and rubbing alcohol.

"Alright (Name), I'm going to disinfect your scrapes" He explained gently, but you could tell that he was nervous underneath. "Is it going to hurt?" You pouted, wearily eyeing the cotton ball in his hand, one that was covered in the rubbing alcohol. Yanqing sweat dropped "Well, yes but I will be quick, okay?" He said softly whilst gently grasping your hand in an attempt to comfort you.

"Mmm..." you thought about it briefly but then remembered what your dad had told you about what would happen if you didn't disinfect your wounds. He had used that to get you to agree to clean your cuts.

"okay!" you agreed, steeling yourself as you breathed in an attempt to calm yourself. Yanqing nodded as you gave him the greenlight to go ahead, just as the cotton had pressed against your scrapes you tensed and hissed quietly, more tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Yanqing lightly squeezed your smaller and in his, "It's okay (Name), Yanqing-gēge is here." The boy reassured you as he continued his actions swiftly, not wanting to cause you more pain.

When Yanqing was done with the cotton, he wrapped gauze around your knee and arms and a square bandage on your forehead. "there, all done!" He boasted, very proud of his work and he placed his hands on his hips.

Realizing you didn't feel the burning pain had subsided, you beamed and once again jumped into your brothers' arms. You buried your head in the crook of his neck "Thank you, Gēge!" you exclaimed. Yanqing smiled softly and hugged you back resting his cheek on top of your head.

You both stayed like that for a while then it got interrupted as you gasped dramatically.

"What's wrong?" Yanqing questioned as he raised his head from yours.

"I left my bike on the sidewalk!" You squeaked out.

"Oh, boy..."

[steveseddie]

home run

steddie | rating: m | wc: 3,6k | no warnings | tags: post-season 4, love confessions, first kiss, first time, dry humping, coming in pants, car sex, or technically van sex

for week two of @softsteddieseptember “confessing your feelings” and “road trips” and week two of @steddiesmuttyseptember “backseat” and “clothes on”

read on ao3 here

Steve’s fingers tighten around the grab handle as Eddie’s van skids dangerously on the wet road. “I really think we should stop, Eddie,” Steve says, finally voicing the thought he’s been having since they got caught in the rain.

Eddie leans forward on the driver’s seat, struggling to see the road through the sheets of water slashing at the windshield, the wipers failing to keep up. 

At first, Steve thinks he didn’t hear him over the heavy pitter-pattering but then he waves dismissively at him. Steve flinches when he lets go of the wheel and the van swerves.  

“No way, Stevie, if we stop we won’t make it in time for the game!”

“If we don’t stop you’ll drive us off the road,” Steve says in a bitchy tone. “And then we won’t make it to the game either because we’ll be dead.”

Eddie groans, using a rag to wipe the fogged-up windshield. “But-”

“Pull over, Munson.”

With a defeated sigh, Eddie hits the warning lights and stirs the van to the side of the road. “As Your Majesty commands,” he says, matching Steve’s bitchy tone. 

“Hey, don’t get pissy on me,” Steve protests when Eddie kills the engine. “It’s not my fault the sky opened up on us!”

Eddie slumps into the driver’s seat, air puffing out and making his bangs flutter. “No, it’s mine.”

Steve snorts. “What? You suddenly control the weather or something?”

“No, but I made us stop for lunch and waste time and got us trapped in this fucking downpour!” Eddie crosses his arm over his chest, pouting. If Steve didn’t think Eddie would throw him out of the van for it he would lean over and pinch his cheek and call him adorable. 

“We had to stop for gas anyway,” he says instead, shrugging. 

“Yeah, but we could’ve had lunch in the van!” Eddie throws his arms up, almost hitting Steve in the face. “It’s called a road trip for fuck’s sake. And now we won’t make it to the game, so it was all for nothing!”

Not for nothing, Steve thinks. They spent the last couple of hours bickering over who got to pick the music and then singing along horribly to whatever they picked to annoy the other one further, which is one of Steve’s favorite parts about driving around with Eddie. That and watching him while he drives, less worried about being caught staring at him. Not to mention the milkshakes they had at the diner where they stopped for lunch were the best Steve’s ever had. Even if they miss the game, which was the whole reason for this trip, Steve would be okay with it. 

But Eddie sounds genuinely upset about it so Steve turns to face him and puts his hand over his knee. “I bet we can catch the rerun at our hotel in Chicago.”

Eddie huffs. “That’s lame, Steve.” His eyebrows knit into a frown. “You were supposed to be there and watch it live, maybe get hit by a ball or something.”

“Eds, why are you so butthurt over this?” Steve can’t help but ask. Missing a basketball game—even a big one that they drove all the way to Chicago for—shouldn’t be getting under Eddie’s skin like this. “You don’t even care about basketball.”

“No, but you do,” Eddie says with a sigh. “And you- you’re always doing things for the kids and for Buckley and for me so I just wanted to do something for you. Wanted us to do something you want for once. That’s why I got the tickets.” 

It’s Steve’s turn to frown. “Wait, I thought Wayne got the tickets from someone at work.”

Eddie hangs a hand from his neck, watching the rain fall through the window, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Er, no, I asked him to get them for me like a month ago when he drove to Chicago for a job,” he explains shyly. “’Cause, you know, you need a credit card to get them on the phone and well, obviously I don’t have one and neither does Wayne, so-”

“Why?”

Eddie blinks at him. “Because we’re poor?” 

“No, Eds, why- why did you lie about the tickets?” 

“’Cause I knew you’d get all—” he gestures wildly at Steve, “—you about it and offer to pay for them or something and that wasn’t the point. The point was me doing this for you, y’know? Driving four hours just to sit and watch a game that I don’t give a fuck about because you give a fuck about it and I give a fuck about you. Many fucks, in fact.” He lets out a shaky laugh in the middle of his rambling. “Fuck, Steve, I actually love-”

And then Eddie snaps his jaw shut so hard that Steve is surprised he doesn’t bite his tongue off. 

One minute he’s looking at Steve like a startled deer, big cow eyes wide and spooked, and the next he’s flinging the door open and stepping out into the rain before Steve can do anything to stop him 

He blinks at the empty driver’s seat. “What the fuck?” 

He watches through the windshield as Eddie paces anxiously in front of the van, muttering to himself as the rain hammers down on him, soaking his hair and clothes. With a sigh, Steve grabs his jacket from the backseat, zipping it up before following Eddie out of the car.  

“Eddie! What the hell are you doing?” 

“I’m drowning myself,” Eddie says, running a frantic hand through his rapidly soaking hair and talking just loud enough for Steve to hear him over the rain. 

“Why?”

Eddie whirls around to face Steve. His bangs stick to his forehead because of the rain and Steve wants to reach over and brush them back. “C’mon, Stevie,” he says, shaking his head. His expression is open, vulnerable, terrified. “You’re smart enough to know that was a love confession. And a shitty one at that.”

Steve blinks, feeling droplets of water fall from his eyelashes. His heart hammers in his chest. “You- you love me?” 

A laugh escapes Eddie’s lips—a mix of amusement and incredulity. “Sweetheart,” he says, his lips curling into a sad smile. “I’m so in love with you that I was down to drive us through a torrential storm to watch dudes throw balls into laundry baskets with you.”

Despite the rain soaking Steve’s clothes by the second, he feels warmth spreading through him at Eddie’s words. “Eddie-”

“I don’t expect anything, Stevie,” Eddie interjects. “You don’t even have to let me down gently or apologize-”

Steve tries again, taking a step forward, but Eddie instinctively takes a step back. “Eddie, I’m not-” 

“I know-”

Steve growls, exasperated. “No, you don’t know,” he snaps when Eddie keeps interrupting him. “God, you’re infuriating sometimes.”

Eddie laughs but it’s a little shaky. “Big word, Stevie. Twenty points for you.”

Steve shakes his head. He closes the distance between them in two long strides, trapping Eddie against the hood of the van. Eddie looks spooked at the proximity so before he can run away Steve cups his cheeks, keeping him in place. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “Uh, Steve?” 

“I need you to shut up, Eddie,” Steve says, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheekbones. His lips part, undoubtedly to make another remark but Steve beats him to it. “‘Cause I’m trying to tell you I’m also in love with you.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“There you go,” Steve says with a chuckle. His stomach flip-flops in anticipation. “Eddie, you know I love basketball-”

The words make Eddie frown. “This isn’t the love confession I imagined-”

“Christ. Shhh!” Steve presses his finger against Eddie’s lips with an amused chuckle. Eddie yelps but otherwise stays quiet. 

“I said I love basketball,” Steve starts again, “but I’m happy to watch it just on TV, y’know? The reason why I agreed to a four-hour drive for a game was you. I wanted to go on a trip with you. We hang out all the time and it’s never enough. I’m fucking- obsessed with you! Christ, I love you!”

His finger leaves Eddie’s lips, telling him it’s okay to talk, but Eddie just blinks at him, and for a moment, all they can hear is the rain falling around them. 

Finally, Eddie clears his throat. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do a love confession,” he says in an awed voice.

“Do I get another twenty points?” Steve asks with a chuckle.

Eddie giggles. Steve has to fight the urge to pinch his cheek again. Adorable. “You get all the fucking points, sweetheart, that was romantic as fuck.”

His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheeks, warm and pink despite the cold. “Do you know what’s more romantic than a love confession in the rain?” He asks. Eddie shakes his head, water dripping from his bangs. “A kiss in the rain.”

Eddie’s eyes widening in realization are the last thing Steve sees before he surges forward, all but mashing their lips together. 

There’s barely half a second of Eddie’s frozen shock before there are hands in Steve’s hair and lips moving slowly and tenderly against his own. Steve moves closer, pinning Eddie against the hood of the van, one of his hands leaving Eddie’s face to settle on his waist. He wants to move even closer but the angle is a little uncomfortable, and he can’t lay Eddie down against the hood the way he could do if they’d drove the Beamer. Also, the rain isn’t stopping and Steve is starting to get cold after standing under it for so long.

So he breaks them apart despite wanting to kiss Eddie longer but keeps their foreheads pressed together. “Can we get back in the van now? Before we drown for real or catch pneumonia or something?” 

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eddie says in a deep voice. The way Steve shivers this time has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with how Eddie sounds and what he just called Steve. 

Hooking his fingers through Eddie’s belt loops, Steve drags him towards the passenger’s side, pausing to kiss him every few steps. There, instead of reaching for his door, he reaches for the sliding door handle. 

Eddie frowns. “Wait, I thought-”

“It’s still raining.” Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “We’re not going anywhere for a while.” He kisses the other one. “So I thought we could keep this going in the backseat.” He places one final kiss on his lips.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he nods fiercely, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s jacket and pulling him inside. They land on the backseat, Steve on top of Eddie, and while that’s exactly what Steve was after when he led them to the van, he still needs to get the door. Eddie doesn’t seem to care about that—he hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. 

Steve lets it happen for a moment, already addicted to kissing Eddie but he must put a stop to it when he feels water starting to get into the van. He pushes himself up, his hands on either side of Eddie’s head, and effectively separates their lips. “Gotta get the door, Eds,” Steve says when Eddie whines. 

“Hurry up,” he says impatiently. With a nod, Steve goes about sliding the door closed and then he’s back to hovering over Eddie, leaning down to bring their mouths together again. This time he licks the seam of Eddie’s lips, and when he parts them immediately, Steve slides his tongue inside, licking into Eddie’s mouth. 

Eddie makes a small needy noise in the back of his throat and Steve takes it as approval, kissing him harder, letting one hand snake under Eddie’s wet shirt, feeling him up, while he holds himself up with the other one. Eddie’s hands make their way to Steve’s hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands, tugging lightly on them, making Steve momentarily break the kiss so he can let out a moan when the tug goes straight to his dick.

Eddie looks up at him with dark eyes. He gives his hair another tentative tug to see if he can drag that sound from Steve a second time. 

He can. 

“Fuck, Steve,” he whispers like he can’t believe this is happening. “You’re a dream.” 

Steve desperately wants to hear Eddie too, so he starts kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Eddie tips his head back with a heartfelt groan, exposing the column of his throat. Steve takes that as an invitation, sucking at the pale skin until a mark starts to bloom. He bites lightly at the skin and soothes the sting with his tongue, listening to Eddie’s delicious string of gasps and whines.

His legs come up to wrap around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer until Steve is lying on top of Eddie. 

Eddie who is hot and close and already hard against him. 

Steve is hard too, he can feel his dick pushing against his wet jeans. He knows they should probably get out of their wet clothes soon but right now he doesn’t have enough patience to do that. He doesn’t want to waste any time that could be spent kissing Eddie, not until they’re satisfied. If the way Eddie is wrapped around Steve like a needy koala means anything, he doubts Eddie wants that either. 

So instead Steve slowly moves his hips to meet Eddie’s. 

A whimper slips past Eddie’s lips at the friction. “Oh, fuck, Steve,” he pants against Steve’s lips. The way Eddie moans his name goes straight to Steve’s dick, making it twitch as it begs for more friction. He rolls his hips again. “Jesus, fuck- I’m- sweetheart-”

“You okay?” Steve asks when Eddie can’t seem to finish a sentence. When he rolls his hips again, Eddie makes a noise like he’s dying, failing to utter any words. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” Eddie protests, shaking his head, hair wild and fanned out on the seat. “Don’t stop. Just uh- fair warning, I’m about to embarrass myself and come in my pants like- fuck, like this.” 

Steve groans. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah?” 

Nodding enthusiastically, Steve starts rolling his hips at a steady pace. “Yeah, I want it. Wanna make you come, Eddie. Wanna see you.” 

“Holy shit, Steve,” Eddie swears. On the next thrust, he pushes his hips up just as Steve grinds down and they both moan loudly.

They fall into a rhythm after that, approaching the edge quickly. Hoping to make Eddie come first, Steve wedges his hand between them, cupping Eddie’s hard dick with his palm. It feels big and Steve’s brain feels like it’s melting out of his ears when he so much as thinks about touching Eddie without his jeans and his underwear in the way, about blowing him, about Eddie fucking him. His own body jerks almost involuntarily against Eddie’s thigh. 

He does his best to rub the length of Eddie’s dick as best as he can through his clothes, pressed so close together. Eddie lets out a string of moans and whines that shoot sparks of pleasure down Steve’s spine.

“God, Eddie, you’re so- you sound so good. So fucking hot.”

Eddie shudders against him, his breaths coming quick and short. “Don’t stop,” he pleads even if Steve has no plans to stop what he’s doing, not when he’s so close to giving Eddie what he wants. Instead of stopping, he squeezes the head and strokes him faster. “Fuck, Steve, I’m close.” 

“Yeah, come on, Eddie,” Steve urges him on. Eddie sobs against Steve’s neck, hips jerking along with the movement of Steve’s hand. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear you.”

Eddie whines, high-pitched and needy. “Steve, I’m gonna-” He bites out just as Steve squeezes the head of his dick, his words trailing off into a moan as he tips over the edge. Steve watches Eddie come undone for him—head thrown back as his eyes roll into his head. It’s the hottest thing Steve has ever seen. It’s too much. He needs to come.

He grinds against Eddie’s hip, hard and desperate, chasing his own release as Eddie catches his breath. He’s so close already. 

Eddie must realize it too. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he tells him, his hand finding its way back to his hair, brushing it away from his face. “Fuck baby, you look gorgeous like this. Flushed and needy. Humping my leg, so desperate,” he whispers, kissing Steve’s cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. Little whines escape Steve’s lips as Eddie starts to run his mouth.

“Can’t wait to do this somewhere else, Stevie, someplace where I can drop to my knees and blow you.”

Steve’s breath hitches, his dick twitching when he pictures Eddie on his knees for him—lips wrapped around his dick, eyes molten as he looks up at him. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart?” 

Steve nods eagerly. “Y-yeah. Wanna blow you too.” 

One of Eddie’s hands cups his cheek. He runs his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip. “‘Course, baby. You can do anything you want to me.” 

