#area unknown summaries

[reidrum]

close to home | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x reader

a/n: this has been rotting in my brain for days now i hope you enjoy the angsty comfort this brought me <3 my requests are open (guidelines in pinned!) or if you wanna just chat hop in my ask box :) gonna hopefully work on a smut fic in the next week so keep an eye out hehe

cw: angst, hurt/comfort, protective!spencer, afab!reader who uses she/her pronouns, non bau!reader, cm type violence, reader sustains injuries from unsub, vague description of injuries, maeve mentions, derek being a good friend, spencer being so in love with reader, this takes place probably a year after maeve, inconsistencies with tls and characters but who cares

wc: 2.4k

summary: the bau is working a local case when their unsub strikes again mid investigation, hotch tells reid and morgan to go check it out but spencer finds the address of the crime to be a little too familar

_______________________________________________

whenever the bau has a case based in the dc area, it’s always a little easier on the team. familiar stomping grounds, ease of resources, no major time difference, and everyone can sleep in their own beds. the hard part about home cases is knowing there’s a serial killer in the place they know deeply, with people they cared about deeply.

spencer and callahan are in the middle of the bullpen staring at the giant white board with all the evidence they have so far. the unsub has been killing women in their mid 20s in the local dc area, with the mo currently unknown. there had already been two victims, both killed in their homes. spencer was currently trying to analyze all the information the case had alongside with what garcia was able to provide, and he was still hitting a dead end. morgan had joined them at some point too, trying to offer what he could remember from the crime scenes but to no avail. he felt his eyes straining and dropping so he decided to get more coffee, but was stopped by hotch and garcia entering the bullpen.

“police just got a 911 call about a break in, but there’s a witness this time. she was home when it happened and it looks like he didn’t expect that and tried to knock her out before escaping. i think it sounds like our unsub. morgan and reid i need you to go check out the scene and interview the witness, see what she remembers.” hotch explained.

morgan and reid nodded as garcia spoke up, “i just sent the address to your phones, it’s a house on hillcrest so it's not that far from here.”

spencer froze. he had to have heard wrong, she did not say hillcrest, “did you say hillcrest?”

“yeah hillcrest drive. it’s like, a 15 minute drive it’s not that bad.”

he felt his heart drop to his feet, a sinking feeling building in his gut. that was the street you lived on. he tried to ground himself with logic, the probability of it being your house is only 10%, but he was dreading asking the fated question.

“garcia, what’s the house number?”

“reid, i already sent it to your pho-“

“garcia, what is the house number,” he spoke again. 

please don’t say 1159 please don’t say 1159 please don’t say-

“1159.”

fuck. the color drained from his face, and the nausea was building to a head quickly. spencer hurriedly tried to think through the last time he spoke to you, last night? this morning? he doesn’t check on you as much as he does when he’s not on a case, but oh my god why can’t he remember the last time he saw you.

“reid,” hotch bellows, finally breaking spencer out of his trance, “what is it? what do you know?”

he shook his head,  “nothing. morgan, let’s go.” he grabbed his jacket and booked it out the door.

morgan, garcia, and hotch all looked at each other in concern, before morgan spoke up, “i’ll see what’s up.” the latter two nodded softly, though the worry didn’t let up in their eyes.

morgan walked up to the car to find spencer repeatedly trying to call someone on the phone, clearly unable to get through and getting really frustrated.

spencer was alerted by morgan’s presence hearing the car unlock but he didn’t even look at him, just immediately got in the car and strapped his seat belt. morgan joined him in the drivers seat giving him a wary look before turning the car on and pulling out of the bureau.

“okay reid, spill it. it’s obvious you know who lives here.” morgan speaks up.

“just drive, please.”

“because if you know something, something that could help the case, it would be helpful if we knew.”

“morgan, just drive.” he borderline yells.

he raises his eyebrows at his raised voice, “listen kid, i’m just trying to help you. i can see you’re upset but we’re on the same side, you know that.”

spencer takes a shaky breath, feeling another shade of guilt at yelling at one of his friends, for something he didn’t even know about. he’d kept you a secret for many reasons— your relationship with him was still new, and he just wanted to keep you to himself for a bit. after what happened with maeve, he felt especially more responsible at keeping you safe and making sure you didn’t get tangled up in his line of work.

some job he did of that.

the one thing he regrets about how he handled the maeve situation, was not asking for help until it was almost too late. for not doing anything about her stalker when he was part of one of the most famous fbi teams built to find people like that. he’d always live with that guilt, but he vowed not to do that with you.

he loved you so much. you were so kind, and smart, and beautiful. a breath of fresh air after feeling lost in a dark tunnel for so long. you were so understanding when he explained what he did for a living, and what had happened to him and people he cared about as a result. he still remembers what you said to him when he told you that you could have an out, if you wanted.

“any risk is worth taking if getting to be with you is the consolation prize.”

tears welled up in eyes thinking about the memory. if you were willing to take any risk, then he should be able to as well.

he cleared his throat, and morgan’s ears perked up, “my uh, my girlfriend lives there. where the unsub, at- attacked.” he voiced softly.

morgan looked at him for a beat while driving, spencer missing the way his face dropped. he tightened his hands on the wheels, and didn’t hesitate to turn the lights and siren on and shift gears to speed up.

__

the car pulled onto your street and the first thing spencer sees is the flashing light of the ambulances. morgan doesn’t even put the car in park before spencer’s bolting out hoping he can find you quickly.

he’s asking all the paramedics he’s passing if they’ve seen you or know if you’re being treated, were you transferred to a hospital and he didn’t know, the tunnel vision slowly overtaking him until he hears a voice breaking through like sunlight call out his name.

he whips his head in the direction he heard it come from, and he’s never been more grateful to be met with the beautiful sight of you. you watch his eyes widen and let out a sigh before running over to where you were sitting in the back of the ambulance. he’s definitely not thinking when he goes in to hug you, not even knowing the extent of your injuries. he’s overtaken by the desperate need to hold you in his arms so he knows you’re safe and okay.

“hi,” you choke out muffled, “funny seeing you here.”

he pulls back to inspect your face, taking note of a small cut above your left eyebrow and the beginning splotches of a bruise forming on your lower jaw. his heart aches so much looking at you, knowing what happened to you and who did this to you.

“hi, honey,” he lets out tearfully, “are you okay? i mean, of course you’re not. but what did the paramedics say? did they give you anything? are you sure they checked all your injuries? you know what, let me go call the guy over. i’ll be literally two seconds.” his panicked ramble fading off as he rounds the truck you’re sat in to find the emt.

upon his extensive questioning of the man who treated you, he found out that you had sustained a minor concussion from when the unsub swung at you with an umbrella, superficial cuts caused by a broken vase you threw to defend yourself, and a dislocated shoulder from getting shoved into the wall.

you were okay, but at what cost.

the emt leaves you two and spencer sits himself next to you on the rig. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you as tight as he can and the other hand cradles your head into the crook of his neck, holding you so tight he’s hoping he can squeeze the bad memories out of you. it’s at this moment of feeling safe and sound in his arms when the adrenaline of your attack wears off.

spencer hears a small whimper and feels a few hot tears trickle down his neck, your breathing gets faster as you’re attempting to beat your body’s fear response. the slow build up of sobs starting to rack your chest, and he immediately holds you tighter.