Steve’s hips stutter, his brain foggy as he gets closer. “Y-you too. Anything. Fuck, Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, baby, c’mon,” Eddie whispers. His hand travels down until he’s cupping Steve’s ass, urging him to grind harder against his hip. Steve feels like he’s on fire. He’s so close, he can feel it, he just needs something more-

That’s when Eddie tugs harshly on his hair at the same time Steve grinds down, and just like that, he’s done for—he moans Eddie’s name as he spills into his boxers. Eddie kisses him through it, whispering praises against Steve’s lips that make shivers run down his spine. 

Steve can’t kiss him back at first, the aftershocks of his orgasm leaving him feeling a little stupid, yet Eddie doesn’t seem to mind—happily taking control of the kiss, licking into Steve’s pliant mouth. 

Once his brain comes back online, Steve kisses him back lazily until his neck starts to hurt and the arm holding him up cramps and he has to lower himself on top of Eddie, his head resting on his chest. 

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound in the van is their labored breathing, as well as the rain falling outside, though not as hard as before. 

Eddie runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, which is slowly starting to dry. “We might’ve missed the game—” Eddie starts, and for a moment Steve is confused, having completely forgotten about it, “—but that was definitely a home run.” 

Steve snorts. He gives a weak slap to Eddie’s shoulder. “That’s baseball, you dork.”

“Eh, whatever. I won, ‘s what I’m saying.”

“You lost your money though,” Steve says, absently playing with Eddie’s curls.

“Worth it!” He says, and Steve can hear his grin in his voice. “Hey, it’s not raining as hard anymore. We can try and make it for the last few innings.” 

“Again, Eds, that’s baseball,” Steve giggles. Eddie shrugs, jostling him slightly. “And I told you I’m fine watching it in our hotel. I prefer it, actually. Can’t do this—” He props himself up on his elbow and kisses Eddie, “—at the game.” 

“Good point.”

Steve smirks. “Can’t fuck me at the game either.” Eddie splutters, his eyes nearly bulging out of his face. Steve laughs. “You okay?” 

“Yup! I just- I think my brain broke just by thinking about fucking you.”

“But you want to?” 

A hysterical laugh falls from Eddie’s lips. “Do I- Steve, sweetheart, baby, that’s the understatement of the year. Of the century even!”

Steve smiles, pleased. “Then it’s settled, we skip the game and head straight to the hotel.” He pauses, thinking something over. “Maybe dinner first. It can be our first date.”

“You don’t need to wine and dine me, baby,” Eddie says, “you already got into my pants.” 

Steve glances down at their still wet clothes. “Technically, I didn’t.”

Eddie snorts. “Guess you’re right. Okay! You can take me out to dinner, big boy. Though we should probably change first.” 

Steve shifts, grimacing when he feels the mess in his boxers. The fact that his clothes are soaked only makes him feel more gross. “Yeah, let’s do that.” 

They dig through their duffel bags for dry clothes and use the back of the van to change. Steve lets himself look at Eddie in a way he never allowed himself when he stayed over or when they hung out at the pool and finds Eddie staring right back, both of them smiling—giddy and slightly disbelieving. 

By the time they change, the rain has stopped completely so Steve steps out so he can move to the passenger seat. Eddie simply climbs to the front and flops gracelessly onto the driver’s seat. Steve watches him maneuver his long limbs with a fond smile, reaching over to smooth his hair down. 

Eddie smiles back at him, dimples digging into his cheek. Steve can’t help but lean over the space between them and kiss each of them before finally kissing Eddie’s lips. 

“Are you sure you’re not even a little sad we missed it?” Eddie asks when Steve pulls back. 

He shakes his head, leaning back against his seat. “No, Eds.” He grabs Eddie’s hand, interlacing their fingers together in the space between the seats. “As far as I’m concerned, I already won tonight.” 

“Steve Harrington, you sap,” Eddie teases yet he squeezes Steve’s hand, placing them on top of his leg, refusing to let go, going as far as using his other hand to switch gears as he starts the van. “Let’s make sure you score a few more times tonight.”

“Oh yeah, baby, talk sporty to me,” Steve says in a deadpan tone that makes Eddie cackle loudly.

But despite the two of them joking about it, they score again that night.

And a few more times after that. 

[munariplans]

is there someone else? part 3 | natasha romanoff

synopsis: part 3 to is there someone else?

natasha romanoff x reader | slight wanda maximoff x reader

word count: 9.6k words

read part 1 and part 2 here.

masterlist

natasha woke to the sound of wheels skidding on the road before the cabin, before they ended on the gravel right outside. it took her a few moments to gather her surroundings, she had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for you after all, before heading outside to check the commotion. 

what she did not expect was for you to be sitting by the front porch, the old, beaten-up porsche parked haphazardly by the gravel with the engine running, and a bottle of tequila by your side. she took another look at you, then at the car, and sighed in worry. 

rushing forward to switch the engine off, natasha knew being angry with you was not the right approach at that moment. “jesus, were you drunk driving?”

you shrugged. “maybe. still got home, though.”

the woman before you fought the urge to scream. the morning sun was due to rise anytime soon, the golden beginning to bleed into the warm planks of the porch. you were sat by the edge, still shrouded in the remaining comfort of the night. natasha pulled the ends of her robe closer, hand over her bump, and finally sat next to you. 

“i can’t believe–”

suddenly the bottle was slammed between the both of you, causing natasha to jump and stop herself mid-sentence. “yes, i drove to the store to get tequila, and yes, i was drinking it on the drive back. and yes, i am probably drunk right now. i know i was wrong, it was dangerous, so you can save the lecture you’re going to spew and head back inside if you’ve only come out to get mad at me again.”

Natasha didn’t need to voice out her worry, or disagreement, for you to know that your words had been mean, and unnecessarily hurtful; because in the next moment, you dropped your head between your knees, and shook it in disappointment.

Instead, Natasha could only think about how badly she had screwed up, to make the monster that you were before her then. How she treated you, transformed you, from a person everyone at SHIELD knew as a steadfast anchor; an agent with skills like no other, and a heart more kind and warm than anyone she knew, to an irresponsible drunk that worried too much in your last missions together, a workaholic with a temper she had grown slightly afraid of recently. Natasha felt like she was to blame for everything. 

For a while, the woman sat with you in silence, only the brief gusts of wind howling in the distance and the crickets by the forest accompanying the both of you. She was getting cold, but refused to leave you alone out there for the night. 

Finally, she heard a faint I’m sorry from your face hidden between your knees, and dared to reach out to pat your back gently. It prompted you to continue. 

“I’m so sorry, Nat,” she could hear the heartbreak in your voice, “I’m so sorry you ended up with me; that you have to deal with someone like me as a partner. I don’t know where we went wrong, I don’t know what’s happened to us, but I…I know we fucked up. I’ve become everything I told myself I would never be when I fell in love with you, and I’ve hurt you so much to the point where you’re crying almost every night because of me, because of my stupid actions and what they’ve caused to you and our little one.”

You looked up at her then, and under the moonlight, your tears looked almost ethereal to Natasha. “I never meant to hurt you, and I hate that it’s come to this now; where we can’t even resolve a disagreement without arguing or resenting one another. We are walking on eggshells around each other, Nat, and this…whatever this is…is tearing us apart.” 

When the woman remained quiet, you croaked with, “Tell me what’s wrong with us, Nat.” 

She found your gaze, and her eyes were glassy and red too. Natasha shook her head, and withdrew the hand from your back to hold herself. With more despondence in her voice than you had ever heard, she said, “I just…I just feel you don’t love me anymore.” 

“That cannot be more untrue,” you interjected. “I know…I know I still love you.”

“Maybe your mind knows, but does your heart say the same?” 

“Of course, I…” At the disbelieving look on Natasha’s face, you grew desperate, “...Natasha, of course I love you. I want this marriage to work, I want us to work. I know I’m not the best at showing my love for you but…I whisper I love you, when you’re in another room, when you’re asleep, when you have headphones on, every time you look at me. My heart whispers that it loves you. I’m trying, Natasha, I try and try–”

“–Trying? You have to consciously put in effort into caring about me?”

“Am I wrong for wanting to put effort into us? Wanting to care about you?”

“No, but it should come naturally. It’s like you’re convincing yourself to be in love with me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I know that I love you. I’ve known from the very start, from before Clint pulled that arrow, from when I first saw you, even from when I was first handed your file. I knew you were going to be the one to change my life. I just…” you shut your eyes, bracing yourself, “...You hurt me. You’ve hurt me so much this past year and a half, and I can’t help but push you away when you do.”

“Hurt you…?”

Natasha looked more confused than ever, and you didn’t know whether to sigh or scream. “Natasha, I know, trying for a baby is hard. IVFs are hard, relationships are hard. But when you get upset and pin the blame and anger on me when things don’t work out…it forces me to shoulder all the burden in this relationship. I just feel so helpless all the time, because you keep shutting me out, and you keep letting your own insecurities of Wanda, and everyone else, get the better of us. 

All of this is scary for me too. I’m learning to be a better person, and parent, too. But some nights you yell and scream at me and I sit there and take it because I know you are having a hard time, but these things get harder and harder to look through and swallow when you basically deduce that that is all I am worth to you now. I know it’s unfair to ask, but I’m sure you know you haven’t been treating me the same, and I want to at least know why, so we can fix this. I want to fix this.”

Swallowing, you watched the mess of red hair before you blew in the wind, Natasha’s face almost identical in colour with how hard she was crying, too. It took a few minutes for her to gather her thoughts, before she spoke, “I’m just scared that you’ll one day wake up and realise that you deserve better, and when you do, you’ll leave me and I’ll return to the monster I was in the Red Room. I won’t have your patience, your love, to guide me to be a better person, and everything good about it will return to you, where they came from. 

I know you, and I know the way you are. We’ve been married for so long, but I know you would still sacrifice your own happiness, your own future, your everything, to make life easier for me, You never put yourself and what you want first; you’re always too kind, too considerate, too stupid to see that you’re not even happy with the situations you land yourself in because of your kindness. 

I mean…you married me, when nobody else would even spare me a glance in the compound when I first arrived, because who would want the dirty KGB agent that defaulted and still tried to kill the very own rescuers tasked to kill her? You held back Clint’s arrow from flying towards my head, you spared me because you somehow thought I was worth saving, and you smiled at me, nodding your head and whispering it’s okay while I was trying to squeeze the life out of you with my hands around your neck. Who does that? Who lets their target try to kill them and be so willing to die for someone they thought needed to be saved?

And you married me. So readily, without a second thought or consideration towards what it would mean for your reputation, your future, in SHIELD. You could have refused Fury’s request, let me get sent back to the KGB, let me get executed, and you wouldn’t be affected in any way, shape or form. But you married me, in that stupid courthouse in the stupid part of town with Fury as our witness and the priest who knew you deserved better than some Russian assassin who needed a green card. And you kissed me, and let me strangle you again that night, threatening that I would never, ever fall for someone as dumb, and kind, as you, while you still laid back on the bed, face already purple and prepared to die if I had just held on for a second too long. 

And now, I’m just afraid you’re doing it again, staying with me just because I am with child, when you know you could be happier somewhere else, with someone else. You chose to be responsible, and not happy. You want a child, but you don’t want this child. Not with me, you don’t want me. I fooled myself into thinking anyone does. You are not an exception, you are just too nice to do anything otherwise.” 

“So what, you’re just going to delude yourself into thinking that you not being around would somehow magically make my life better?” You shot back bitterly, the liquor fuelling the anger simmering at her declaration. 

“If it makes you happy!” Natasha replied, “I love you so much, I would rather let you go and be happy with someone else than tying you down here with me. You said it yourself, I hurt you, I’m a horrible partner to be around, and in my pursuit of what I wanted, I never considered that you were there hurting, too. You are the first and only person I have ever loved so deeply, so…so even if it breaks my heart into a million pieces and turns me irrevocably into something I swore I would never go back to…I would let you go if you wanted to leave. I don’t want to see you like this, in pain just for the sake of staying with me.”

Natasha watched you sink deeper into your knees, sobs she so rarely heard coming out raw and guttural from your throat. And then, for the first time in a long, long while, Natasha felt you embrace her first, arms clinging on to her body as if she would dissipate any second, as if you were afraid she was going to be torn from your reach. 

“Please don’t make me go,” she heard against your cries, “Please. Please. I love you. And I want this, I want this with you, everything with you. I don’t want to go. Please let me fix this, please don’t push me away, please forgive me.”

To even hear your declaration of love for her, of your want to still be around and to fix whatever that had been tearing the both of you apart, was all that Natasha ever wanted to hear. No matter the circumstances, no matter the hurt and pain, she always found it hard to stay angry at you for long, and the absolute desperation in your voice and your arms around her were already signs she knew you could never disguise to gain sympathy from her. Natasha knew you. 

She only wished she had known all of it earlier. “You know I have always just wanted you. I want you around, by me, for the rest of my life.”

“You already have me, all of me. From the very start, Natasha.” 

“But I need that you back. I know I have my own flaws, and you have to tell me how I can fix them, but I need the you that I fell in love with. I just need my wife back; you need to prioritise me, this, us, right now, because I can’t do this alone. Me and baby, we need you to be the anchor you have always been for me, darling, because above all, we need to be a team for our little one. They need you more than I need you, so even if you can’t do it for me, please, do it for them. 

And I need you to be open with me. No more secrets, no more hiding. I want all of you; your pain, your sorrows, I agreed to them in our vows, remember? You need to talk to me when things get rough, if I get rough. I know you’re one of the Avengers’ and SHIELD’s strongest leaders, nobody doubts that, but even the strongest need someone to fall back on and be vulnerable too. You need to let me be that person, okay?”

Natasha was rubbing your back then, being the one holding you up when the roles were usually reversed. She had hoped she wasn’t asking for too much, that your love for her would allow you to put your pride down and actually agree to her terms, and she was right. In the next moment, she felt you nod against her. 

“Okay.” 

“You can start by telling me what’s wrong now, and what I need to fix from my end.”

You returned to your seat beside her then, tossing the tequila casually into the trash nearby, and took a moment to consider what you wanted to say. Natasha held your hand in reassurance. 

Then, you squeezed her hand back, your touch warm and encouraging. “If you get scared, or worried, or angry, you need to tell me what it is that is bothering you. Don’t bottle it in, Nat. It’ll only grow and manifest until it becomes too big to control and you can only let it out in anger at me. If we want to get through it, you need to tell me, and we’ll work through it together. 

I know you’re afraid, when we first started discussing if we wanted kids, you were reluctant that you were going to be a bad mother, but I never doubted you for a second. Everyone gets scared, Nat, but I’m here for you, just as you are for me. Anything, anything at all, you come to me. I will do everything I can in my power to protect you and our child. It’s just you and me, it will always be you and me.”

Your wife let out a small smile, brimming of hope, and love, for your future. 

“We’ll both do our best for our little one?”

“Of course. And for us, too.”

“One last thing.”

“Anything.”

“No more drunk driving.”

–

When she finally coaxed the both of you back to the house, Natasha asked if you wanted to see something, and as she led you to the bedroom and told you to stand behind her in the full body mirror, you had an inkling of what she was going to do. However, it could not compare to the warmth that spread through your body, the skipping of your heartbeat, when Natasha put her hands over yours, and led them to the bump you spotted just hours earlier. 

She giggled as you dropped to your knees in front of her, and pressed kisses all over the bump, before capturing her own lips with yours and whispering I love yous through the night.  

–

Natasha only realised that you had driven the both of you to the site of your very first date when you pulled into the parking lot of the Met, exactly five years after the date itself. You smiled when she let out a small gasp at the realisation, when she held your hand excitedly as you paid for the tickets, even more so when she began leading you down the exact route the both of you had taken for your first official date then.