“it’s over, baby, they won’t hurt you anymore. i promise.”

you sniffle, “i know, i just can’t believe this happened. to me, to us. it’s not fair to you.” trailing off the last two words.

“to me? wh- what do you mean?”

you take a deep breath, “i don’t mean to bring it up again, i just know how eerily similar this is to a past experience you’ve had. and i hoped that i wouldn’t be in a position to make you feel that way again. i don’t know why this happened, i'm sorry.”

he looked down at you incredulously. genuinely unable to believe that you were sitting next to him on an ambulance, beaten up with bruises and scars after a home invasion attack, worried about how he would feel when he got to you. it was enough to finally let the swell of tears saved up in his eyes fall.

“oh sweetheart,” he chokes out, realizing you’ve been trying to be brave for him this whole time, “what happened is not your fault, do you understand me? my job is to always worry about you and your safety. when garcia said the address i…i couldn’t even process it, i don’t even know how i got to the car,” he shook his head, “but i am the last person you need to push your emotions down for. i will always take them in stride and love you even more for that, okay?”

“okay,” you take a shaky breath, “i love you.”

“i love you.” he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

both of your heads look up at an approaching figure, who you quickly recognize to be ssa derek morgan. you knew spencer hadn’t told the team about you yet, so you tried to sit up independently as fast as you could before he came over and suspected something.

spencer’s grip didn’t let up when he bent down and whispered, “it’s okay, he knows.” you look up at him with wide eyes when derek finally reaches you.

“reid, i already talked to the detectives and we’re good to go when you’re ready,” he turns his body to you and gives you a comforting smile, “hi sweetheart, i’m derek morgan, it’s nice to meet you.”

spencer rolls his eyes at the nickname while you giggle softly, “hi derek, i’ve heard so much about you. it's nice to finally meet you too.”

“i wish it were under better circumstances,” he sighs, “listen, i know it’s all still really fresh for you, but it might help the case if you’re able to come in for a cognitive interview, or even talk to a sketch artist.”

spencer doesn’t miss a beat before protesting, “absolutely not. we can do it later, it’s fine.”

“reid-“

you look up at him placing your hand on his chest, “spence, it’s okay. i want to help, please.”

he rests his hand on top yours and gives it a light squeeze, “okay, but i’m not leaving you alone for a second.”

“i didn’t think you would.” you smile.

“alright lovebirds, you can have your private time later, we should go now.” derek teases.

spencer groans, “see this is why i didn’t say anything.”

“you think i’m bad? wait till penelope meets her.”

__

the three of you pile into the car before starting the drive to spencer’s apartment so he could get you a change of clothes and other things you might need. you end up falling asleep in the back seat, the final stage of your shock sinking in like a rock. spencer checks on you from the rear view mirror and sees you passed out, and smiles.

“she’s cute,” derek starts, “can i ask how long?”

“nine months.” he replies, fishing for something out of his pocket.

“pretty boy hid a girl from all of us for nine months? maybe we’re not as good profilers as we thought.”

“imagine that,” he laughs, and gestures to the item in his hand, “look.”

spencer’s holding out a well loved photo booth strip with three pictures, of you and spencer from the time you went to a local county fair. you’re sitting in his lap, mostly due to the cramped space and the expansive limbs. the first picture is the two of you holding up finger guns attempting to be as back to back as you can. the second picture, you intended it to be a normal one where you both smile at the camera, but spencer couldn’t take his eyes off you and the picture captured the love struck gaze he had on you. the last one you were about to tell him the idea for it, when he grabbed your face and pulled you closer to kiss you, neither of you knowing when the final picture snapped.

the edges were worn out and frayed, clearly broken down by the oils on his fingers from pulling it out frequently. it was his most treasured item, a constant reminder of what was always waiting for him when he got back from grueling cases, and how lucky he was to have you in his life.

“you look really happy, kid.” derek says, thinking about the many times he’s seen his friend at rock bottom, the things that have been so brutally taken from him, and the suffering he’s had at the hands of his job. his heart warms for his friend, who seemed to finally catch a break.

“i am.”

[fatecantstopme]

Lustful Agony

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen, aka my favorite trope.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names, an insane amount of smut, dubcon (cuz sex pollen), unprotected sex (p in v), oral (F receiving), masturbation (F).

"Would you please be careful?" you snapped.

Your partner froze and offered you a sheepish smile. "Sorry, doc. I wasn't paying attention."

"I noticed," you huffed. "There are any number of things in here that could kill us, so tread lightly."

"Maybe I should wait here."

You glanced in his direction and nodded. "You know what? Good idea. Stay there and don't touch anything."

You continued on through the dusty lab, hoping to find at least one working computer, but after 20 minutes, it seemed hopeless. Every computer had been destroyed and most of the paper files had been shredded or burned. All that remained was hundreds of glass vials filled with various liquids and gases that did gods-only-knew what.

"I'm starting to think this might be a burn and run," you called back to Bucky--still standing where you'd left him on the other side of the lab.

"If we blow this place, is there gonna be a toxic cloud?"

You shot an annoyed look in his direction. "I said 'burn', James, not 'blow'. We're not blowing up a lab filled with unknown chemicals and biological agents."

"Right, yeah." He looked at the ground, feeling slightly embarrassed. He always seemed to make a fool of himself in front of you and he hated it. He never wanted to be the fool, especially around you.

Your well-trained eyes scanned the room again before falling on a secured biological containment chamber. You knew that would be the best option for storing items for burning. All you'd need to do was get all the bio vials into the chamber and light it up.

You crossed the room to the chamber, feeling Bucky's eyes following you. He hated being in a position where he felt like he couldn't protect you, but he was out of his element here. As the resident hazardous materials expert, this was your area of brilliance.

You grumbled in annoyance when you noticed the lock on the containment chamber was activated. You were familiar with this particular model, and if you were lucky, these Hydra assholes hadn't been smart enough to bother changing the code. You input the pin, silently crossing your fingers, a smile spreading across your face when you heard the distinct sound of the mechanism unlocking.

You lifted the hood slowly, hoping to find the chamber empty. You had a momentary thought that you and Bucky should be wearing appropriate PPE, but the thought occurred to you too late.

A sound of surprise escaped your lips as a puff of sweet-smelling pink dust blew into your face from inside the cabinet. The tactical suit and gloves you were wearing did nothing to protect your respiratory system from the unknown substance.

The dust seemed to dissolve almost instantly, fading into nothingness before you could even alert Bucky to the hazard. He, of course, had heard your surprised gasp, thanks to his super soldier hearing.

"Doc? Everything okay?" he called worriedly.

"Not sure," you replied. "I, uh, I got hit in the face with some pink dust...and I'm willing to bet it's not fairy dust."

Bucky's blood ran cold. "Pink dust?"

"Yeah, smelled like some kind of super sweet candy--or those sugary wine coolers I drank in college."

Any color that remained in Bucky's face quickly drained. "Look at me."

His tone was so firm, it frightened you. Bucky normally joked around with you, but you could hear the fear in his voice and it scared you more than anything else.