It was after a mission where Natasha finally realised that she had caught feelings for you, where you guessed she had only done so after the countless times you had pulled her back from reckless moves that would have killed her in her rookie missions, or where you willingly jumped in front of enemy fire when she so clearly had not trained her senses to missions yet. 

Natasha remembered it quite differently. It was the mission where the both of you were alone, and she had seen you smile and laugh at something she said so happily, so free, as if you saw her as something other than the defaulted ex-KGB she knew everyone still regarded as. You had always reserved a special smile for her, she knew this, and everyone had told her that even though she would never return your feelings, you had undeniably been in love with her ever since you saw her, but this time, it was different. For some reason, this time, everything seemed to fall into place. You, whizzing past the New York skyline and swinging the both of you home as Natasha latched on, laughing at her still getting used to the speed and height of how fast you were flying, her body pressed on yours and hearing your heartbeat beating steadily to match hers, Natasha knew something was amiss when her own heartbeat began to quicken. 

That very same night, after you had patched up her wounds and began to pack to retreat and sleep in your own bedroom, Natasha knew she had to do something before her heart felt like it was going to burst. 

“Wait,” she held your wrist, and against your confused look to see if you had missed an injury, she continued with, “I want to try something.”

Before you could ask what, her lips were on yours, for the very first time since your wedding day, the taste of cherry and blood infiltrating your senses. Natasha’s eyes were shut, her lips unsure, but when you reciprocated and deepened the kiss, her hands abruptly pushed you back, disconnecting the both of you.

“Thanks, you can go back now.”

Natasha didn’t leave you to worry, and wonder very long of course. Because while you lay awake in bed that night more confused than ever, she barged into your bedroom, and declared, “I have two tickets to the Met tomorrow. I’ve never gone before, and I would really like to go. Do you want the other ticket?”

The nonchalance, yet shakiness in her voice that you could tell after spending so much time together, almost made you want to laugh, if it had not puzzled you even further. “I…”

She took your momentary confusion as rejection, however, as a flash of hurt appeared on her face, before she turned and said, “Never mind, forget it. I’ll go by myself tomorrow.”

That had you jumping out of bed quicker than you had ever done before, as you prevented the door from slamming, and held her hand back. “Wait, Nat, you didn’t really give me a chance to answer!”

At her eyebrow quirk and invitation for you to continue, you chuckled, and showcased your smile, the special smile Natasha knew was reserved just for her, and said, “Of course I want the other ticket. We’ll go together.”

There it was. The feeling of her heart going to burst again. It had happened on the way home, had multiplied during the kiss, felt like it was legitimately going to burst right then. 

Natasha fought the smile creeping onto her face, as she coolly replied, “Great. It’s a date. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” 

“Great,” you breathed, feeling like you were dreaming, “I’ll see you…tomorrow.”

Natasha shut the door to your bedroom, retreated to hers, and the squeal that left her then felt almost inhuman. 

Though, at the date itself, Natasha wondered if you had even enjoyed yourself, or learnt anything from the artwork, when she caught you looking and smiling at her more times than you were even looking at the art. 

Fast forward five years later, you hadn’t changed; as Natasha gawked and tried discussing with you on symbolism and technique, only to fail and sigh in faux irritation as you were too preoccupied admiring her instead. 

–

And in the less happy moments, you were there to quell the fear that had replaced Natasha’s anger. After the museum date, and a very heavy lunch where you had ordered half the menu to satisfy Natasha’s cravings, she had taken to the bathroom to freshen up first. 

But when nearly ten minutes passed with no indication of her presence in the bathroom, you thought it was reasonable to get worried, given her current state. So giving the door a few soft knocks, you were surprised that it creaked open, not even closed or locked. 

And you were even more surprised, perhaps a little disappointed, to see Natasha still standing over the bathroom scale, frowning as she tried to look over her bump at the numbers below. 

She noticed your presence, noticed you leaning against the sink as you entered, unsure of what to say to her, but all Natasha could zero in on was the additional two kilograms that she had put on, another spike from the previous week.  

“Why’d you order so much earlier?” She whispered, half angry at herself, half afraid that you had noticed the weight gain far earlier than she had. 

But Natasha knew the answer was not in blaming you, not anymore, she had sworn, as immediately after, an apologetic look appeared on her face and you moved forward with bringing her off the scale. Shoving it right under the bathtub again, you brought her to face the mirror, and smiled convincingly. 

“It’s completely normal,” your lips moved to the space between her neck and shoulder, pressing feather-light kisses, “To grow for our baby.” 

“Not this fast, not this much,” Natasha rebutted. “Two kilograms since last week is too much.”

You allowed yourself to chuckle against her skin. “Maybe our little one is a big eater.”

“Or their mother is a fat cow who can’t even control her urges–”

“–Natasha.” Your voice had suddenly dropped, eyes meeting hers in the mirror. The smile on your face was gone, replaced with a dangerous glare she had often seen before you took down million dollar organised crime institutions. She groaned, feeling your grip around her tighten. “Don’t ever say that about yourself ever again.”

There were tears hot behind her eyes, but Natasha choked down her sob with, “I’m just afraid you won’t find me attractive anymore…at the end of all of this…when I’ve become so…different…from what I used to be, from what my body used to be. I mean, I know what I was, I know I have always used my body to get what I needed in the past, and even since the Avengers and SHIELD, it has never changed. Until now. Even Ward said it, you know? When he told you you struck gold—”

Fuck. You knew that was going to come back to bite you, and it did, astronomically. You shut your eyes then, shaking your head and trying to stop the river of regret of not punching his face right then and there overwhelm your senses. He was your friend, one of your oldest at it, but Natasha was your wife, and you should have done better for your wife. 

“–Fuck Ward. He was drunk, and I should have beat the shit out of him when he said all those things about you.” You knew it was completely your fault that Natasha was even feeling like this, that the tears streaming down her face then was because of the insecurities you instilled in her. 

“He’s somewhat right, but–”

“–No, he’s not,” you interjected, “He’s a piece of shit, that’s what he is. I was too tipsy to really take in his words then, and he had me cornered in front of everyone. I was a coward, and didn’t say anything when he was insulting your name in front of me. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Nat.” 

Natasha’s lips trembled as her hands laid over yours, and you sighed in frustration. “You know that what he says is not reflective of what I think of you, right? That I never, and I would never, think of you in that way. Your body growing, changing, will never deter what I feel for you. You are beautiful, Nat, a little extra weight is not going to undo five years of my love just like that.”

She sighed, still in worry, when you slowly reached further up her shirt, slipping your hands underneath  and holding the breasts she had been complaining had hurt for the past few weeks. “And you know these are growing too, which is a major plus for me.” 

“Ugh,” Natasha gave an annoyed look, hiding the hint of a smile, “Do you always have to ruin the moment?” 

But the woman certainly did not complain when you turned her right around, and began worshipping her body the way she deserved to be worshipped. 

–

Of course, not every part of Natasha’s change with her body was as harmless as a little weight gain. Her back hurt, she was having trouble going to the toilet most days, and most of all, the breasts that you admired growing so much, were giving her the hardest time of her days thus far. 

Inevitably, she was cranky. Twice she had caught herself from snapping at you for trying to initiate intimacy in the mornings, and when she painfully rolled over to alleviate the tension in her back, she had left you a little hurt and concerned. But you were merely brushed off with a I’m still sleepy, or not now, and you had no choice but to leave her be. 

By the time she had showered in the morning and headed to the bedroom to change, you watched as she slipped off her robe and grabbed the hoodie you put on her the very day you and Clint rescued her (which never returned to your own closet ever since), but when the thick fabric touched her skin and weighed her down, she flinched and sighed in discomfort. This time, you got up from the bed to hold her hands, massaging them too. 

“What’s hurting you?” You asked, assessing her body to see if there were visible signs of injury, to which there were none.

She shrugged, looking away. It was so stupid to feel burdened by this, Natasha thought. She was an assassin, and an Avenger, for Christ’s sake. God forbid she was losing a battle with her own body in pregnancy. You would think of her as weak, and incapable of raising a child without shouldering so much hardship, she considered, and a new fear crept within. “I’m fine.”

“Do you really want to play this game with me, Nat?” You prompted again, an eyebrow raised this time. “You know you can’t hide these things from me.”

“I can try,” she let out a smirk, to which you pressed down a little harder on her knuckle and she cursed, before lowering her head in shame, reaching out to pull you in for an embrace. You obliged, and with her face smushed into your shirt, she mumbled, “They hurt. My breasts hurt.”

“Oh.” You looked down to her eyes searching yours for signs of rejection, or amusement, that she was unable to hide pain as trivial as this, but you were serious. And then, you brought her in closer, and she sighed in happiness at the feeling of being held.

“My bras are all a little too tight now. Even the loosest hooks press against them too hard,” Natasha indulged, relieved that you were nodding in understanding. 

Finally, you asked, “You still up for your ice cream cravings from last night?”

“Mm,” she replied, “I dreamt of butterscotch last night, of course.”

At your chuckle, Natasha smiled, the sound of your laughter music to her ears as you began leading her down to the car to head out. 

But what Natasha didn’t expect, as she held onto her butterscotch cone while you helped hold her other flavour in your hand, was for you to bring her to a maternity shop by the mall, a personal assistant already greeting the both of you as she entered. 

She looked at you in surprise when the assistant led her to a section further down the shop, and you shrugged and said, “Figured you needed some new bras, my hands aren’t enough support.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha quickly let go of your arm as the assistant began pushing forth recommendations for softer, more comfortable bras for the rest of her pregnancy. She was grateful to you, as she sighed in relief at the instant comfort and support the new ones provided, while you sighed in contentment watching her try them on in the fitting room. 

“I’ll make you even happier than you were in that fitting room, tonight,” she whispered as you paid, a smirk growing on your lips right after. 

–

Though, as the shop assistant busied you with offering promotions and memberships while you paid, Natasha roamed around, and spotted a small rack of magazines right by the counter. Clearly a tabloid highlight, she skimmed the magazines for any good ones to bring home, when her eyes were caught in a particular tabloid; one with yours and Wanda’s faces splashed right at the cover. 

Her heart sinking, she picked it up immediately, and the headlines were not much more forgiving. Exclusive scoop: Illicit affairs even in superhero assemblies; will the Scarlet Witch tear down every family she is accepted to? 

Quickly flipping through the pages, Natasha scanned a quick analysis of yours and Natasha’s relationship, and eventually, reached the looming question of your marriage, and its legitimacy. They then showed the progression of yours and Wanda’s closeness that was not invisible even to the public, and the chemistry the both of you radiated onto each other. The next few pages held her compared side by side with Wanda, including her looks and abilities compared to the Scarlet Witch’s, and even a trivia to which one of them the reader would choose if they were you. 

It made Natasha sick to the core. It seemed as if everyone could see it, everyone but her, that Wanda was the better option. Not her, never her. Anybody but her. Obviously, she was so much younger, much more worthy of your companionship, much more deserving of your love. Whatever good had come from the day had vacated, as a permanent frown began to creep its way onto Natasha’s face, and an icy cold feeling crept onto her hands. 

Her ears were ringing, and when you called out to her, she had frozen in place with the inability to hear anything but her own deprecating thoughts. You got worried then, and quietly excused yourself from the assistants to walk up to her. 

When your arms wrapped around her waist a few moments later, and the magazine was taken from her hands to be brought back to the shelf, Natasha felt herself physically trembling. 

“Let’s go home,” was all you said, as you led her out of the shop, arm still around her waist as Natasha felt the world disappear from her own reality. 

–

In the car, however, you made sure she was comfortable, before holding her hand reassuringly, and convinced her to look at you. 

“Natasha.”

“Mm,” she tried to avert her gaze to the window behind you, but you were firm. Even though there were tears in her eyes then, you remained strong and continued. 

“I need to tell you something, and I know you will get angry, and very upset with me, but I hope…I hope you will understand, and you will forgive me. So we can move past this, together.”

At her nod, you declared, “I had feelings for Wanda, for a while in our relationship. It was when things were at the lowest between us, and I felt all hope was lost, when…when it was just a while before and during your announcement of the pregnancy.”

Natasha bit her lip, trying to withdraw her hand from yours, but you held on. “But those feelings have long dissipated, Natasha. Trust me, you are all I want, all I love now. 

I admit, the night we had that talk, with my drunk driving and stupid decisions, I…I thought of calling her. It felt like you had given up on me, I thought I should give up on our relationship, and…and I was exhausted and stressed. But the phone rang, and I saw you there, you and our baby asleep on the sofa, and…my whole future was there. I saw only you and our child, Natasha, nobody else. I couldn’t do it, I hung up the phone right when she picked up, and my feelings for her died with the urge to start something I knew I would regret. 

I recognise my mistakes, I know, I was a shitty wife and an even more horrible person, for even thinking of doing that to you, and I understand if you need space after this. But I just want you to know, Natasha, that you are the one I love, you are the one I would choose everyday, and nobody compares to you. I was stupid for even thinking there could be a possibility otherwise, I know it now. No one else makes my heart beat as fast as you do, no one else I would love the way I love you.”

The paper bag in Natasha’s lap crinkled as she adjusted her thighs, the swipe of her hands against her tear-stained cheeks sounding like a harsh slap as she let go of yours. You watched as she faced the door of the car then, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Natasha–”

“–Just…drive home. I need time, and space.”

Watching her retreat straight into the bathroom and hearing her retching right as you reached home, you knew that telling Natasha had been the right thing; you just wished the right thing did not have to be so difficult then. 

—

For the better part of the rest of the day, Natasha avoided you as much as she could, staying in the bedroom while you spent time simmering in your guilt. Look at the consequences of your actions. Made your wife cry, yet again. Made her feel less of herself, yet again. Natasha was too good to you, and you knew it. 

You brought her dinner as a peace offering. Knocking softly on the door of the bedroom, you could hear the sheets rustling as you said, “I’ve made dinner. Do you want to eat it inside?” 

A yes was heard, and you tentatively opened the door to find Natasha still under the sheets, face not visible. She pulled them up even higher as you set down the plate by her vanity table, and even though you wanted to say something, anything, to get her to even look at you, you knew better. 

Another soft click was heard as the door shut behind you, and Natasha continued to let the waterworks run. 

–

At night, you asked if you could enter the bedroom again, to which Natasha said yes. She was sitting on the bed this time, eyes still red, but at the very least not crying anymore. It was nearly time for bed, and in her nightgown, she watched as you went to your side of the bed, and picked up your pillows and a spare blanket. 

“Where are you going?” She asked, putting down her book. Her voice was still throaty. 

“The couch?” You answered, a little confused that she thought you would be anywhere else. “Do you…want anything? Before bed?”

Usually you fixed her a hot glass of milk before bed, or the occasional decaffeinated tea to help her sleep better. But tonight you were unsure of any move you should make in order not to upset her even further, and skipped out on the ritual. 

Natasha took a while to consider her next words, and you were prepared to head to the kitchen to steam the milk for her, when she patted the space beside her, and said, “Stay. Sleep here tonight.”

“Nat, I really don’t mind sleeping on the couch if you’re not comfortable–”

“–Stay. I want to sleep next to you tonight.”

You nodded, fighting off the grateful smile on your face, and ensured there was as much space as possible between the two of you as you laid down on the bed, just in case. 

A few minutes passed, you wide awake and listening to Natasha’s breathing. Recently, it was a habit that you had begun doing; Natasha was afraid of falling asleep alone, and her nightmares did not help with her insomnia either. You always waited for her to fall asleep first, no matter the circumstances, no matter how tired you were. 

Her breathing slowed to even intervals, but never slow enough to indicate she was asleep. And then, she whispered in the dark, “Can you look at me, darling?” 

You rolled over to face her, and your heart squeezed at the sight of her crying again. She reached out for your hand, you gave it to her willingly, and she brought it to her bump, squeezing it in fear that you might let go of her. 