You turned to face him and his expression confirmed your fears. "Do you know what it is?"

Bucky nodded. "I think so, but we won't know for sure for at least 30 minutes, possibly longer."

"Am I going to die?" your voice was so soft--so small--that even he almost didn't hear it.

"Not if I can help it."

When your eyes met his piercing blue orbs, he could see the terror reflected in them. He wanted to go to you, help you, but he knew he couldn't--not if you still had even the slightest trace of the dust on you.

"You need to rinse off before we get out of here," Bucky said calmly. "If it's what I think it is, then I can't get that stuff anywhere near me."

"Why? What'll happen?"

Bucky's gaze didn't quite meet yours. "I will tear you apart and not even realize it."

His words cut you like a knife. You knew deep in your soul Bucky would never hurt you, but if this substance could turn him into a wild animal, you wondered what the hell it was going to do to you.

You'd spotted a decontamination area when you'd first entered the lab, so you slowly made your way there, careful to avoid getting anywhere near Bucky.

Bucky radioed in to Sam to give him an update on the situation. You heard him describing what had happened and asking for another team to be sent in to destroy the facility.

You stood under the spray of the shower head and let the water pummel your skin. The pressure was almost painful, but you knew it was necessary to ensure the substance was no longer on your skin. You'd inhaled it, so you were screwed, but there was no reason for Bucky to be too.

After several minutes, you felt comfortable saying you were clean. You just wanted to get the hell out of this lab and back home.

You voiced as much to Bucky, but he shook his head slowly. "You're not gonna make it all the way home, (Y/N)."

You didn't like Bucky's use of your first name in this context...he always called you 'doc', and the change made you feel like death was around the corner.

Your face must have given away your fear because he continued. "I just mean you won't make it home before the symptoms start. Once they do, you won't want to be around anyone."

"So what do we do?"

"Safe house. It's our only option."

You groaned inwardly. You had zero desire to stay in that drafty little cabin another night, but you trusted Bucky's instincts, so you simply nodded.

Bucky was quick to usher you back to the quinjet, filling you in on his conversation with Sam. "He'll send in another team in full Level A hazmat gear. They'll take care of the place."

"Okay."

"You alright, doc? How you feelin'?"

"I feel fine so far. Just moderately terrified."

"Don't be. You're gonna be fine."

You wanted to believe him--really you did--but there was something in his voice that made you question if he even believed it.

By the time the jet touched down by the cabin, 25 minutes had passed since the moment of infection. Bucky still hadn't told you what you were dealing with and it was driving you insane.

You followed Bucky into the cabin and watched him drop his bag on the floor. He turned to look at you, eyes clearly sizing you up, checking to see if you were okay.

"Just tell me," you whispered--somewhere between a plea and a demand.

He sighed deeply. "How do you feel?"

You closed your eyes and took mental stock of your body, seeking anything out of the ordinary. "I feel hot, but that could just be the anxiety."

"How hot?"

"I don't know, like feverish, I guess."

Bucky groaned and the sound sent a wave of need through your body--a need that shocked you to your very core. This was absolutely not the time for your stupid crush to rear its head.

"Please don't hit me, okay? I'm just gonna touch your hand."

"Why would I hit you?" you asked a second before his flesh hand met yours. The feeling was pleasant and it warmed you from the inside out, until he removed his hand. You inhaled sharply as an intense pain you couldn't describe shot through you.

Bucky jerked his hand away, his worst fears confirmed. "I know what it is."

"Please," you whimpered.

"It's a biological agent Hydra developed when their attempts to make a useable super soldier serum failed. It was designed to induce a euphoric sexual state that would result in agony and possible death if penetrative sex was not performed and an orgasm was not achieved."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Hydra believed they could create super soldiers the old fashion way--by breeding them. Sprinkle some of the magic dust on a super soldier and he'd fuck his way through a room full of women without a single care for their well-being. They called it 'sex pollen'."

Your breathing was labored as pain began to spread through your body. You tried desperately to ignore it and focus on Bucky's words. "What happened?"

Bucky couldn't look at you as he responded softly, "None of the women survived the mating process."

You realized now what he'd meant back at the lab. You didn't really want to know, but you found yourself asking the question anyway, "Did they do it to you?"

Bucky closed his eyes, desperately trying to push the dark memories back down. "Yeah. They did."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head, banishing the memories. "It doesn't matter. What matters now is how we handle this."

"If the sex pollen had that kind of effect on a super soldier, what's it gonna do to me?"

"I imagine it's going to be significantly worse for you if you don't...umm--if you don't reach climax."

"So I have to orgasm? Seriously?"

"I wish it were that simple."

Before you could respond, you doubled over in pain, an agonized groan escaping your parted lips.

Bucky rushed to you without thinking and laid his hands on your arms. You let out a pained whine and he pulled away, suddenly remembering what was happening.

"It feels like my skin is on fire," you cried.

"I know, doll. I know."

It was killing Bucky not to be able to help you. He was your protector in every situation, but he couldn't protect you from this. He knew exactly what kind of hell you were in for and it nearly broke him.

The waves of pain subsided and you were able to pull yourself upright. "Well this is fun," you mumbled.

"It's gonna get worse, (Y/N). Much, much worse."

"That's comforting, Buck. Thank you."

He gave you a sad look. "You can't do this alone."

"What do you mean?"

"The pollen was designed to force the creation of life...the only way to alleviate the pain is to give the pollen what it wants."

Your brain had become too muddled to understand what he was saying. "Plain English, Buck. Please."

"You, uh, you have to have sex."

"So you're saying I can't just masturbate this away?"

Bucky shook his head. "You have to have sex and your partner has to umm--ejaculate inside you."

Another wave of pain raked its claws through your skin, but you managed to stay upright this time. "What happens if I don't?"

You saw the look of sadness on Bucky's face and you knew you wouldn't like his answer. "You'll die."

"Well, fuck." You winced, reaching out to grab the back of the couch for stability. The pain was only increasing and you knew it was a matter of time before you couldn't take it any longer. "How sure are you that I'll die?"

"I mean, I don't know any regular humans that survived contact with the pollen. They were used as test subjects during its creation."

"I swear, Hydra gets more disgusting every time I learn something new."

Bucky was dying to help you. Seeing you in pain was agonizing for him and he knew his pain paled in comparison to yours. He would do anything for you--all you need do was ask.

"I'm gonna try waiting it out," you said firmly.

"What?" Bucky said, shock evident in his tone.

"I'm sure as hell not gonna force you to fuck me, Bucky. So I'm gonna wait it out."

"(Y/N), you're not forcing me to do anything. I'm offering to help. I don't want you to die."

You shook your head. "I'd rather die than force you into this."

"I'm offering--"

"Don't," you snapped. "No matter what you say, I'm going to feel like I'm forcing you to do something and I can't deal with that. So please, let me try to handle this alone."

Bucky knew for a fact he could overpower you with ease, especially when you were in such a state. He could make the pain stop and you would be glad for it in the moment. But he couldn't do it. He would never ever hurt you like that, even if it meant watching you die. It just wasn't something he was capable of.

"Okay, doll."

You could tell he didn't want to agree, but you were glad he wasn't arguing. All you wanted to do was tear your clothes off and try to find some sort of relief. The fire burning under your skin was intensifying by the second.

"I'm gonna take a cold shower and lock myself in the bedroom. Please stay out here."

Bucky simply nodded. He wanted to sit on this couch and listen to the sounds of your pain about as much as he wanted to get shot in the face. But he respected you too much to ignore your wishes.

You dragged yourself into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing before climbing into the cold shower. The frigid water seemed to help at first, but you discovered the effects were short-lived.

You leaned your head against the cold tile and let out a pained sob. You wanted the pain to stop so badly, but you didn't want to involve Bucky. You couldn't. Bucky was your closest friend and partner. His was the relationship you valued most in life and you wouldn't risk it for anything. It didn't matter you were in love with him. It didn't matter you'd wanted him from the moment you'd laid eyes on him. What mattered is you knew he didn't feel the same.

Bucky had a new girl in his bed several times a week. You were pretty sure you'd never seen the same girl twice in the three years you'd known him. Each one was a tall, blonde, model-thin, gorgeous woman. You didn't check a single one of those boxes. You didn't think Bucky was shallow, he just had a type. He was one of the hottest men you'd ever seen, so it only made sense for him to be with the hottest women.

You didn't think you were ugly, by any means. You just weren't his type. You were shorter, very curvy, girl-next-door average. You'd accepted it long ago and vowed to never tell him how you felt for fear of jeopardizing your friendship. Your current situation was as close as you could get to your biggest fear and you weren't willing to risk it. You loved him too much to lose him entirely. Even if he insisted he was willing to help, you knew he would come to regret it. Things would be awkward between you and eventually your friendship would come to an end.

"Not worth the risk," you muttered to yourself.

The cooling effects of the shower had long since worn off, so you turned off the water and grabbed a towel. As you wrapped it around your body, you found it was too small to cover everything and the scratchy material was painful against your overly sensitive skin.

You dropped the towel to the ground and opened the door a crack. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"Um, the towel hurts my skin, so um...please don't look while I walk to the bedroom."

Bucky inhaled deeply, calming himself. Sure, he wasn't impacted by the pollen, but the fact that your naked body was a few feet away from him certainly did.

"I'll close my eyes."

You tentatively opened the door and peeked out. You could see Bucky sitting on the couch, eyes closed as promised. You quickly rushed from the bathroom to the open bedroom door, shutting it behind you. In your haste to get out of sight, you neglected to lock the door.

You nearly collapsed onto the bed, the need to feel some relief the only thing on your mind. Normally, you would have been embarrassed to even consider touching yourself when Bucky was so close by, but this was an extreme circumstance. You mentally told yourself you needed to be quiet at the very least, given his excellent hearing.

You tried to get as comfortable as you could, but it was impossible. The only parts of your body that didn't ache were the ones you were actively touching. You slipped your dominant hand between your legs and felt another wave of embarrassment hit when you felt just how wet you were.

The moment your fingers brushed between your folds, you let out a loud moan. You slapped your hand across your mouth and hoped Bucky mistook the sound for one of pain.

Bucky was breathing heavily as he sat on the couch less than 10 feet from the bedroom door. He could hear every tiny little sound you made, even as you desperately tried to stay quiet.

He knew he shouldn't be turned on by those sounds--not when you were experiencing something so awful--but he couldn't help it. He'd dreamed of hearing you moan for him a hundred times before. It took all his will-power to not bust down that door and give you what you needed.

You let out a particularly obscene moan and Bucky had to stifle his own. His cock strained against his pants and he hated himself for being turned on. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault--he'd wanted you for years--but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame.

Ten minutes went by and the sounds coming from the bedroom continued. Bucky gripped the back of the couch with all his strength, determined to not give himself even a modicum of pleasure from this.

Another five minutes passed and he heard you let out a pained sob. His heart skipped a beat and he listened closely for any more noise. He heard the distinct sounds of you crying and his resolve broke. He immediately went to your door and knocked.

"Doll? You okay?"

"It hurts so much," you whimpered.

He leaned his forehead against the door. "I know, sweetheart. Please let me help you. Please."

He could hear you writhing around on the bed, whimpers of pain reaching his ears and making him tear up.

"I can't--it didn't work," you cried. "I'm so hot--it hurts."

"Please, baby," Bucky begged. He placed his hand on the doorknob, dying to turn it and get to you.

"Bucky," you whimpered.

The pain in that one simple word made his decision for him. He turned the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He opened the door a crack, but kept his eyes away from the bed.

"Let me help you," he pleaded again.

Your eyes roamed his gorgeous figure and you let out a choked sob. Nothing else mattered in that moment--all you could think about was him.

"Make it stop," you begged him.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, meeting yours in a desperately hungry look. He didn't say a word, didn't even allow his brain to process the deeper meaning of what he was about to do. You'd asked him to help you--to stop the pain--so that was exactly what he was going to do.

He stripped out of his tactical suit as fast as possible, leaving himself in his boxer briefs, cock straining to be set free.

You reached out a hand to him and he went to you without a thought. He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you as his eyes scanned your face.

"Are you sure about this, doll?" he asked softly.

"I need you," you whimpered back.

Those three little words shattered the sliver of resolve he'd had left. His lips met yours in a hungry, devouring kiss--all teeth and tongue. His hands latched onto your soft curves, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

Everywhere he touched felt like ice against your burning skin. The sensation both incredible and painful all at once. Whatever bit of shyness or insecurity you had was wiped away by the sheer intensity of it all.

Bucky's lips attacked your neck, your jaw, your collarbone--nipping and sucking bruising marks into your skin. While it felt good, it wasn't nearly enough.

"Need more."

Bucky nudged his knee between your legs to spread them wider for him. "I know, baby. I know."

He quickly descended down to your aching core, blowing hot air against it in a teasing manner. You whined and scratched at his scalp, reminding him this was not the time for teasing.

He flicked his tongue between your pussy lips, seeking out your clit immediately. The second his tongue brushed against it, you cried out in pleasure--the first real feeling of relief you'd had since you'd been infected.

Bucky smiled to himself as he settled in to properly feast on your pussy, reveling in the essence of you against his tongue, invading all of his senses.

You gripped his hair in one hand and the sheet in the other, gyrating wildly as Bucky ate you with abandon. The pleasure was blinding, but you could still feel the undercurrent of raging fire flowing through your veins.

Bucky seemed to instinctively know exactly what you enjoyed, following your body like he had a roadmap to your pleasure points. He sent you over the edge with ease three times before finally coming up for air.

You reached for him, still hungry for more. "Bucky."

"I'm here, baby." He kissed you deeply, hands gripping your hips tightly. He wanted to take his time with you, but he knew he couldn't--you needed more from him and you needed it now.

He was quick to discard his underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your aching hole and you both moaned.

"Please, please, please, please..." you begged.

Bucky knew what you needed and he wasted no time sheathing himself inside of you. You cried out in pain as his cock stretched you more than you'd ever experienced before. The pain quickly subsided into pleasure and the pollen seemed to sense its purpose was near.

You felt a surge of need and you begged him to fuck you. "I need it, please, Bucky."