“I know, there are better women out there for you. I know, that I am not the most attractive, or the easiest to be with. I know I get mad at you when I so often encounter problems that I should be more mad at myself with, I know you know yourself that you could have done so much better than just…me. I practically stole the rest of your future away, with my problems and my need to escape the KGB. You could have settled down with someone better, someone like Wanda, maybe, started a family with them earlier, had a much easier time being with them. 

Or you could have moved to Switzerland and become head of the new STRIKE team, like Fury and everyone else expected you to, without being bound to stay because of me. Anything, I know, is better than me.”

You were about to protest, to hold Natasha’s face and say that everything that just came out of her mouth was not the least bit true, but she shook her head, and you allowed her to continue. 

“But I need you, and I love you. I needed you then, when the whole world was against me and you were the only one to show me kindness by sticking with me, I will need you in the future, when the baby is here and needs their two parents, but most importantly, I need you now, when I have no one else with me to go through this scary, scary nine months with. 

I’m sorry I’m not Wanda, I’m sorry I can never be her, but please…I need you to choose me, to choose us. More than anything, more than the baby in my womb right now, I need, and want you around with me, for the rest of my life. I don’t know how to get through all this alone without you, I don’t know how my heart can accept and love anyone else but you. You are my everything, you know this, and this is me begging you, to please, please, choose me. 

Our little one is half of you, as is my heart shaped by yours. Despite everything, you are all I love, you are all that makes sense to me, and I would do anything, just for you to be by my side, please. I need you, we need you.”

Your lips began to bleed with how hard you were biting them, as fresh, salty tears began to roll down your own face, the remorse and longing wrapping around your heart like a snake, squeezing so tight you felt like you were drowning. 

A choked sob left your throat as you then pulled Natasha to your arms, peppering her face with wet kisses and murmurs of you, always you, as she held onto you for dear life as well. 

“Nobody else,” you reaffirmed, the tightness of your arms around Natasha a welcomed feeling as she cried into your chest, “Nobody else but you, till the end of time.” 

She tangled her body with yours, always pressing herself closer if possible, as if afraid that you would slip away from her just as quickly as she had gotten the old you back, and only when you began carding your hands through her hair and reassured her that you were not going anywhere, did her breathing finally even out. 

It was the first night in two weeks where her nightmares never came.

–

The time with Natasha alone ran out on a balmy Friday afternoon, as Fury had called you back for an emergency mission the minute her first trimester had ended and the two of you had patched up your relationship. However, she was reluctant to move back to the compound so soon, and with an agreement for your mother to come visit her on days that you were not around during missions, she was happier to stay in the cabin nesting. 

Still, it did not quell your worries, as you watched your elderly mother fuss over Natasha as if she was her own daughter. Teaching the woman her signature crochet patterns, she noticed as you stood by the door, fidgeting with your fingers at the sight of Natasha near the knitting needles. “You worry too much, dear.”

“Right, I told her so too,” Natasha chimed in, to which you scoffed and rolled your eyes at their ganging up on you. 

Your bags were packed and in the car, everything Natasha could need for the next week was packed in the shelves and fridges, and you had reminded your mother to be careful when accompanying her for her doctor’s appointment in two days. “Just…the prenatals, every morning, okay Mom? And if you’re cooking her eggs, remember to get them a little more well done.No runny yolks. She needs at least eight hours of sleep–”

“–Yes, dear, I know. You’re treating your wife like a baby, I don’t think your father was even as concerned when I was pregnant with you,” she said, following you out on the porch after you had kissed Natasha goodbye for her midday nap, “Which is a good thing, don’t get me wrong. I know you love your wife so much, but remember that I’m here, and she’s safe, too.”

You nodded, gulping. “I know, I know. I just haven’t been treating her so well these past few months, I want to…I want to make sure..”

“I know,” your mother pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead, hugging you goodbye, “Now go. Focus on the mission. And come home safe, for her, and the child, okay?”

–

“Well you look healthier, and happier,” Tony chimed in as he watched you fly the Quinjet for the first time in three months, your hands slightly shaking. 

You steered left, before replying, “Thanks.” 

“Why isn’t Natasha on this mission? I thought Fury said he needed someone who could work with the security system?” Steve pointed out right after, and all eyes travelled to you.

You knew they had their suspicions, but they were just waiting for you to say it. It could only go on for so long, after all.

Stabilising the jet in the air, you then moved out of your seat to finally face the team. “Natasha’s pregnant. Three and a half months, today.” 

Knowing looks were exchanged, and the smiles began to grow on your teammates’ faces, as one by one they started clapping for you, with Steve coming forward to hug you tightly then. “Congratulations.”

Then, he leaned in, whispering, “You guys are okay, now?”

“Yup,” you replied, “We’re better.”

You thanked the team quickly after, promising to let them visit Natasha soon, before refocusing on your targeted location for the mission. 

–

You should have guessed that when Fury said they needed you for an emergency mission, they needed you for a truly emergency mission. 

Bullets raining down on your heads and armed weaponry that did not seem like they were made from any material on this earth, you found yourself trapped with Clint in the vents of the abandoned government building with barely any room to breathe without risking a bullet in your head. 

“Just like old times, huh?” He tried to lighten the mood, “The archer and the spider.” 

“I’m not like the kid,” you retorted, “They actually inserted the serum of that spider safely in me. No freakish hanging-on-walls nonsense.” 

He rolled his eyes, letting you web up an enemy from a distance, before finally ambushing the soldiers from the vent and preparing yourself for a long, drawn out battle with them. 

–

But no matter how hard you fought, or how many of Clint’s arrows helped to take enemies off your back, you were clearly outnumbered when the enemy had cut off all of your comms early on, Tony unable to come in for backup while you and Clint were probably in the most densely-populated part of the building. 

The moment the archer got caught in one of the negative-energy weapons the enemies had struck at him, was the moment you knew you had to escape. There was no point in trying to take them down and risking Clint. 

You shot the last web to blind Clint’s attacker, before releasing him and swinging straight out of the window to the lower floors. He was groaning in your hold, as you examined the remnants of the energy searing a deep burn onto his skin. 

“Fuck,” you cursed, worried that something would spread underneath and render his arms useless, “I’m taking you back to the jet.”

The first ones back on the jet were Tony and Steve, the energy on the verge of melting the Wakandan metal on the Captain’s shield and Tony’s weapons. You turned back to Clint worriedly, but before you could say anything more, the comms crackled and a groan was heard from the other side. 

“C-Can anyone help? We’re kind of…” The comms crackled again, but it was clear whose voice was on the other end.

“Peter, where are you?” You were the only one uninjured, and fit enough to go back in, as the doctors had already begun escorting Clint away, and the Captain and Tony were still trying to get their weapons and shield back working. 

“South Building, second floor,” his voice was getting fainter and fainter, before, “Can you hurry, please? I’m with Ms Maximoff, and it’s not g–”

“–I’ll be right there, Peter.”

–

The area was fairly unguarded as you tore through more enemies towards the South Building, and you soon found out why when more than half of them were tied up in Wanda’s magic, hanging from the ceiling in every room you burst through.

“Peter! Wanda!” Upon your arrival, you heard Peter’s web shooters fly and immediately rushed to his aid just a few rooms down from where you were. 

The boy was on the ground, shrouding a heavily injured Wanda with negative-energy enveloping all around her, while the last of the attackers tried desperately to capture the both of them. You overpowered them easily with more strength and experience, but as you returned to the duo you knew that the mission had been compromised, and had to be abandoned. 

Inspecting Spider-Man for injuries, you were glad that he was still able to walk, and more importantly, swing, as you then carried an unconscious Wanda into your arms and led him swinging behind you to safety. 

“Do me a favour,” you said as he found difficulty keeping up, “Don’t ever do that again. Risking your life like that.”

“Ms Maximoff was–”

“–I know she was injured, but if it came down to it, Peter, I wouldn’t have wanted you both dead. You tell me when you know you’re not able to handle these things next time, and I’ll be there instantly,  you know I will. Better me than you, okay?”

The young hero could only nod slowly behind. 

–

Back at the Quinjet, while everyone was scrambling to grab medical supplies for Wanda and the energy quickly burning through her skin, Steve pulled you aside to put you on the line with Fury.

“I know you’re worried about her Agent,” his voice cut through the noise in your head as you stared at Wanda being wrapped in all sorts of healing blankets and devices, “But I wish to request something.”

“Yes, Fury,” you replied, heart still in your throat as you watched the woman fail to open her eyes through her second resuscitation. You couldn’t help feeling like it was all your fault, that you hadn't gotten to her in time, and fear was steadily rising through your body. 

If Fury noticed the lack of focus in your voice, he didn’t mention it. “The nearest safehouse and medical facility for you guys is too far. Doctor Cho fears it might be too late for Wanda. The only other option is the woods where yours and Natasha’s cabin is.”

Even in your worry, you couldn’t help but prioritise your wife, though. “I don’t want Natasha involved–”

“–She won’t. As far as she knows, she’s just lending your house for the doctors in the jet to treat the team. That’s all. I’ve already gotten her approval, Agent.”

You sighed through the phone, heavy and worried. But one more look at Clint, and then Wanda, had confirmed any doubts you had. “I’ll get us there, then.”

–

Natasha was already waiting by the fields by the time you landed the jet, rushing forward to engulf you in her arms as she consciously felt around your suit for any injuries as well. When she didn’t find anything but a slash through your right shoulder, she sighed in relief and could only turn her focus to the team then. 

“I’m fine,” you breathed, thankful for the fact that she was there, “Can’t say the same for everyone here, though.” The both of you watched as Clint was carried by Steve into the cabin, followed by Wanda by Tony, and Natasha felt your fist tighten at the sight of her skin seared and lips pale. 

“Can’t help but feel like it’s all my fault. First mission back and I’m already getting so many of them injured.” You muttered.

Natasha cupped your face then, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. You didn’t know better, Steve was the leader of this mission, and none of you could have anticipated that there would be so many of them. And you are home now, you are safe, which is all that matters to me.” 

You leaned into her touch, nodding your head. 

–

the medical team left by midnight once they had stabilised wanda’s injuries, but being the only one certified as a medical professional aside from doctor strange, you chose to stay by her side the entire night, as she took up the spare bedroom in the cabin while the rest of the team slept in the living room. 

you changed her dressings after a few hours, and when you came out of her room, natasha was sitting by the kitchen counter. she was awake, and a steaming mug of milk was right beside her. soft snores from the living room had filled up the atmosphere, but the low lighting she had switched on made her look more ethereal than ever. her face shrouded in the warm glow, you approached her carefully and smiled when she gazed up at you. 

disposing of the bloody bandages, you sat across from her and saw that she had been filling up the crossword in the newspaper. 

“couldn’t sleep,” she shrugged. you pointed out a word to her and she thanked you. 

“without me?” you joked, but she nodded, and you smiled sadly. “i’m sorry. i…” 

you gestured towards the room, but natasha put her hand up. “i understand. i know you’re worried. i am too.”

you bit your lip, half in shame, half in guilt that your worry for wanda was affecting your wife too. but natasha put on a brave smile then, looking at the bloody dressings, and said, “i’ll help you get the new bandages from our storage. go.”

you dutifully returned to the room, watching her silhouette disappear for a moment before the door shut and your heart dipped deeper into your stomach.

–

you were administering a new bag into wanda’s IV drip when her fingers twitched, proceeding to ghost along the skin of your left arm as her eyes opened blearily. 

“hello sunshine,” you smiled at her, apologising as you reinserted the needle. 

wanda tried to smile back. “waking up to your face? i thought i must have died and went to heaven.”

you chuckled, but slowly removed the hand that had encircled around your wrist. “not heaven. you’re still stuck in this shitty cabin with me and the rest of the avengers. and if the painkillers tell you otherwise, just remember that your skin is redder and rawer than a tomato now.” 

the spare room was in fact your study, with the makeshift hospital bed in the middle and your desk pushed to the far corner of the room. as wanda’s eyes travelled and took in her surroundings then, you noticed her gazing across the photos of you and natasha on the desk replacing the ones with the team (and her), natasha’s little trinkets that you had now adopted, and the multiple scans of the baby right alongside. 

she looked at you sadly, and asked, “three and a half months?”

“yeah,” you grabbed the most recent scan, showing her, “natasha wants to wait a little while before knowing the gender. i'm a little afraid, to be honest, but we’re excited nonetheless.”

“right.” wanda looked at the scan, where the faint shape of the foetus was forming. she knew she had lost the moment she saw the softness in your eyes as you gazed back at the scan. 

she swallowed her fears, and asked, “so it’s her then? between me and her?” 

you looked up, staring at her face and remembering the phone call, the late nights, the companionship of being around the scarlet witch. fighting by her side in missions, coming home to her laughs and comfort after, you remembered her encouraging you after every fight with Natasha, the smiles exchanged as she brought you in for hugs and your laughter as she tried making jokes to cheer you up. 

wanda’s eyes were blue, natasha’s green. but there was only one pair you knew you would stare lovingly into for the rest of your life. 

natasha’s first night with you after your first date, sharing ice cream and exchanging quiet smiles. her wearing the sweater you had put on her after her rescue. it was her safety sweater, the safest space in her world. the tightness of her hugs, the softness of her kisses. the love in her eyes when you discussed parenthood with her, the excitement of you promising to be by her side until the end of time. 

“it’s her. in every life, i would choose her.” 

natasha, who had been listening behind the door, held the bandages closer to her chest, the warmth spreading through her had her smiling until her cheeks hurt. 

[30somethingautisticteacher]

Reboot

"Slow down, Howie. What are you talking about? Is Evan okay?" Tommy's voice trembled with concern.

"He's lost it, Tommy! He's on a rampage!" Chimney shouted through the phone, his words tinged with panic.

Tommy took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Howie, can you give the phone to someone who can explain what the hell is going on?"

There was a shuffle, and then a familiar voice came on the line. "Tommy? Are you on your way yet?"

"Hen, I just got into my truck, but I'm really freaking out. Is my boyfriend okay?"

"Tommy, man. Just get here," Eddie's voice cut in, grave and urgent.

Tommy's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Tommy screeched into the 118's parking lot, tires squealing as he brought his truck to an abrupt halt. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted towards the firehouse, pushing through the doors with such force they slammed against the walls.

Breathless, he skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with a familiar figure.

"Tommy! Babe, what are you doing here?" Evan's bright blue eyes widened in surprise, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

Tommy blinked, confusion washing over him as he took in Evan's calm demeanor. There was no sign of the 'rampage' Chimney had described. His boyfriend looked perfectly normal, if a bit puzzled by Tommy's dramatic entrance.

"I... what?" Tommy managed to sputter, his gaze darting around the seemingly peaceful firehouse. "Are you okay? They said...Howie said..."

"Tommy, you're here! Thank God!" Chimney rushed over, relief and urgency warring in his voice.

Tommy's gaze darted between Chimney's panicked expression and Evan's bewildered one. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded, frustration edging into his tone.

Chimney grabbed Tommy's arm, pulling him slightly away from Evan. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "He's... he's Clipboard Buck!"

Tommy's brow furrowed, more confused than ever. He looked back at Evan, who seemed equally perplexed by Chimney's behavior.

"Clipboard Buck?" Tommy repeated slowly, trying to make sense of the situation. "What does that even mean?"

Evan stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Chim, are you feeling okay? You've been acting weird all day."

Chimney's eyes widened, and he tugged on Tommy's arm more insistently. "See? He doesn't even realize what he's doing!"

Tommy found himself caught between his boyfriend's apparent normalcy and Chimney's genuine distress. Something strange was definitely happening at the 118.

"What is 'Clipboard Buck'?" Tommy asked, his confusion growing by the second.

Hen appeared beside Chimney, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Give him a clipboard and he's a menace," she explained, gesturing towards Evan.

Eddie joined the group, running a hand through his hair. "Tommy, he's my best friend, but Clipboard Buck is a demon."

Tommy looked back at Evan, who was now frowning slightly, clipboard in hand. The pieces started to fall into place.