"I've got you, sweetheart." He began to thrust gently, trying his best not to hurt you. The sensations began to overwhelm him as much as they were overwhelming you, prompting him to move faster--losing himself in the feeling of you.

"Fuck, baby. You take my cock so well."

Your pussy fluttered in response, a soft whine escaping your lips.

"Best pussy I've ever had. So tight and wet for me. Made for me, weren't you?"

You nodded rapidly, not really registering what he was saying.

"How many times you think I can make you cum, baby? Six? Seven? Think the pollen can get you there?"

Your eyes widened at his words. Unsure if that was possible even with pollen.

Bucky grinned down at you. "I think I can get seven. Bet this pussy will give me whatever I want, won't she? Gonna make my girl scream my name all night long."

You felt the coil in your belly snap as another orgasm rushed through you. You clung to Bucky, a string of profanity spilling past your lips.

Bucky didn't let you come down from it before pushing your body towards another orgasm. He wanted to feel you gripping his cock like this as long as possible--especially since he might never feel it again.

"Baby, you feel so good," he murmured, placing soft kisses to your face. "Love the way you're squeezing me."

"Feels so good, Bucky," you moaned.

"Fuck, been wanting to hear you say that for so long. Needed to be inside this tight little pussy so badly. It's better than I ever imagined."

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wanted to ask what he meant--if he'd really imagined it, but you were too far gone to articulate a coherent thought.

As another orgasm crashed into you, you momentarily wondered if it was possible to die from overwhelming pleasure. You'd been in so much pain for so long and the sudden change to blinding pleasure was incredible. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

"How many more can you give me, sweetheart?"

"Wanfeelcum," you mumbled incoherently.

"What was that, baby? Too fucked out to speak?"

"Wanna feel you cum, Bucky," you begged.

He was already so close to the edge he nearly lost control at the sound of your voice. But if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want this to end. He was scared if he came, if he gave you what you needed, then you'd be satiated and it would all be over.

"Need to feel you cum on my cock at least one more time, baby."

You whimpered, but nodded your consent.

Bucky picked up the pace, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust. You weren't sure whether it was the pollen or his skill, but you went flying over the edge of blinding pleasure with an intensity you'd never experienced. You screamed his name as the waves crashed over you, pussy gushing juices as you squirted all over his cock and abdomen.

"Fuck yeah, baby. So fucking sexy..." he murmured. "Gonna fill you up. Give you what you want."

"Want your cum," you begged.

"That's right, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum. Fill up this sweet pussy till you're stuffed."

"Yes, Bucky! Please!"

Bucky's hips stuttered as he came, filling your pussy with ropes of warm cum. Bucky kept thrusting slowly as he whispered your name into your skin over and over like a prayer.

Slowly, the haze created by the sex pollen began to fade, leaving you completely blissed out. Awareness of what you'd done began to creep in, but the feel of Bucky's weight on top of you kept you in the moment.

He finally slowed to a halt, but his lips were still pressing into your hot skin. After several more moments, he raised himself up just enough to kiss you sweetly, making sure you felt his adoration.

The moment he rolled off you, the full weight of what you'd done hit you like a ton of bricks. If your body would have cooperated, you would have turned over onto your side, curled up in a ball, and cried.

Bucky felt the sudden shift in your demeanor and he felt his heart clench in his chest. "(Y/N/N)..."

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Surprise lit up his face. "What?"

"I shouldn't have done that--I'm so sorry."

"I'm gonna stop you right there." He sat up a little so he could look down at your face. You wouldn't meet his gaze, but he continued anyway. "Don't you dare think for a single second that I did something I didn't want to do. You were in pain and I couldn't let that stand. I would do anything for you, (Y/N). Anything. I don't regret it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Your eyes finally raised to meet his and you saw nothing but honesty in his gaze. You knew he cared about you, but you were still worried you'd crossed a line neither of you could come back from.

Bucky stared at your face, taking in just how incredibly beautiful you were. He was trying to commit it to memory--never wanting to forget any bit of it.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, doll. Like I said, I wanted to." He paused for a moment, a silent war raging inside of him. He seemed to make a decision and once he did, the words just flowed from his mouth. "I mean it, (Y/N). I've wanted to for years--wanted you for years. I never wanted it to happen like this, but fuck baby...here we are. I would do anything you asked of me, okay? I'll rip my own heart out and light it on fire if you ask me to. So if you ask me to pretend this never happened, I will, but I need you to know I don't want to. I want to make love to you over and over again, hear you scream my name, watch your beautiful face as you fall apart for me...I want you. I will always want you."

You were completely breathless by the time he stopped talking. The words coming out of his mouth weren't what you'd ever expected to hear. "You want me?"

"I've always wanted you. Every part of you. Inside and out."

"What about all the other women?"

"What?"

"The ones you bring home all the time."

He touched your face gently, turning your head to look at him directly. "They're fine for a night, but they're not you. They were a poor substitute for the woman I really wanted, but couldn't have."

"Bucky..."

He looked a little crestfallen, mistaking your tone for rejection. "It's okay if you don't feel the same--"

Your hand gently pressed against his lips, shutting him up instantly. "If I could move properly, I would have kissed you to shut you up."

His eyes lit up and a small smile played on his lips.

"Of course I feel the same. Of course I want you. I only pushed you away tonight because I didn't want to lose you. I was afraid you would regret it."

He leaned down so he was inches away from your lips. "Oh sweetheart, I could never regret anything to do with you."

Your lips curled up in a sweet smile. "Really?"

"Mhmm."

"Buck?"

"Hmm?"

"Any chance we can make love? I wanna be in the moment...really in it."

"Right now?" he asked in surprise.

You nodded.

His lips met yours in a loving kiss. "I'm more than happy to oblige."

You grinned as he rolled back on top of you, lips pressing against yours hungrily.

"I'll make love to you as many times as you want. Whatever you want, I'll give you. Just ask."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

You smirked slowly. "Then I might have some ideas..."

"Oh really?"

"Oh yes." You pulled his face down to yours to whisper some of your inner desires into his ear.

"My god," he murmured. "You're gonna be the death of me."

You laughed lightly and he joined in before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, dead-set on giving you everything you wanted and more.

[roosterforme]

Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger

Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.

His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.

There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time. 

Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh. 

Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.

Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret. 

It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him. 

Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.

Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.

He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated. 

There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.

Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.

This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.

"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.

My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?

This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up. 

He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.

I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.

"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message. 

Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.

Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.

Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way. 

Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface. 

Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?

Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.

Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number. 

Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.

I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.

On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip. 

Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.

Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice. 

And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.

Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?

He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.

That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?

He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later. 

Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush. 

"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be. 

He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten. 

What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.

It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.

No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.

He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin. 

When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning. 

Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone. 

"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.

How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?

Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?

"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.

Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.

Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.

Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?

Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.

My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her. 

He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.

Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.

Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.

He texted you back.

Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.

With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."

A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"

He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"

When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."

Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him. 

"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."

Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."

Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"

Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"

"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."

"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."

Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."

If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"

"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"

Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."

Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."

He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."

You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."

"Just okay?"

"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."

Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."

"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"

He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open. 

"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself. 

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on. 

Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.

"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."

He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"

The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."

A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."

You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."

Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."

You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."

"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."

"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."

"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.

"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"

"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."

Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"

"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."

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

It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."

Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"

You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face. 

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."

"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.

You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache. 

And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar. 

You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit. 

You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.  

As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.

Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.

"Pretty Girl."

Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.

And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest. 

When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."

Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck. 

"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."

"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.

"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."

You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."

He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."

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

I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[violet-eng]

F!reader spoils Lil Dragon!Zhongli... at first | Fluff🧸 (with dragon)+ 🔞 (with human Zhongli)

🎨by: @nagarnia_art and @JeanGreyCG

Summary: You're doing some research in the woods, looking for certain minerals, when you feel some tiny tiny eyes staring at you. After Zhongli morpps from a dragon to a human, things get a bit... hot...

Tw: with human Zhongli smut 🔞, PIV. Insinuations of breeding season, with dragon Zhongli just some cute Dragon behavior bc I ended up traumatized after writing some angst.

•┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ● ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈•

Your research is going well. Your reports to the Fontaine Science Institute were successful during your last expedition, earning you praise from your superiors. You have been living in Liyue for over six months. After learning about minerals that can emanate energy, you sought out information to educate yourself on the subject. 

The rocks in Liyue seem to have a memory, possibly due to the work of their Archon or as a natural result of high evolution and energetic vestiges from ancient wars. 

Zhongli, the Parlor consultant, had told you about a spot at the foot of a valley that might interest you, and you were amazed. You had no reason to doubt the man's wisdom. You had formed a deep bond of friendship with him because you admire his extensive knowledge about everything. You set off almost immediately. He had offered to accompany you, but you had refused because you prefer to do your research alone, surrounded by nature and away from the attractive distraction that Zhongli could become.

Your friend is attractive, in a way that you tried to express in your letters to your friends at Fontaine, but never succeeded. Your banal words and names do not do justice to the physique of this man of unshakable character, steely sense, and tenacious gaze. You could not bear to make a mistake in his presence during the expedition, not because you were clumsy, but because his figure moved your senses, your ground, and betrayed your own perceptions.

So, as you walk through a pleasant area of foliage, covered by the fierce, scorching rays of the sun, you decide to let your guard down, to take off your jacket and your gloves. You use a ribbon to tie up your hair as you walk on, arriving at the place Zhongli had shown you beforehand. The passage is strangely comfortable, very suitable for a quiet investigation, full of strange figures of small rocks of irregular and curious shapes.

Under the canopy of large trees, you spread out your arsenal of tools on the grass, put on your protective visors, and get to work. Sequencing the rock profile takes little time, your agile skills allowing you to avoid unnecessary pauses or clumsy backtracking typical of an amateur. Then you take the samples, tiny particles that do not alter the correct and productive nature that King Geo has protected for years, and while you wait for the filtering to finish, a strange sensation runs down your spine.

You had let your guard down during your experiment, letting the peaceful appearance of the place convince you, something very unprofessional on your part. So you turn to the side and feel a presence. Among the bushes, you spot a pair of curious little spheres, and you jump as the leaves rustle in the presence of an unknown being. 

A deep relief washes over you as the creature in question appears on the scene. A small dragon, microscopic in physiognomy compared to adult forms, with curious eyes and a golden tail twisted into a spiral. Its little paws make furrows in the ground, its face dejected, as if it had been caught doing something illegal.

"Little one, have you been watching me all this time?" You ask the cute little creature, who hides his head between his front paws, realizing he can't do it with his tail, which isn't long enough.

"Come here, don't be afraid of me," you whisper, approaching it cautiously, holding out your hands.

The dragon gathers itself in its own anatomy, growling low, sounding almost like a common cat, you can't help but laugh at it. You bring your fingers up to the growling pellet and stroke its head, right between its underdeveloped horns. You notice a puff of breath coming from the little guy's nose.

"How cute, you liked that, didn't you?" you laugh as you stroke his head and then his back, causing the miniature dragon's tail to wag.

"Come, sit with me, we'll have to wait a long time until the filtering is finished," you take him in your hands, on your palms.

"Wow... I've never seen one of your species so small... and those scales," you comment, bringing your face close to the reptile's, "I'd swear you have very, very soft skin, you're very rare, uh," you add, while you turn to your tools, which emit a strange smell.

You leave the dragon on the ground and approach your machinery, no, nothing out of place... well, now you can turn your attention to the little guy who... what is he doing?

You notice the tiny creature rubbing against your foot, making strange squeaks. It's... it's mating with your shoe? You burst out laughing and shake your foot, pushing it away and picking it up again.

"You horny little bugger," you say, poking him in the nose, "I forgot that your species is in mating season. I regret to inform you that you will get nowhere with me, I am not of the same species... ours is impossible."

A sad sigh escapes from the little animal's chest, and you notice how its whole face becomes depressed, its horns and ears seem to droop in deep disappointment.

"Don't cry," you say, putting it on the ground in the grass and lying down in front of it, "we can play if you want, to distract you a little”.

That got his attention, because he looked at you again. He walks up to you with his little paws and puts one on your nose, he starts to sniff you with that little button in the middle of his little face.

"Ohhh... do you want a little kiss?" you ask, flooded with tenderness, "I would do anything to make you happy" you say, placing a tender kiss on the dragon's forehead. Is like a puppy...

The dragon retraces his steps, accelerating and rolling his head in madness. You see him writhing in place, as if he had suddenly fallen ill, and then... poof... a golden flash and a trail of smoke,  ike the one he had just exhaled through his nose. A faint wave of heat and a faint smell of sulfur as a figure began to form behind the column of smoke.

You straightened up in your seat as the column disintegrated, revealing the very embarrassed image of Zhongli, covering his mouth as he coughs, with traces of smoke and golden flames escaping from his throat.

He is wearing little clothing, a tunic of the same color as the skin of the dragon you spoke to earlier... is that perhaps...? 

"You," you point an accusing finger at Zhongli, and he looks at you with flushed cheeks, "what was that? Aren't you going to say anything about it?" you say to the man, appearing to be annoyed, although in reality, seeing him in that outfit has aroused something pleasurable in you.

"Well?" you insist.

"Are you going to give me that kiss or?" he interjects, his voice still weak and embarrassed.

His embarrassment fades for the next hour, during which he relentlessly thrusts himself into you, waiting for your boring explorer machine to end.

The filtering of the rocks continues, the particles falling into the vessel like sand in a crystal clock. The small machines emit tiny clicks and a faint plume of smoke and gas. The rumble of the cycle's drumbeat advances in rhythm with your moans as you feel Zhongli sink deep into you.

You lie on the grass, your pants and panties around your ankles, your hands on your head clinging to the foliage, your waist encircled by Zhongli's large hands holding you steady so he can work his way into your pussy. You feel his pelvic bone against your center, his balls against your skin, and then he pulls away to enter again. Gently, lovingly, afraid to break you and hurt you. He's painfully slow, but how good it feels.

You hear him make low, rasping noises as faint plumes of smoke rise from his nose, as when he looked like a dragon. His cock twists inside you, slapping against your cervix, massaging your wet, warm depths that mold to the shape of his member. You feel the warmth rush down your legs, an electric current coursing through every fiber of your limbs, your chest heaving in desperation.