"Are you telling me," Tommy began slowly, "that you called me here in a panic because my boyfriend is being... overly efficient?"

Chimney nodded vigorously. "You don't understand. He's reorganized the entire station. Twice. He's scheduling surprise drills. He's itemizing our lunch breaks!"

Evan stepped forward, tapping his pen against the clipboard. "I'm just trying to improve our response times and overall efficiency. I don't see what the problem is."

Tommy found himself caught between laughter and disbelief. The situation was absurd, yet the genuine distress of Evan's colleagues was hard to ignore.

"Okay," Tommy said, taking a deep breath. "Let me get this straight. You all freaked me out, made me think Evan was in danger or having some kind of breakdown, because he's... being too organized?"

"Overly efficient? Too organized?" Chimney sputtered, his eyes wide with disbelief. He gripped Tommy's shoulders, his voice dropping to a haunted whisper. "Tommy, I swear I have PTSD from his time as a fire marshal."

Eddie nodded solemnly. "It's not just about being organized. It's about the relentless pursuit of perfection that borders on tyranny."

Tommy's gaze shifted between the distressed faces of Evan's team and his boyfriend's puzzled expression.

"Guys, aren't you overreacting a bit?" Evan asked, his brow furrowed. "I'm just trying to help us be the best we can be."

The collective groan from the team spoke volumes.

Tommy ran a hand over his face, torn between amusement at the absurdity of the situation and concern for both his boyfriend and his colleagues. He realized he'd have to play mediator in this bizarre scenario.

"Okay," Tommy said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Let's all take a breath. Evan, baby, maybe we should talk about appropriate levels of... enthusiasm in the workplace. And you guys," he turned to the team, "maybe we can find a way to channel Evan's energy productively without causing a mutiny?"

Chimney's eyes lit up with sudden hope. "Why don't you just take him home and let him be efficient there?" he suggested, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Yep, we already cleared it with Bobby," Hen added quickly, nodding vigorously.

Eddie chimed in, "It's for the good of the team. And Buck's safety." He glanced meaningfully at Chimney, who was eyeing the clipboard like it was a venomous snake.

Tommy blinked, taken aback by their eagerness to get rid of Evan. He turned to his boyfriend, who was now looking more perplexed than upset.

"Wait, you guys want me to leave?" Evan asked. "I'm revolutionizing our efficiency!"

Tommy felt a mix of amusement and sympathy. He placed a hand on Evan's shoulder, trying to calm him down. "Hey, how about we channel that energy at home, huh? My house could use some of your organizational skills."

Evan glanced at his clipboard, then back at his colleagues. "But I'm not finished here. There's still so much we could optimize."

"Sweetheart, it's time to go," Tommy said gently but firmly.

Evan sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Fine, but don't come complaining to me when things start falling apart around here."

As they turned to leave, Evan tucked the clipboard under his arm, clearly not ready to part with it just yet. Tommy suppressed a smile, realizing he might have his work cut out for him at home.

Tommy caught sight of Chimney mouthing 'Thank you' behind Evan's back. He shook his head, amused and exasperated by the whole situation.

As they settled into Tommy's truck, he turned to Evan with a warm smile. "How about we work on improving our efficiency in the bedroom?" Tommy suggested, his tone playful.

Evan's eyes widened slightly, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "I think we're already plenty productive in there," he replied, matching Tommy's tone. Then, his expression shifted, that telltale look of determination crossing his face. "Although, I could make a spreadsheet to track our performance metrics and identify areas for optimization!"

Tommy couldn't help but laugh, a mix of amusement and affection washing over him. "Evan," he said, shaking his head. "How about we keep the clipboard out of our sex life?

Evan pouted for a moment before a sly smile crept onto his face. "Fine, no spreadsheets. But I reserve the right to conduct thorough performance reviews."

"Now that," Tommy said, leaning in for a quick kiss, "is the kind of efficiency I can get behind."

As they drove away from the station, both men chuckling, Tommy's phone buzzed with a text. It was from Chimney: "Do anything you can to reboot the robot. I do not want details."

Tommy snorted, shaking his head at Chimney's message. He glanced at Evan, who was reaching for the glove compartment, probably to reorganize its contents.

"You know what?" Tommy said, gently catching Evan's hand. "I think I have some ideas on how to keep you occupied when we get home. No clipboards involved."

Evan's eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh? And will these activities improve the home's overall efficiency?"

Tommy laughed, squeezing Evan's hand. "Let's just say, it'll be a very hands-on approach to team building."

As they drove home, Tommy couldn't help but think that "rebooting the robot" might just be the most enjoyable task he'd had all week.

[katerina-marie]

The Tragedy of a Duality

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader and (Past) Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6, Chp 7 (Final)

In the present, you are a sorcerer and the cherished wife of the Honored One. In an era long gone, remembered by only one, you were ordinarily human and the beloved bride of the King of Curses. How fitting it would be, in an evening of destruction, to have your heart torn in two.

Content: JJK Universe and Canon Events (tho tweaked to incorporate reader), Fluff, Angst, Flashbacks, Ambiguous ending, Violence, Death, Female reader but left descriptively vague, No use of y/n, True Form Sukuna in the past, Itadori Yuji is Sukuna's vessel in the present but nothing inappropriate b/n reader and Itadori as the vessel, Innuendos, Allusions to + Vaguely described sex so avoid accordingly, Mildly Possessive and Jealous Satoru. Will add more CW to each chapter if needed.

WC: 5.3k

A/N: Some pining and part 2 of the Gojo/Reader flashback

Chapter 4

Sukuna is holding your arm tight against your back. The position arches your spine forward and emphasizes the rapid rise and fall of your chest. His breath ghosts over your ear as he lowers his head down so his cheek is hovering near yours, and no amount of struggling is going to break you from the strength of his grip. 

“Again,” you grit out, but Sukuna must be finished humoring you because he does not set you free and urge you into the coverage of the trees that line the garden. He does not say it, but his efforts to teach you the bare minimum of self protection is proving futile, and you know there are plenty of other ways he would prefer to spend a summer evening with you. 

“You are forgetting what I have taught you,” Sukuna says, and the words are spoken against your skin as he draws his lips up your jaw, not at all dismayed by the sweat that trickles down your temples. “You must keep moving if you do not wish to die.” 

The playful taunting of his voice scrapes at your already frustrated nerves, so you jerk harder against him. Your energy is wasted in another failed attempt to escape, and you blow out a frustrated breath when Sukuna presses you tighter into his front. There is an undeniable pressure from him against your lower back, and you knew that the grin he was sporting earlier in the night while he stalked you through the trees was too full of excitement and desire for a simple training exercise. 

“So you have told me,” you huff, and though your muscles are weakening and your energy runs low, there is something enticing about the idea of having your husband in the seclusion of your gardens and under swaths of starry night. You throw your hips back harder under the guise of fighting back. 

Sukuna’s answering laugh is rich, and you are not sure of what he will do next until his teeth are suddenly nipping along the slope of your neck and two of his hands are gathering the fabric of your robes up your thighs. 

“What terrible prey you are.” 

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

Your phone is ringing and it yanks you out of sleep. 

The wheels of your chair skid backwards from how forcefully you sit up, and you just barely manage to catch yourself on the edge of your desk and miss face planting onto the floor. There is an unpleasant soreness in your sternum, and it is an uncomfortable reminder that you shouldn’t fall asleep slumped over your desk. You scrub your fingers against your eyes as you flail for your phone with your free hand, and your voice is groggy when you answer.

In a move you aren’t sure you’re grateful for, Shoko has waited to inform you of the results of the first year’s assignment at the detention center until after Itadori Yuji has come back from the dead. After you hear of the news in a tone that is entirely too nonchalant for the matter at hand, you race across campus to the morgue to check on your newly risen student. The whole time you curse Satoru and whatever business took him away from the school for the day, all the while berating yourself for allowing such misfortune to fall onto a trio of teenagers. Of course, the ever important question stares you in the face:

Who brought Itadori Yuji back to life?

If you’re being honest with yourself, you know exactly who is responsible for saving Itadori from dying an early death, but the idea of admitting to it is just as startling and perplexing as the other somewhat life-altering conundrum brought upon by Ryomen Sukuna. You doubt his motives and question his purposes until you’re in front of a large metal door and nearly a jittery mess. 

Maybe he was feeling benevolent. 

When you push through the door and into the sterile white room, Itadori is perched on a metal examination table in a pair of pants that are a size too short with a large grey blanket tucked around his torso. Shoko sits in front of her computer situated at the wall across from him and is typing away furiously. Beside her, a printer whirs and spits out page after page. Only Itadori turns to look at you, and you have to hold one finger up as you work to catch your breath from the energy expended rushing over here. 

“I am so glad you’re alive,” you finally gasp out. You place your hand over your racing heart and try to take a deep breath. Itadori grins in his usual way and opens his mouth to say something when the screech of Shoko’s chair interrupts him. 

“By all intents and purposes, he shouldn’t be,” she tells the room, and she snatches the stack of papers from the printer before walking over to hand them to you. A quick glance between the haggard set of her face and the sheepish look on Itadori’s doesn’t fare well for the buzzing of nerves in your stomach. You swallow and scan over her report. A few sentences stand out, and the nerves turn into the threatening reappearance of your dinner. 

“Perforating blunt force trauma to the chest.” 

“Heart missing from the internal chest cavity.” 

The words are enough to aggravate the throb in your chest from earlier, and you fight the urge to rub at the spot. When you look back up at Itadori, tears blur his figure and the paper quivers in your grasp. 

“I am so sorry,” you choke out. Shame and devastation make your body hot, and you regret not accompanying the three students. 

Itadori waves his hands in front of him, and his eyes are wide in trepidation. “Ehh, it’s okay! Don’t cry, please. I’m alright!” 

You nod as your shoulders shake because your throat is too tight to get any words out, and you feel Shoko’s hand land comfortingly on your back. A minute or two passes before the quickly approaching panic fades, and you hope the smile you give to the two of them is reassuring and not borderline hysteric. 

“If you can handle it from here, I’ll let you make sure Itadori is settled for the evening. I could use a break.” Shoko’s voice is calm, but when you look at her, the skin under her eyes is bruised purple and you recognize the stiff set of her shoulders. 

“I got it,” you tell her, and with a quick goodbye to you and Itadori, she breezes out of the morgue and leaves the two of you alone. He turns to you expectantly, and you take a couple steps closer so that you stand in front of him. 

“So, uhm,” you begin, and Itadori gives you a small bob of his head in encouragement. “I’m sure you’re ready to relax or whatever, but I, uh, have a couple questions.” 

You look back through a couple pages in the report and try to search for words that describe what happened today. “Shoko told me a little over the phone, but I want to know for sure. Did he…did Sukuna—,” 

Your own stuttered gasp cuts you off when you look back up at Itadori and see that he is no longer who sits in front of you. 

Sukuna is observing you intently. His legs are crossed on the table and he is resting an elbow on his thigh so he can cup his chin in his left hand. One dangerously pointed fingernail plucks rhythmically at his bottom lip, and his eyes do a thorough perusal from your head to your toes. It isn’t leering, but you feel seen through anyway. 

As you study him back, you find that his presence is just as daunting as the first time you saw him last month. Except now, you notice black tattoos that trail over where his neck slopes into his shoulder, as well as two thick bands of them that circle each wrist. If Sukuna gives an imperceptible shake of his arms to jostle the blanket draped over him just a touch more open, you ignore it. 

“Hello,” you say, because the silence has become too much and the weight of Sukuna’s stare is making you squirm. The greeting comes out as ineloquent as you feel, and you grimace at yourself. 

“Hello,” Sukuna replies back. It’s not particularly friendly or inviting, but there’s no malice in it either. 

You let your eyes wander around the morgue because you have no idea what to say to him, so you count the rows of refrigerated, body length capsules on the back wall behind Sukuna. Next is the sink and counters to your right, but you abruptly shift your focus back to him when you spot a pile of bloodied linen and tools sitting in a bucket. Sukuna is still watching you. 

With a deep breath, you raise the report in your hand and use it to gesture at his chest. “I suppose you are the one responsible for bringing Itadori back?” 

“The brat?” he clarifies. When you nod, he makes a low, disgruntled noise in his throat. With a bored expression on his face, Sukuna studies Itadori’s right hand, twisting it to and fro while wiggling his fingers. “I suppose I did, though I had no intention of actually doing so.” 

Sukuna was not, in fact, feeling benevolent. 

“Oh,” you breathe out, and you struggle to keep your tone neutral. “Well, you have my gratitude anyway. Itadori wouldn’t have deserved to die that way.” 

He scoffs and shifts his eyes to the door. “Still hopelessly sympathetic for mere mortals.” 

Sukuna mutters it under his breath, but you hear it nonetheless and bristle at the way it sounds like an insult. You have half a mind to chastise him for it—and for the way he referred to Itadori earlier—but doing so would involve two things: actually reprimanding the King of Curses, which in of itself feels precarious and possibly unwise, and second—acknowledging the implication of what he said instead of ignoring it. 

Not fond of doing either, you stay silent and return to the paper in your hands. In your mind, you debate what to do with the situation at hand. You don’t want to leave Sukuna unsupervised, nor go home for the night without confirming that Itadori is alright. You wonder if he would change back soon or if you would have to ask. Maybe he would get bored or—

Sukuna lifts a hand up towards you. It’s fisted closed at first, but his fingers unravel as they near your neck and the movement makes you freeze. To your shock, he only crooks a single finger around a section of your hair. 

“It looks the same.” 

His eyes aren’t on yours when he says it, and instead they follow where his finger curls deeper into your hair. Your heart thumps heavily, but you don’t respond and simply flip a page in the report you’re no longer paying attention to. Behind you, Shoko’s computer dings with a notification, and water plinks slowly into the steel sink.

“It is a bit longer now, perhaps,” and Sukuna’s voice is wistful, nostalgic. “You used to like to change it when the weather began to warm.” 

A lucky guess.

“When you are caught off guard, you freeze, even if I would always remind you that it makes for bad prey.” He chuckles, and it is bitter and forlorn. You try to recall where you have heard those words before as they echo in your head.

At your sides, your fingers tap and twitch in the empty air, and when the movement catches Sukuna’s attention, he smirks like he just discovered a secret only known by him. 

“And when I continue, here in a minute, you will tap your finger against your nail to give yourself something to do because you are nervous and unsure.” 

The accuracy of his words are disconcerting enough that you jerk your head back, and it yanks your hair from Sukuna’s fingers. You aren’t certain, but you think an errant knuckle ghosts over your cheek before his hand drops down to his lap.

 Similar to the feeling the night after you first saw him, something tingles over your skin and you nearly bat at your own arm in an attempt to swat the sensation away. Hot tears sting your eyes and you chalk it up to the adrenaline of the evening. Or maybe it’s the way Sukuna is looking at you, like it’s painful and delightful all at the same time. 

He leans forward, his nose an inch from your neck, and you stiffen when he takes a deep inhale. “I could find you by your scent alone, no matter the distance.” 

That is what disturbs you, and you flush out of embarrassment at the thought that he has been able to smell you this entire time. When you give him a scandalized look, a genuine grin teases at the corners of his mouth. For a split second, you are transfixed by the sight of it and how it just faintly, barely, almost, feels familiar. 

“The color of your eyes is unmistakable,” he murmurs, and it’s reverent and half a world away. But suddenly, his face hardens, and Sukuna glares at a point over your shoulder. You wait with bated breath.

“They light up for your white-haired lover now in the same way they used to when I would return to you in the evenings.” 

Air leaves your lungs in a shaky exhale, and you finally take a couple steps back to put some space between the two of you. His eyes reluctantly follow, and you clear your throat. 

“Well,” you start, and you fiddle with the paper dangling from your fingertips. “That’s very astute of you.”

The sound Sukuna makes is something between a scoff and guffaw, but he doesn’t say anything else. When a couple seconds go by and it’s clear that he’s waiting for you to speak, you blow out a breath and cock your hip as you brace your hand on it. 