The orgasm hits you both at the same time, decorating Zhongli's cock with a white ring as his cum spills into you like thick ropes from his ecstasy. He pulls back your panties and pants, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

"May I mark you?" he asks with a look of honor, his face sublime and devoted.

"Don't even think about it," you say, joining in, noticing the sadness in his eyes, "we weren't even supposed to do it. It was just supposed to be a kiss and that's it," you seem to scold him, though it's you who's scolding yourself for being so unseemly and impetuous, though damn... you've enjoyed it so much... ....

Sensing your hostile tone, Zhongli wraps himself up and immediately transforms into his small reptilian form.

"Please stop being so dramatic," you express, leaning against one of the tree trunks and letting out a laugh. "Come back... I don't want to wait alone," you say, crossing your legs and putting your jacket down.

Zhongli, the dragon, approaches you with short steps, due to the length of his small legs, and climbs onto your lap, where he rubs the fabric of your coat, nestling into the fabric to take refuge, and lets out a yawn before closing his eyes and settling down for a nap. You stroke his back and coo to the little creature, feeling him purr like a cat.

"How cute you are when you sleep," you laugh, stroking his nose, causing him to bite your finger, "did you just mark me without my permission?" You ask, but he just squeals and jumps off your lap, looking for a way to escape. You catch him with your coat and throw it at him like a fleeing rat, but he manages to escape and hide in the bushes... you don't see him again for the rest of the afternoon, but you know that when you return to Liyue Harbour you will demand an apology, an explanation... and maybe a round two.

[sayruq]

Though the exact number of casualties from the atrocity is still unknown, preliminary reports suggest that over 1,500 Palestinians have been killed, injured, or are reported missing as a result of the massacre at Al-Shifa, with women and children making up half of the casualties. Euro-Med Monitor is able to confirm from its initial investigation and testimonies that hundreds of dead bodies, including some burned, and others with their heads and limbs severed, have been discovered both inside Al-Shifa Medical Complex and in the hospital’s surrounding area. The massacre claimed the lives of at least 22 patients who were killed in their hospital beds during the Israeli siege of the Medical Complex, amid the willful deprivation of their access to food, medical care, and supplies. Israel’s army also purposefully prevented relief teams and representatives of international organisations from entering Al-Shifa to carry out humanitarian missions or evacuations, plus purposefully cleared the Complex of all working personnel—particularly medical personnel—either by summary execution or forced displacement or arrest. The whereabouts of some of these individuals are still unknown.

Members of the Israeli army forced more than 25,000 Palestinian civilians to evacuate their homes in the vicinity of Al-Shifa Medical Complex. These forced evacuations occurred after Israel committed horrendous crimes against local families, including killing, direct targeting, besieging, and starving them, as well as arbitrary arrests and destroying and burning homes and civilian objects. According to initial estimates, the Israeli army demolished and set ablaze over 1,200 housing units in the vicinity of Al-Shifa Medical Complex.

[traveler-at-heart]

Miss Communication

Summary: Natasha is avoiding the feelings talk so you use the only thing that seems to be working: jealousy.

A/N: This request and entire plot is from @happychopshoppenguin so all credit really goes to them. I just put into a few more words.

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Stealthy, precise, lethal.

Well, what a load of crap. All Natasha Romanoff is, is a coward. There.

You’re so pissed off, all you want to do is open up her file and write “committment issues” under weaknesses.

But that’s not your job.

No, your job is intelligence and data analysis. Go over information, read endless reports and make a summary that the Avengers can understand, because they don’t have the time to sit around and do it themselves.

And now, you’re here, talking about a new terrorist organization with Steve. Natasha should be here, as second in command, but for reasons unknown to you and Captain America, she has failed to show up.

Again, coward.

Fine, if she doesn’t answer your texts you’ll find her anywhere she’s hiding in this big ass building.

“Hey, Y/N” Sam greets as you walk down the hall.

“Damn. Is it allowed to have guns in the kitchen area?” you smile mischiveously, used to flirting around with the team. He looks around, clearly confused and you reach out to touch his bicep. “I mean, what are they feeding you, Wilson? You’re as buff as Steve”

“Hell, yeah” he smiles, flexing and putting on a little show. You’re laughing and making small talk when someone magically appears, glaring.

Natasha is fuming and you don’t know if the anger is directed at you or Sam. Looking directly at her, you laugh and place a strand of hair behind your ear, as if Sam just said the funniest thing ever.

She can’t answer a fucking text but feels jealous? Well, good. At least you know she cares.

“You’re annoying her, Wilson” Bucky joins you, leaning against the kitchen island and giving you a crooked smile. “Hey, doll”

“Hi, handsome” you place your hands on each side of his face. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah” he says, practically drooling.

“I think you’d look really good if you cut your hair”

“I’ll think about it” he promises.

“Move aside, I’m taking Y/N out for lunch” Sam says, pushing Bucky.

“Oh, sweetheart. You can’t handle all of this” you tease. “But I won’t say no to lunch”

“That’s good enough for me” he agrees, offering his arm. You take it, winking at Bucky and walking away.

Natasha is already planning six different ways to make Wilson disappear, and Bucky goes to his room.

“Gotta get a haircut” he mumbles.

Oh, like hell.

Neither one of them can touch what’s hers.

—

Natasha: How was lunch?

Y/N: Oh, NOW you text me?

Y/N: We need to talk. Call me.

—

Natasha throws the phone across the room, feeling like screaming into her pillow. It still smells like you, which makes her heart ache.

If only she hadn’t been so stupid to ruin whatever it is you two had.

You were on top of her, riding her strap, as you had done so many times since you started your situationship. Hands on Natasha’s abdomen, feeling how her muscles worked to pump in and out of you.

“I love your tits” Natasha said, breathless. You nodded, bouncing harder, moaning desperately. “I love your pussy, it’s perfect for my cock”

“Baby, I’m so close” you whined, so desperate you barely registered her next words.

“I love you”

Eyes wide open, your movements stopped for a second. Before you could answer, Natasha flipped you and you were face down, ass in the air as she entered, pounding harder.

And you really wanted to ask what the fuck and if she really meant what she said, but you were so close that all you could do was moan her name and come hard around the strap.

You barely registered when Natasha pulled out. You felt empty and confused and so stretched.

“Nat? Babe, wait”

“I have to… I forgot a mission report, I’m sorry” she muttered, putting her clothes on and leaving in a hurry. She ran out of her own fucking room before owning what she said.

And now, she couldn’t even look at you. She couldn’t stand the idea that you would reject her.

The little hope that lingered in the back of her mind was the most painful feeling of all.

All she wanted was to be loved by you.

—

Call me means fucking call me.

It means don’t pretend nothing happened.

God, she’s so infuriating. And hot. And good at sex.

But mostly infuriating.

Now you’re back in the Compound, determined to get her to talk to you. Which is why you decided to wear your low cut dress and push up bra.

She said she loves your breasts, right? Well, here they fucking are.

You carry a bunch of binders that need filing, and they help cover your boobs as you enter the living room. Natasha is sitting, and you think she is almost ready to approach you when Sam beats her to it.

“Here, let me help you” Sam offers. The minute your cleavage comes to view, his eyes widen.

“Hey, doll” Bucky greets and you turn around. His mouth flails open, but all you can do is admire his new look.