“And I suppose you just, what? Remember those facts from centuries ago?” 

Sukuna shrugs and appears unbothered by your insinuation that he is lying. He leans back on the metal table and rests his weight on his palms behind him. “I am an immortal—of sorts.” 

An undignified snort rips from your mouth and you throw your hand up to cover it. 

“Yeah, well,” you retort, and your words are half muffled by your palm until you let it slide down your chin and to your collarbone to nervously rub at the skin of your neck, “I am not.” 

The carefree expression dies on Sukuna’s face at the same time his shoulders fall and his eyes go distant. You’re not sure what he is thinking, but the way he seems to shut down makes you feel uneasy. He works his mouth and pushes off his hands to slouch forward instead. 

“No,” he says, and that one word is full of sorrow and resignation. “No, you are not.” 

You stare at him with lips parted and an ache in your chest. Nothing comes to mind for you to say to him, not that you are sure you even want to. The idea of resting a comforting hand on his shoulder flits across your thoughts briefly, but you shake it away before it can come to fruition. Sukuna lifts his head to meet your gaze, and you don’t break it this time, not when his eyes are full of longing and pleading for something you can’t understand. 

Remember me, remember me, remember me. 

A knock on the door of the morgue shatters the silence, and when you flick your head towards the sound, Satoru is standing there in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. His blindfold dangles around his neck, and you get the sense that he has been standing there for a minute. You turn to him, and from your peripheral, you see Sukuna sit up abruptly. 

“You’re back!” you exclaim to Satoru. Despite the turmoil swirling inside of you, you let the sight of your husband soothe the nerves away and you smile at him softly. 

“I am,” he remarks, but when he returns with a smile of his own, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Finally, he saunters forward with all his usual grace and nonchalance. “I just wanted to check on Yuji before we went home.” 

“Oh,” you say, and you begin to turn back towards the table. “Well, Itadori isn’t currently—,” 

The words trail off when you see that the tattoos have faded and Itadori is blinking lazily at the two of you. Satoru’s hand lands between your shoulder blades, hesitates, then slides up to cup the back of your neck. A light squeeze follows, and Satoru drops a kiss to the top of your head before turning to Itadori. The two engage in light conversation, but their words are muffled in your ears as you try to make sense of the strange feeling of loss that just came over you. 

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

You and Satoru don’t speak as you leave the morgue and venture out into the dark of the night. Errant light posts scattered along the sidewalk give off just enough light for you to see a couple steps ahead as the two of you make your way towards the entrance of the school. You’re hand in hand with Satoru, and his thumb brushes back and forth over the length of yours. He tightens his grasp right before he opens his mouth. 

“What did he want?” 

Satoru’s voice is cautious, and you realize he’s come to a stop when your hand jerks in his grip. When you turn back to him, each of you has an arm out and extended from where you hold on to the other. Satoru searches your face, and you stare at your intertwined hands as you chew the inside of your lip to find the words to explain what had just occurred between you and Sukuna. 

“He came out while I was talking with Itadori about the incident during their assignment,” you start sullenly. Satoru uses his grip on your hand to pull you to him. When you’re sharing space with him again, he reaches up with his free hand to smooth hair away from your face. “He knew some things about me.”

Satoru’s eyebrows jump. “Such as?” 

The pavement below your feet becomes the most interesting thing as you mull over Sukuna’s words, and much to your displeasure, images of the bleak emptiness of his eyes and the defeated slump of his shoulders stick around in your head. You’re not sure what you feel for him. Pity wouldn’t be too far fetched. Sympathy didn’t seem accurate, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t there. 

Maybe that extends to monsters too.  

Satoru taps the side of your cheek gently to regain your attention. 

“What did Sukuna say?” he prods gently, and he dips his head down to seek out your eyes.

You give an exhausted shrug of your shoulders. “Like how I typically change my hair every summer, or that habit I have of digging my nail into my finger when I’m anxious—things I just wouldn’t expect him to know.” 

“Mhm,” Satoru hums, and his expression is pensive before it relaxes. “Well, maybe he’s noticed them in the time Yuji has spent around you. We know he can observe what’s going on from in there.” 

He pauses before he grins and wiggles his fingers next to his face. “He does have all those extra eyes, you know. Kinda creepy, if you ask me.” 

Not for the first time, you're thankful for Satoru’s ability to break the tension of almost any situation, and you can’t help giggling. “You’re one to talk, Six Eyes.”

Satoru makes a face that shows exactly how pleased he is with himself and his cleverness, but as your laughter dies down and nothing fills the air beside the chirping of crickets and faint high road noise, he gathers you into his arms. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks when he releases you a few seconds later. 

“Yeah, I think so. Your explanation is rational.” You kick at a rock on the sidewalk and it bounces into the grass. 

“Anyways, it’s not like it matters,” you mutter. “Even if it’s true, nothing Sukuna says changes anything about the present. It’s just weird to hear or think about, I guess.” 

Satoru lets out a relieved breath and swipes away imaginary sweat from his forehead. “That’s good to know.” 

But then the lightness on his face drains away and left in its place is resolute determination. “I’d destroy the world if he took you away from me.” 

The seriousness in Satoru’s voice stuns you, and for a second, you are reminded of the power he holds, how he is perfectly capable of doing the very thing he describes. But just as quickly as it came, the hardness in Satoru’s eyes bleeds away and a smug grin replaces it. 

“Or at the very least I’d have to fight Sukuna for you.” 

You laugh a little uneasily. “You’d really do that?”

“Well duh. I’d win.” Satoru makes a face that tells you he thinks the answer is plainly obvious. 

“I know you would,” you assure him softly, and he preens. “But I thought you left your jealous-tendencies back in high school, Satoru.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t.” 

“Right,” you draw out. “Give me one example.”

Satoru’s mouth puckers begrudgingly and he taps at his chin with a finger contemplatively before perking up. “That overnight mission you were supposed to take with Nanami last year! There were only two rooms, and they were right next to each other!”

“That doesn’t count, not when you managed to weasel your way into his place without him realizing it.” And after a pause, “I still don’t know how you did that,” you wonder under your breath, but Satoru brushes it off with a wave of his hand.

“Unimportant,” he says, and while you would beg to differ, he’s already on to his next point. “You were Suguru’s friend first before you met me!” 

“Satoru, I literally cannot control which one of you I met first,” you argue, and a little pang of sadness for a long lost friend smothers out the grin on your face. If the way Satoru’s eyes flash with nostalgia, you suspect he feels the same way too. 

“Besides,” you tell him as you spin around and start walking forward again, “if you weren’t so preoccupied looking out for romantic threats that didn’t exist, you would have noticed that the whole time I was looking at you.” 

You throw the last words over your shoulder at him, a flirty smile accompanying them, and Satoru’s entire demeanor melts. He doesn’t let you get far ahead of him before he’s jogging back up to your side and slings an arm over your shoulder to drag you against him. 

“I knew you were obsessed with me!” 

“‘Obsessed’ is quite the gross overstatement.” 

Satoru is scandalized, and he reaches up to pinch the apple of your cheek between his thumb and forefinger. “You were nicer to me before we got married.” 

Your laughter is bright in the night, and you bite your lip. “Are you sure about that?” 

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

It is both irksome and completely baffling to Gojo Satoru that you seemingly want nothing to do with him. 

Sure, the two of you didn’t exactly start off on the right foot with one another, and Satoru could maybe understand why. No one appreciates having their abilities questioned and doubted to their face, no matter how well meaning the following offered advice may be, but Satoru doesn’t think his words are insulting enough to warrant such a reaction. 

Especially not when he can see you taking him in with a bashful smile on your face. You are also prettier than he expected, and he likes to think that is partially responsible for the loosening of his tongue. By the time Satoru’s done talking a minute later, you look thoroughly unimpressed and tip your nose into the air before striding off in a direction you can’t be sure of, yet you don’t stop and ask for clarification. Suguru sighs his name in exasperation before hurrying after you, but Satoru doesn’t think much of it and assumes you’ll warm up to him tomorrow. 

To Satoru’s dismay, you do not, and in his infinite wisdom, he responds in kind. The two of you are not rude to each other, per say, so much as you both simply pretend the other hardly exists. Satoru gives you an unenthusiastic wave when you stumble upon him and Suguru eating lunch under a tree on campus, and you pointedly sit as far away from him as you can when the entire group goes out for the evening. 

Satoru would be lying if he said that the way you integrate so seamlessly with the others and not with him doesn’t ruffle his feathers. You and Suguru already were friends before Satoru even met you. Shoko is just thrilled to have another girl in the bunch, and the two of you immediately get along. You even manage to wiggle your way into Nanami and Haibara’s own little clique with barely any effort on your part. 

By the time you’re here six months, everyone has mostly gotten used to the way you and Satoru tread on thin ice with each other. Satoru still isn’t sure what to think of you—besides the fact his eyes follow you on campus more than he’d like or that he’s become attuned to the specific sound of your laugh—but he realizes you might just be feeling the same way about him.

You say that he’s loquacious, and Satoru thinks you’ve been spending too much time with Nanami based on the use of that word alone, and certainly not because he is acutely aware of every time the two of you leave some place together, chatting and laughing in ways that Satoru has never seen Nanami do before. At best, he assumes you are ambivalent towards him. Occasionally, you’ll laugh at one of his jokes (even if he thinks he has others that are much funnier), and you don’t agree with Utahime when she does her best to insult his character each time the Kyoto school comes to visit.

Other times, you’ve turned to walk the opposite direction when you round a corner and see him heading towards you, and Satoru pretends that doesn’t sting. You grimace behind your hand the first time you’re paired up with him for sparring practice, and Satoru is remorseful when you leave the field a little bruised and stiff.

That is blown out of the water, however, at the next training session when you demand Satoru’s partnership and promptly land him on his ass with an unexpected aspect of your technique. If he wasn’t utterly gobsmacked, as is everyone else around you, then maybe Satoru would realize he is falling in love when you stand over him with a victorious grin on your face and a hand outstretched towards him. When he takes it, there is an unspoken truce cemented between you two, and to everyone’s relief, you and Satoru learn to like one another. 

The rest of the summer continues in the same friendly fashion. You still roll your eyes when his humor doesn’t land like he hopes it would, but you remember his favorite drink from the vending machine now, and Satoru will somewhat begrudgingly share his sweets with you. And when the two of you are paired up for an assignment for the first time, neither of you groan or grumble, and instead it goes rather well according to Satoru. 

The curses give you both a bit more trouble than anticipated, and by the time the two of you are done exorcising them in some abandoned warehouse a city over, you both breathe a little heavily. 

“You alright?” Satoru calls, and he watches from his corner of the warehouse as you wipe grime and sweat from your cheek. The curse at his feet is nothing more than a pile of ash, and the one you defeated doesn’t look much better. 

“Yeah,” you gasp, and you bend down to brace your hand on your knees. “All good.” 

You meet him at the exit of the warehouse after you catch your breath, and Satoru bumps your shoulder playfully when you’re near enough. 

“Looks like you need to work on your stamina.” 

Your answer back is a shove against his chest that actually lands, and Satoru cackles at the scowl on your face as he follows you out the door and onto the curb. 

“My stamina is fine, thank you very much.” 

Satoru would have made an inappropriate comment had you not narrowed your eyes at him over your shoulder. The two of you wait in companionable silence as you send a message to Ijichi to come retrieve you both, and when you slide your phone into your pocket with a sigh and peer down the street, Satoru notices a streak of dirt along the edge of your jaw.

He doesn’t think twice before he’s using the pad of his thumb to swipe it away. You quickly turn your head in his direction, but Satoru doesn’t pull his hand away as his thumb continues brushing along your skin. To his surprise, you don’t jerk back or swat his hand aside. If anything, Satoru swears you lean into his hand just the slightest, but the rumbling of a car engine spurs you apart, and he’s left shoving his hand into his pocket in the hopes it stops the itching to reach for you again. 

The dynamic between the two of you changes after that. Satoru flirts shamelessly and you pretend not to enjoy it. You let him sprawl across your lap during movie nights, and he extends his infinity over you each time you conveniently forget your umbrella when it rains. You call his name in a way that is warm and almost affectionate every time you see him now, and unbeknownst to you, Satoru seeks you out before anything else. And when things begin to go very wrong, you’re the only one left who knows him so well.

Satoru’s best friend has gone and disappeared for a cause he can’t agree with, and that—combined with the events leading up to it—forever changes the boy you know. Yet somehow, you find him in a remote corner of campus a couple days after. Satoru’s eyes are ringed red and he wraps his arms around his knees as he sits on the ground behind an old library. 

He sees you hesitate from a couple feet away, but something on his face is pathetic or desperate enough to lure you closer. Your smile is sad and gentle as you lower yourself down onto your knees next to him. Satoru allows your arm to circle his shoulders, and he doesn’t fight it when you draw him into you. Instead, tucked away against your neck, he sobs.

“Shhh,” you murmur to him, and a couple scant tears trickle down your own cheeks before falling into his hair. Your left hand rubs soft circles into his back, and you let Satoru engulf your right one with his so he can clutch it against his chest. You stay with him like that until the shaking of his shoulders blends into occasional hiccups. He chuckles wetly when you use the edge of your sleeve to soak up the leftover moisture from his eyes, but his lips still taste salty when he presses them to yours. 

And if Satoru kisses you like he wants to keep you? Well, that’s alright with you, because all you want is everything to do with him. 

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

A/N: I am a little sick, and while I don't think this will delay the next chapter, if it's late that's why.

Taglist (open): @kalopsia-flaneur ; @kafanizdakicokiyi

<3

[spidervee]

a little blurb in which tangerine nearly kills you…on accident! tangerine x fem!reader; cursing, tan being a bit of an ass, but also liking when reader is mean to him; some lewd dialogue and dark humour, almost car accident

When you’d left your flat to go for a jog that morning, the last thing you expected was to nearly be flattened by a sleek black Ferrari driven by a man who clearly spent too much time caring for the pornographic moustache over perpetually smirking lips.

Expected or not, however, it’s exactly where you find yourself as you turn a sharp corner and move into the intersection.

It’s early, and the streets are near-empty, so perhaps you’d let your guard down a bit. Or perhaps that barmy fucker behind the wheel was on some six a.m. joyride. Either way, the car skids to a halt, all screeching brakes and blaring horn and you’re frozen for a moment in the fluorescent glow of headlights before you realize just how close you were to being a fucking statistic.

And then, from through the windshield, you meet the driver’s eye and he has the gall to look annoyed rather than apologetic.

“You fuckin’ wanker! Watch where you’re going!”

Inside the car, Tangerine is gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. But the shock of the moment passes and he’s pleased as pudding he was able to stop on time. Civilian casualties are one thing while he and Lemon are working, but there’s no clean-up crew, no protections, no payoff should he accidentally off a cute jogger.

Your fists coming down on the hood of the car jolt Tangerine from his stupor and though he wants to rage at you, he can hardly find it in himself to be angry—a shocking realization that he’ll have to keep quiet from Lemon, lest his brother try to psychoanalyze him with some Thomas the Tank Engine bullshit.

Tangerine doesn’t think as he swings open the car door and slips out to indirect the hood. Your fists are comparatively small and he doubts someone of your stature could do any real damage. And, of course, the Monza is stolen so who the fuck actually cares what happens to it?

He registers that the jogger is cussing him out and he can’t help the patronizing look that etches itself onto his face, the arched eyebrow and smirking curve of his lip. With an air of impatience he tuts at you, interrupting the flow of curses you’re levelling in his direction, a stream of consciousness enough to rival James fucking Joyce, rat paddy bastard and his fucking make-no-sense shitehead Leopold Bloom.

“Best be careful, love,” Tangerine chastises, “Didn’t mummy and daddy teach you to look both fuckin’ ways? And don’t fuckin’ touch my fuckin’ car. Y’know how many pricks you’d have to suck off to pay for what those little hands might fuckin’ do?”

You blink at him, shocked into silence, and for a moment Tangerine savours the sweet sensation of victory. But then, he watches as you pull a wad of bright pink bubblegum from between your clenched teeth and stick it right on the hood ornament of the Monza. Tangerine is certain his eyes bug out of his fucking skull because where the fuck do you get off?

“You little bitch,” he hisses, forgetting the few manners he has for a moment. He takes a lurching step forward, anger finally surging through him at the sheer gall of your action because you’re either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid or incredibly reckless and it doesn’t matter which one because, whatever character flaw it is, it’s going to get you into deep shite one day and Tangerine decides in that moment he wants to be there to get you out of said shit.

And, when he sees the self-satisfied smirk on your face, the perverse glee you’re getting from witnessing his reaction, the deal is sealed. He laughs, a genuine laugh from deep in his belly. He almost slaps his fucking knee like some nob but the sound of your laughter now mixing with his distracts him enough from that embarrassing almost-action.

“You’re a fuckin’ psycho.” Tangerine catches his breath and fixes you with an amused glare. You cross your arms over your chest and he knows, instantly, that you’re trying to distract him with your fabulous chest. It’s almost working, so he quirks an eyebrow and refocuses on your face which is somehow even more distracting.

Well, fuck him sideways, right?

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Neige x Reader: White Beaches and a Spring Morning

Summary: The Ramshackle prefect is finally able to get a full week off from school after four overblots. Determined to enjoy their time to the fullest off campus, they set out to explore Sage’s Island, starting with the island’s southern beaches. However, it seems that our prefect can never catch a break, as they find an RSA student crying and upset. Unable to just look away, they set their sights on comforting him and helping him have a good time outside of school.

Word count: just under 3k

Tags: fluff, getting together (not officially though), dates, romance

Warnings: none… unless suave reader is a warning… reader being too hot lol

Author’s notes: this was inspired by a tumblr post by @sorbertisfruity and I loved it so much that I decided to start writing it. Also this is my first time I’m actually writing and posting my creative work, so I just ask that people are kind. Thanks and enjoy!

Leaning forward with the wind whipping through your hair, you fly down the mountain path away from Night Raven College. The engine of the magic wheel roars behind you, as music blasts from the speakers. Finally, you were free! After months of work, you finally got a week off. Of course, you had to blackmail Crowley by threatening to expose the multiple overblots. Nonetheless, he conceded to your requests in the end. Now, you’ve left your worries and Grim temporarily behind in favor of a relaxing day at the beach. 

Pulling up to the sandy shore, you park the magic wheel you’d borrowed from Ignihyde and look out at the sight before you. It was a nice change of scenery compared to the dreary mountain Night Raven College sat atop of. The morning was crisp and clear with the sea breeze wafting from the ocean. The beach was empty. You were here on a weekday after all. You grab your bag from one of the compartments and head off toward the tide.

The sandals on your feet sink slightly into the sand as you search for a more secluded area to place your bag. After walking along the coast, you catch a glimpse of NRC’s rival school, the Royal Sword Academy. It was almost blinding with its tall white spires that were tipped with blue. Overall, the vibe is much brighter than NRC’s gothic horror aesthetic.

“Wonder what their facilities are like,” you murmur to yourself, “Maybe I can secretly get a tour of the school and request a transfer while I’m at it.”

You chuckle at the thought of your friends’ outrageous reactions to your fictional transfer. Just as you finish the thought, you hear a loud sob. Furrowing your brow, you pick up your pace. Even on your day off, you never catch a break, you internally sigh. You blame your upright and well-meaning nature, but you shrug off the thought as you come across an alcove in the rocks. 

You find a boy huddled up against the stone, sobbing to himself. He’s wearing a familiar white uniform jacket, signifying that he’s from the Royal Swords Academy. You’re unable to see his face as he’s tucked it into his knees. Only his ruffled black hair shows. Next to him lies a black beret and the dirt and skid marks on his uniform make it obvious he ran out of the academy. 

Coming closer to the cave-like area, your footsteps are masked by the sound of soft waves lapping against the coast. 

“Hey,” you call out, “Are you alright?”

The boy’s head snaps up. He stumbles to his feet and begins making rapid apologies. His voice has a light, airy quality to it that cracks as he trips over his words. 

“I—I’m fine. Thank you for asking. I—I should probably go. I don’t want to bother you—“ 

He isn’t able to say anything more, as his foot catches on a nearby rock and he begins tumbling forward with a squeak. Moving on instinct, you catch him by the waist, pulling him in to support his weight. Pressed up against him, you note that he has a slim but fairly toned waist. He’s also a bit taller than expected. 

“Are you ok?” You ask, “That was pretty close. It might be a good idea to sit down for a while before moving again. Sorry, I startled you. I was just concerned whenever I heard someone in distress.”

Pulling away slightly, you’re able to get a glimpse of his face. His eyes are the first feature that stands out to you. They’re soft, doe-like, and innocent. His brown eyes are a little puffy and red around the edges from crying, but it doesn’t detract from their soft allure. Your eyes flicker down toward his lips. They’re tinted a natural red, as he chews on them. Suddenly, you become acutely aware of how close the two of you are. You can feel his ragged breath on your cheek, as you take the time to observe him.

He glances down and away from you, tears still in his eyes, as continues to gnaw on his lip. Whether from the anxiety of being caught crying or the flustered embarrassment of being so close, you’re not sure. You suspect it might be both. However, when he turns his cheek, the light catches a glimmer of wet tears that have already streaked down his face. Before you have time to think, you reach your hand up to cup his cheek and wipe it away. 

Blinking, you realize that you just performed a somewhat intimate gesture and you move your hand away. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to help. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You ask.

He stares at you with wide eyes and touches the place where you wiped his tears with his hand.

“…No, I didn’t mind it.” 

His voice breaks, then in a smaller tone, he comments, “It was nice.”

“That’s good,” you chuckle, “My name’s (Y/N), and you?”

He hesitates for a second before replying, “Neige.”

He watches your reaction intently, looking for any signs of recognition, but when there is none, he relaxes slightly. 

“I wouldn’t mind sitting down again,” he tells you. 

He starts to pull away to sit back down when you tighten your grip on his waist, stopping him. 

“Hold on, I have a towel. Let me lay it down first,” you state. 

Rummaging through your bag, you pull out a towel that you stole from Heartslabyul. The print on the fabric is a dead giveaway. It’s littered with multicolored card suits. Spreading it out, you plop down on the fluffy towel and turn to Neige, who comes to sit next to you.

“Again, sorry for scaring you earlier. I just heard you were in distress and wanted to make sure you were ok,” you repeat, inspecting for any physical wounds. “Physically, you seem fine. Are you in emotional distress?”

Playing with the edge of the towel, he glances up at you before looking away. His grip tightens on it and he nods. 

Neige hesitates before saying, “You know, if you have other places to be, you can go do those. You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be fine–”

Before he can get any further, you cut him off, “Neige, I know we just met, but I’m not going to leave someone who’s upset behind. You seem sweet and I want to get to know you. It would be nice to get a new friend.”

You put a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. He looks up at you with wet eyes and hiccups slightly, trying to hold back newly formed tears. Your eyes go wide and your body moves on autopilot. You open your arms to offer a hug. 

“Hey, do you want a hug? Will that make you feel better?”

Neige hesitates before nodding. Given your cue, you envelop him in a warm, tight hug. Cradling him, you rub small circles on his back and whisper words of comfort. 

He breaks. Any semblance of wariness or guard that he had up before crumbles against your kindness and small persistence. He cries so hard that his whole body shakes against you. You squeeze tighter and you can tell that you are the only thing keeping him together at this moment. He ends up clinging and clawing at you as if you’re his only lifeline in the vast ocean. He sobs harder at your gentle approach to comforting him and a few broken words of gratitude spill from his mouth. 

“—Thank you, thank you so much. I never— I never got this growing up. I always had to put on a cheerful face to not worry my— my family. This means so much to me. Thank you, thank you (Y/N).”

You clutch him tighter, running a hand through his hair, as he sobs into your shoulder. You feel for him. You understand the struggles of having to carry everyone else’s burden even though it shouldn’t be your responsibility in the first place. You ended up solving and resolving each overblot with only some of your classmates and practically no teachers. No responsible adults were around to help fight Riddle, restrain Leona, stop Azul, and punish Jamil. It had been getting exhausting. Thankfully, you got a week to yourself, but this wasn’t about you and you turned your attention back on your new friend, Neige. 

You allow him to get all the tears, sorrow, and pain out of his system. When his sobbing slows down and his breathing starts to even out, you reach into your bag to pull out some tissues, nudging Neige’s face with them. 

Upon feeling the tap, he looks up from where his face was buried in your shoulder. Tears and snot run down his face, and he takes the tissues with a small smile. 

“Thanks,” he breathes, taking the tissue and blowing into it.

After giving him some water, snacks, a lot of tissues, and more cuddles, he’s much more relaxed than he was earlier. His tired eyes are unable to focus on anything specific, as they flutter to stay awake. He continues to lean on you for support.

Chuckling, you ask, “Wanna lay down?”

Letting out an almost incoherent murmur of approval, he clutches onto your clothes, before asking, “Promise you won’t leave?”

You give him a soft smile that he’s unable to see with his eyes closed, and you lay the two of you down on the towel. You rest beside Neige, as he makes himself comfortable, nestling into your arms. 

“Of course, Snow,” you answer, “I’ll make sure to protect you if anything is out to get you.”

He nuzzles into you with a smile filled with sweet dreams, as he drifts off to sleep. After a while of listening to the ocean waves lap against the shore and feeling the slow steady breathing of the person next to you, you also find yourself lulled into the land of dreams.

~~~~~~

“You’re already skipping school. You might as well take the day off to relax and enjoy yourself,” you persuade, “Besides, would you leave your new friend behind to hang out at the beach by themselves?”

You look at Neige with playful and expectant eyes. He lets out a sigh and a small smile slips through, as he concedes. 

“I suppose taking one day off wouldn’t hurt.”

You give a cheer.

“Race you to the ocean!” you shout, scrambling to your feet. 

Neige squeaks in surprise, before he latches onto your ankle, tripping you. Landing on your hands with a small oof, Neige rushes past.

“Ok, pretty boy! I see how it is,” you cackle. 

Launching yourself from the ground into a runner’s sprint, you catch up to him. Wrapping your arms around Neige’s waist, you use your momentum to spin him around a couple of times before flinging him in the opposite direction of the coast. He screeches at the unexpected attack and begins laughing as he stumbles back, trying to regain his balance. Without hesitation, you turn back to the destination and bolt toward the finish line. 

The tempered ocean water hits your feet, slowing you down, as you raise your fists and cheer.

Neige jogs over with a stuttering laugh.

“Alright, alright, you win. Are you happy?” He asks with a grin.

“Immensely,” you beam.

~~~~~~

“We’ll have a [favorite ice cream/gelato flavor] and biscoff gelato, please,” you order from the ice cream parlor you found. 

The man behind the counter nods with a smile and begins scooping out your request. Neige’s eyes are wide as they turn to you.

“You don’t have to pay for mine,” he insists, pulling out his wallet. 

You stop his movements by putting a hand over his.

You hold eye contact with him, as you say, “I like and want to spoil you. You’re sweet, so getting you something sweet only makes sense. Please let me do this.”

Neige’s face heats up and you watch his brain malfunction for a few seconds, before turning away. You take the opportunity to pull out your card and give it to the owner of the shop, paying for your snacks. 

“That’s so sweet of you to pay for your boyfriend like that,” the owner comments, swiping your card.

Grinning, you wrap an arm around Neige’s waist, tugging him closer to you. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t treat himself that often, so I have to make sure he gets what he deserves,” you answer, winking at Neige.

Neige’s hand rushes to cover his blush as it spreads to the tips of his ears. The owner coos at you two, handing you your ice creams and card. You thank him on your way out, still attached at the hip with a flustered Neige. 

~~~~~~

The magic wheel zooms through the streets of Sage’s Island, and the sun casts a golden glow on you and Neige. He’s pressed right up against your back, clinging onto your waist. It’s warm and comforting. You’ve been riding aimlessly together for about half an hour, but seeing the sun setting, you figure you should take him home. 

Sneaking a glance at your companion, you watch his wide-eyed gaze explore the mountainous scenery. You smile before speeding up. You feel Neige’s chest move with twinkling laughter. He squeezes you tighter and leans in. Today has been a far better day than expected.

The sun has partially set in the sky as you pull up to the gates of the Royal Swords Academy. Putting the vehicle in park, you dismount the wheel, before offering your hand to help Neige off. 

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you say with a wink. 

Neige’s breath catches, as a hand comes to block his mouth in embarrassment. He places his other hand in yours, using it to get off. With both feet on the ground, he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky. You might as well have, you note, as the stars begin to peek out.

“When will I see you again? I want to see you again,” he pleads.

You blink in surprise at such a bold statement, before chuckling. 

“Well, I can come back tomorrow if you want me to. You know I have the week off,” you offer with a fond smile.

“Really?! You would do that? That wouldn’t ruin your vacation, would it?” he clarifies at a rapid pace.

You laugh, leaning against the magic wheel. 

“Honestly, Neige, if I didn’t leave NRC’s campus, I’d probably get dragged into some kind of shenanigans with Ace, Deuce, and Grim,” you explain, “I love them, but they’re a handful and I want a break. I would much rather hang out with you. It’s more peaceful and relaxing. Besides, I had a lot of fun today and I like getting to know you.” 

Neige’s mouth opens in a small oh, as his gaze softens. He clasps his hands in front of his heart, simply gazing at you. For a few moments, you just hold each other’s gaze, content and comfortable in the silence. You reach out to tuck a loose strand of hair away from Neige’s face. You let your hand linger, cupping his cheek and rubbing your thumb against it. His eyes droop and he nuzzles into your hold. Unable to resist, you draw him closer and loop an arm around his waist, before remembering–

“Your beret,” you murmur, “Let me get it for you.”

Moving to open one of the compartments on the magic wheel, you grab Neige’s hat only to settle back into the space in front of him. Placing the beret on his head, you let him adjust it. As he finishes, you notice unfamiliar red lettering along the border. Leaning in, you take a closer look.

“Someday my princess will come,” you quote.

Smiling, you continue, “Mmm, that’s cute. That sounds like something you would say, Neige.”

Your thumb runs over the embroidery, following every swirl of cursive on the beret. Your eyes flicker down to his to realize that you’re rather close. You can’t help but take a peek at his lips. They’re red, just like when you first met him, but this time they're slightly parted. You find yourself locking eyes with Neige’s brown ones once again, drawn together like magnets. Neige presses his body more snugly against you, watching for any signs of discomfort, as he rests his hands on your hips. You play with his lapel, before moving up to his shoulders and finally wrapping your arms around his neck. You give a playful smile, as you draw closer, and you feel Neige’s quiet laughter against your lips. Eyes sliding shut, you lean in. 

Before you can kiss, however–

“Neige, Neige! There you are!” 

“Do you know how much you made us worry?”

“We couldn’t find you after you ran out of the dorm– *achoo*!”

“And you–you left your phone at the dorm, so we had no way to contact you!”

“We looked everywhere in the academy, *yawns* even my favorite napping place.” 

“I can’t believe you skipped class. You should take us next time.”

“Toby, what are you talking about? We’re not supposed to skip class.” 

“Oops, sorry, I forgot.”

Neige lets out a whine, as his head falls against your shoulder. With the moment ruined, he hugs your waist tighter in protest. Laughing, you pat the poor boy’s shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. You take a look past him to identify the source of the shouts.

You spot seven short figures toddling their way over to the two of you from RSA’s gates. You’re unable to make out the fine details in the diminishing light, and instead opt to look back at Neige, his pitiful form still draped over you. These must be the seven dwarves that he was talking about earlier; the ones he grew up with. Based on their behavior, they seem to care about him just as much as Neige expressed his love and concern for them. You squeeze Neige tighter, grateful that he has a secure support network. He’s already been through a lot just based on what he’s told you so far.

Neige lets out another groan of despair, as you turn your full attention back towards him. Feeling a bit playful, you bring your face right next to his ear.

“I won’t let you go without a little something,” you tease.

Neige perks up, looking at you with wide and attentive eyes.

You chuckle at his reaction, murmuring that he’s cute, before leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek. He melts into your touch, gripping your waist tighter. Pulling away, you tap your own cheek with a quick wink. In the dim light, you’re barely able to make out the flush spreading across his face. His Adam's apple bobs, before he leans in to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle, and after a few seconds pull away.

“Enough to tide you over?” you question.

“...Barely,” he whispers, still stuck in the same spot, star-struck. 

“I trust your friends will make sure you get to your dorm safely?” you confirm, starting up the engine of the magic wheel. 

He nods.

“Good,” you smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Snow.”

“See you tomorrow, (Y/N),” he replies, before shaking out of his stupor and calling out, “Make sure to get home safe!”

You laugh, as you leave the Royal Swords Academy… at least for today.

“Thanks! Will do!” 

You’ll be back tomorrow. 

[justabigassnerd]

Accidents Happen

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x daughter!reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Word count - 3,229

Warnings - car accident, mentions of concussion, injured ribs, hospitals, doctors, incorrect medical discussions, angst, fluff

Summary - after a minor car accident, you try to keep it from your dad, just for him to find out the moment you get to the hospital

A/N - hey y'all it's time for a new part of Hangman Junior! I hope y'all enjoy and once again I'm sorry for how long it's taking me to get out fics, the old motivation is really coming and going. anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

After getting your driving licence, your dad and Bradley surprised you with a car of your own. It wasn’t anything magnificent, but it was yours and you were in love with it. Having your own car gave you some more freedom, and you loved getting to go on drives to clear your head sometimes.

One weekend, while your dad and Bradley were meeting with the Daggers to watch a football game at Javy’s house, you decided to go for a drive. It was a bright sunny day in Miramar, and you had your windows down as you listened to your music at a low volume as you took in the views of the place you were lucky enough to call home. As you pulled up to a red light, you drummed your fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song you were listening to as you hummed along too, eyes fixed on the bright red light ahead of you.

As you reached out to adjust your volume dial, a violent crash sent your car skidding forward a couple of meters as your head smacked the steering wheel and your seatbelt tightened around your ribs in an attempt to protect you. When you sat up, heart pounding in your chest, you looked in your rearview mirror, expecting to catch a glimpse of the person who rammed the back of your car but instead, you saw a blur of colour fly by your window indicating whoever had hit you was now fleeing the scene. As you watched the car drive away, you suddenly became conscious of the fact you were still in the middle of the road so you found a nearby car park and pulled into the first spot you could find to recover. As you sat in the car park, your adrenaline began to wear off and the pain started to kick in as the events of what had just happened sunk in. Your head felt like it was splitting in two, your side ached with every breath you took, and you felt nauseous. Panic began to grab at you as everything sank in. You were panicking because you got into an accident. You were panicking because you couldn’t call your dad because you knew how much he’d worry, and you didn’t want him getting upset or mad that you crashed your car. You fumbled for your phone, finding the contact of the one person who you knew wasn’t with your dad and Bradley which meant he could help you and not tell your dad. Pressing on the contact, you lift your phone to your ear and listen to each ring with bated breath.

“Hey, y/n/n.” You could practically hear Maverick’s smile as he picks up the phone and hearing him so happy made tears well in your eyes about how fast you were about to disappoint him.

“Mav, I need help.” Your teary voice wiped any smile that was on his face as he sat up from where he was lounging on the sofa, a seriousness coming over him as Penny watched the switch, concerned for what was going on.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Maverick asked worriedly, hearing you try and contain your tears.

“Promise you won’t tell my dad or Bradley?” What you said made Maverick all the more worried. He knew you were responsible enough to not get into serious trouble, but he also knew you panicked when something happened.

“I promise. Now tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” Maverick says hurriedly, growing more worried for you by the second. After taking a shuddering breath, you tell Maverick everything that had happened. After hearing everything, Maverick was on his feet in seconds with Penny following after him.

“Okay, I’m going to come and get you and we’ll go to the hospital to get you checked over.” Maverick says calmly, gesturing for Penny to follow him which she does so, grabbing her car keys as she goes.

“I’m going to stay on the phone with you. Just tell me where you are, and we’ll be right there.” Maverick then says as he climbs into the passenger seat and Penny gets behind the wheel.

True to his word. Maverick stayed on the phone with you the whole time and when you saw Penny’s car pull up you could’ve cried even more. You climb out of the car haphazardly, nearly falling flat on your face as your vision swims and another wave of nausea strikes you.

“Whoa, easy there y/n.” Maverick says, steadying you easily, an arm wrapped around you as he glances over at Penny who’s inspecting the damage on the back of your car.

“Did this happen here?” Penny asks, crouching as she her hand ghosts over the damage done to the back of your car, missing you shake your head, but Maverick doesn’t.

“It happened in the road, and I figured moving was the best option, so I wasn’t blocking traffic.” You mumble, looking down at the floor as Maverick’s head turns to look at you so fast you were sure he cricked his neck in the process.

“You drove? y/n/n that’s not safe sweetheart.” Maverick scolds gently, feeling guilty for telling you off but not wanting you to do something like this again.

“I just didn’t want to be in the way.” You say quietly, as Maverick lets out a soft sigh, shoulder sagging as he exhales.

“If there’s ever a next time, which I hope there isn’t, you should stay put. You don’t know if you’re injured and moving around can disturb them or if you’ve injured your head, you could potentially pass out.” Maverick explains, never once sounding harsh or condescending.

“I’m going to call a tow truck and then we’ll get you to the hospital, okay?” Penny says, crossing to you and gaining your attention, making you nod, immediately regretting the action when yet another wave of nausea strikes you.

“Are you feeling okay?” Maverick asks worriedly, not missing the way your jaw clenched after you nodded your head.

“Just feel a bit nauseous and my ribs hurt a little but I’m fine I promise.” You insist, trying to downplay everything to prevent Maverick from getting any more worried than he already was. But Maverick was already worrying about you, especially with you admitting you’ve sustained some injuries. He knew you were downplaying everything and was willing the tow truck to get here as quickly as possible so he could take you to the hospital. Like some sort of miracle descended on him, the tow truck arrived in good time and the second your car was hauled off, you got into Penny’s car, and she began the drive to the hospital.

When you arrived at the hospital, Maverick kept an arm around you just in case despite your insistence that you were fine. You approached the receptionist who looked up at the three of you, waiting for you to speak.

“Hi, she got into a car accident, and she needs to be checked out.” Maverick says, pointing at you as the receptionist types on her computer.

“Name and description of injuries please.” She says simply, looking to you for an answer.

“y/n Seresin. I hit my head on the steering wheel and my ribs hurt too.” You say, glancing down at the floor to avoid anyone’s gaze.

“And are you two her parents?” The receptionist was now looking between Maverick and Penny, expecting an answer.

“No we’re not. We’re close friends of her parents though.” Penny explains, watching as the receptionist types away on her computer before looking back at her.

“Why don’t you go and wait in the waiting room, dear. I need to speak to these two.” The receptionist says with a gentle smile aimed at you as you nod shyly, watching as you head to the waiting room before turning back to Maverick and Penny.

“I will have to call her parents since you two are not immediate family. They’re not abroad, are they?” The receptionist states, pulling up your emergency contacts and finding Jake’s number.

“We understand. Her parents aren’t abroad no, you should be able to contact them easily.” Maverick explains, nodding at the receptionist’s words and watching as she picks up the phone, dialling Jake’s number and holding the phone up to her ear.

As Jake sat down after cheering a scored touchdown, he felt his phone vibrate and when he pulled it out of his pocket, he raised an eyebrow at the unknown number and got back onto his feet.

“I’m just going to step outside and take this, I’ll be back.” Jake says, holding his phone up and excusing himself to step out into Javy’s back garden for some privacy.

“Hello?” Jake says, accepting the call and lifting his phone up to his ear.

“Hello. Is this Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin?” The voice on the other end of the line asks, making Jake a little concerned at the formality but kept his cool.

“Yes, this is. Who’s calling?” He asks, fighting the urge to pace along the patio to ease his nerves. When the person on the other end of the line introduces themself as a receptionist of the local hospital and Jake begins to feel his blood run cold.

“Your daughter, y/n Seresin has been in a car accident and has been brought to the hospital. She’s conscious and doesn’t have any major injuries but she’s currently waiting for a doctor to check her over.” The receptionist explained, and Jake swore he could’ve collapsed there and then, his free hand flew out to brace himself against one of the garden chairs that sat on Javy’s patio, keeping him upright as he processed what he was just told.

“I’ll head over now.” Is all Jake could manage to say, hanging up and making his way back into the house, a hand immediately digging in his pocket for the keys to his truck.

“I’m so sorry guys, I have to go.” Jake says, making his way into the living room to apologise for his early departure. A wave of joking complaints left his coworker's mouths, but Bradley saw the worry on his husband’s face and got up and crossed to him, gently taking Jake’s hand in his.

“What’s wrong, Jake?” Bradley asks quietly, his thumb ghosting along the back of Jake’s knuckles in an attempt to calm Jake.

“y/n’s in the hospital.” Jake manages to say, looking at Bradley as his concern levels rise.

“We’re going to the hospital right now.” Bradley says, glancing over his shoulder to say a quick goodbye to everyone before tugging Jake out of the house and taking the keys from his hand.

“I’ll drive.” Bradley says softly, knowing that no matter how much he may be panicking, it’s ten times worse for Jake and therefore puts him in no state to drive. Jake opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it when Bradley just raised an eyebrow. Jake climbed into the passenger seat while Bradley got behind the wheel and began the drive to the hospital, both of them thinking about what state you were in.

When they got to the hospital, Jake was getting out of the truck as quick as humanly possible with Bradley hot on his heels as they both made their way into the hospital and approached the front desk.

“Hi, I got a call that my daughter y/n Seresin has been brought here after a car accident.” Jake says to the receptionist, noticing Bradley’s widened eyes out of the corner of his eye.

“Car accident?” Bradley asks in a whisper, immediately more concerned about your well-being.

“Oh yes, I believe a doctor just took her to be assessed so you’re free to wait in the waiting room and they’ll come and get you when they’re done.” The receptionist says, pointing in the direction of the waiting room and the two men head in the direction she pointed, entering the waiting room and immediately noticing Maverick and Penny.

“Mav?” Bradley questions as they lock eyes and Maverick leaps to his feet to cross to them.

“Hey, you two.” Maverick greets, trying to keep a calm tone while standing in front of the two panicking parents.

“What are you doing here?” Bradley then asked, confused as to why Maverick was in the hospital in the first place and as he asked the question it clicked into place for Jake.

“Mav, did you know our daughter was in hospital and didn’t call us?” Jake asks, his jaw clenching as he glares angrily at the man stood in front of him.

“She asked me not to tell you. If she was in a worse state, I would’ve absolutely called you without hesitation.” Maverick tries to explain, holding his hands up to try and keep the peace between them.

“You should’ve called me.” Jake says lowly, his usually bright eyes growing darker as his glare intensifies.

“I would’ve if the receptionist hadn’t beat me to it. I couldn’t call you in front of her and stress her out when she was hurt and upset. She didn’t tell me why she didn’t want you to know but you won’t get an answer out of her with that mood. You can be mad at me all you want but don’t you dare take any of it out on her.” Maverick says, his tone beginning to match Jake’s as Bradley decides to step in, aware of the looks they’re beginning to get in the waiting room.

“You two need to calm down and be civil.” He whispers to the two. He understood Jake’s anger towards Maverick, but he knew there was nothing to gain from causing an argument in the middle of a hospital waiting room. Jake broke the apparent staring contest between him and Maverick, clearing his throat with a cough before looking back at Maverick.

“She’s really not too badly hurt?” Jake asks as the three move to sit down alongside Penny.

“She’s been awake and alert the whole time. From what she’s told me I think she might have a slight concussion or something and some kind of injury to her ribs but I’m no doctor.” Maverick explains to Jake, not missing the way he lets out a small sigh of relief, but Maverick knew Jake would only be okay when he saw you with his own eyes.

“Thank you for getting her here. Both of you.” Jake then thanks both Maverick and Penny who immediately try to tell him not to thank them, insisting they’d do it anytime. Before another word could be spoken, a nurse comes into the waiting room and calls for your family and Jake and Bradley are on their feet in seconds, immediately crossing to the nurse and enquiring about your wellbeing.

“The doctor is with her now and he will explain everything, but we’ve had to admit y/n for the night just for observation.” The nurse explains as both Jake and Bradley nod, glancing back at Maverick who silently encourages them to go with the nurse with a soft smile before they look at the nurse and ask to be taken up to your room. The nurse leads the way up to your room and when they enter the room Jake and Bradley are relieved to see you sat up in bed a shy smile on your face when you see them.

“Oh, thank god.” Jake mutters, crossing to your side as quickly as possible and planting at least ten gentle kisses on top of your head.

“Dad, I’m fine.” You grumble, clearly embarrassed at the attention he is giving you, glancing over to Bradley for help.

“Jake, let's give her some space and listen to the doctor, shall we?” Bradley urges softly, taking a seat while Jake does the same, both of them looking to the doctor who clears his throat.

“y/n here has suffered a mild concussion from the accident, nothing too serious but we’ve admitted her for the night just to be on the safe side, and she’s also cracked a couple of ribs as well due to her seatbelt doing its job. We’ve administered pain relief so she should be okay but if there’s a sudden flare-up of pain or it seems the pain relief is wearing off you can press the call button and a nurse will see to her.” The doctor explains everything you’ve already been told to your parents and after getting confirmation that everything is okay, the doctor and nurse leave the room.

“Did Mav tell you?” You ask quietly, glancing down at the thin sheet covering you and fiddling with the corner.

“No, the hospital called me. Mav told me you asked him not to tell us.” Jake says gently, not an ounce of anger in his voice as he carefully takes your hand.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, tears springing to your eyes while Bradley and Jake exchange a worried look.

“You don’t need to apologise, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Bradley reassures you softly, his gentle smile never once leaving his face as he speaks.

“But I got into an accident.” You mumble, briefly looking up at your dads before returning your attention to the corner of the sheet again.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Bradley then suggested, gaining your attention and both men listened carefully as you explained that you were waiting at a red light and got rear-ended before the driver took off. You didn’t miss the joint sharp inhale that came from Bradley and Jake when you explained that you drove to the nearest car park to call Maverick.

“I’m sorry. I ruined my car. I’ll save up money to pay for it I swear.” You try apologising again after finishing your story.

“Sweetheart, we don’t care about the car.” Jake starts, being cut off by you shaking your head.

“No, I ruined it.” You insist, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“I don’t care about the car, I promise. A car is replaceable. You, however, are not. I’d much rather have to just get a whole new car than lose you, okay?” Jake says firmly yet softly, reaching out to gently wipe your tears away.

“Don’t worry about the car. We’ll get it fixed or get a new car if we need. We just care about you right now.” Bradley chimes in rounding the bed so he can sit on your other side, taking your other hand and running his thumb across the back of it.

“You just need to focus on resting up, okay?” Jake urges you softly, wiping the remainder of your tears off your face and smiling softly at you and Jake swore he could see the tension leaving your body after letting out a soft exhale.

As you relax back into your pillows, you let the relief sink in that your dads aren’t mad at you and grateful they care as much as they do about you. Despite that, your eyes flick between the two men, before your eyes flick up to the tv which when you had flipped through the channels had found nothing interesting and so left you to come up with a way to create your own entertainment using your dad’s.

“So… how was what you saw of the game? Eagles versus Cowboys, right?”

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