“Buck, oh my God! You actually listened to me?” you run your hands through his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from your chest. “You look absolutely stunning. Good boy”

“Yeah, uh… I…”

The interaction annoys Natasha, but she knows you won’t even entertain the idea of doing anything with those two.

Her mood quickly changes when Carol appraches you. She's a whole different story.

“Carol, it’s been ages since you’ve been here! All I read are your mission briefings” you say, hugging her tight.

“Well, how bout I tell you everything I’ve been up to over dinner?” she offers with a smile.

“Y/N” Natasha finally snaps. “I missed this week’s report. Mind filling me in?”

“Sure thing” you pull away, reluctantly. “Be right back, Danvers”

Natasha leads you to the conference room and pushes you against the door as soon as you enter.

“Why must you be such a brat?” she whispers against your ear, biting down your earlobe.

“It's the only way to get your attention, Natasha” you protest, trying to sound upset.

You’re torn between lust and anger, but she’s such a good kisser that her lips make you forget everything that’s happened in the last few days.

“I should punish you” she threatens, going down your body and pulling the dress up. Who is she kidding? Her mouth is watering at the thought of tasting you. “Bet you’d love that”

Love.

The word pulls you out of your trance. Natasha is about to take your panties off when you stop her, pulling her away by her hair.

“We’re going to talk”

“You don’t make the calls here”

“Natasha, stop it. I’m serious”

You really don’t want her to stop, but you can’t keep wondering if she meant it.

You want her to mean it.

“Are you seriously gonna make a big deal about it?”

“Ugh, you drive me insane, Natasha. Why can’t you just admit what you said and whether or not you meant it? Do you even care about what I want?”

She stays silent and you groan, pulling up your dress and fixing your clothes.

“I really wanted to be more than just fuck buddies” you admit before going out. “But if the thought of loving me is so embarassing for you, then forget about it. I won’t force the feeling out of you”

Natasha stays behind, wondering how she got it all wrong.

You wanted her.

By the time she comes to her senses, you’re long gone. But Carol does meet her in the hallway, smiling.

“Hey, do you mind telling Cap I’m skipping our meeting? Y/N and I are having dinner”

“Sure” Natasha nods, feeling her stomach drop.

Now it’s too late and she lost you.

—

The second anniversary of the Sokovian Accords comes and goes in a flash. Natasha really wanted to skip it, go find you and apologize.

And yet, here she is, in the Quinjet, flying back to the Compound after two days of exhausting diplomacy.

“Why couldn’t we stay a few days in Paris?” Sam laments for the third time.

“New recruits are in the middle of their training” Barton says from the pilot seat. “At least they got a break these last couple of days”

 “No, they didn’t” Wanda says. “Y/N is training them. Maria asked her to do it before we left”

“Y/N?” everyone says, looking at each other.

“But she’s a data analyst, not a field agent” Sam says.

“And the sweetest person ever” Bucky adds. He holds Natasha’s glare and smiles. Oh, he knows what’s up.

“Well, let’s make sure we put them back into shape when we get there” Steve slaps Bucky’s arm.

Boy, are they all wrong. When the team goes back to the Compound, you’re in the middle of a training session. A guy runs out of the gym, his shoulder crashing against Sam’s as he bolts for the exit.

“She’s fucking crazy, man” he says to himself, looking terrified.

“What the hell?”

Steve pushes the door to the gym. And there you are, in the middle of sparring. With one swift motion you kick the guy to the floor, and he puts his hands up, as if begging for mercy.

“Oh, we have company” you taunt, walking confidently around the students. “Anyone want to fight the Avengers? I promise you they’re not as hard to beat”

“Who is she and what has she done to Y/N?” Barton whispers.

Natasha has to hold back a moan. You look cold and deathly, having kicked all of their asses without breaking a sweat. That also explains why you’re so… bendy.

“Fine. Since none of you could even land a hit on me, you’re running ten laps. Don’t come back here unless you’ve thrown up or cried once”

All the recruits scramble to their feet, relieved now that they can get away from you. You turn around, giving the Avengers a challenging look.

“What? Wanna give it a try? I’ll go easy on you” you say. “Maybe not on Natasha, though. She hasn’t been a good girl”

“Ew” Wanda says, leaving the room. Between that and Natasha’s bendy thought, that was so loud she might as well have screamed it in the middle of the gym, she’s had enough.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got” Barton is the only one that steps up. You nod, evaluating his approach. He throws the first punch but it never lands. You move out of his way at record speed, keeping the contact at minimum while you kick the back of his legs, making him fall on his knees. Another three blows and Clint is face down on the mat.

“Pass” Sam says when you turn around to see who’s next.

“I’ll take my chances” Natasha says, stepping up. You smile in a way that makes a chill run down her spine.

Natasha thinks you can never go wrong with a classic move, so she throws her legs around your neck. But you block the movement and make her land on her back, hands pinned abover her head.

It happens at least three different times, each position becoming more sexual.

“I think we should leave” Bucky says.

“In a minute”

“Come on, Wilson” he forces him out the door, closing it for good measure and hoping you keep your clothes on before the recruits come back.

If they even come back.

“I promise you, you’re not gonna win this time, Natasha” you say, out of breath for the first time. Her eyes travel to your lips and you lean forward, stopping inches away from her mouth. “And I sure as hell ain’t letting you go without talking about that thing you said the other day”

“Please…”

“Now you’re polite. Now you say please. I’ve been chasing you for a fucking week to know if you like me for more than my tits and ass” you finally give in, kissing her for a few seconds. She whines against your mouth, trying to create friction. But your hold is too strong and she can’t move an inch without your permission.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I was scared you’d reject me and then everything would be ruined forever between us. I love you, so damn much it scares me” Natasha finally breaks, surprising herself with the way she’s pouring her heart out to you.

But that’s how much she loves you and how much she needs you.

Her words leave you breathless and you smile, going back to being your usual self.

“Natasha, I love you so damn much, it drives me crazy. Please don’t ever doubt that, sweetheart”

She nods, her nose rubbing against yours and you finally do what you’ve been craving all week. You kiss her, gently at first, and then more passionately, your hands dropping from hers to let her hug you.

You moan against her mouth, Natasha’s tongue slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, I need you” you moan, going back to being submissive for the redhead.

“What does my pretty girl want? My mouth or my fingers?”

“Just you, anything, please”

Thinking back to the last time she almost had you, her mouth waters and she decides to flip you on your back and travel down your body, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses and pulling down your shorts and underwear.

“All of this for me?” she asks, running her fingers up and down your slit, collecting your juices and sucking on her digit. “I missed your taste, princess”

“Nat, please” you cant your hips up, hoping she takes the hint. You’re too far gone to form a coherent sentence.

Natasha darts her tongue out. She moans at the taste, and snakes her arms around your thighs to keep you in place. Her tongue goes up and down, then deep inside you and you shudder.

You would almost feel embarrassed for lasting so little, but it’s not your fucking fault she was hiding for a week.

When you remember that, your hands go to her hair and you pull her closer. Natasha enjoys the roughness, her movements speeding up and pushing you over the edge.

You come, crying out her name and trembling. As you struggle to catch your breath, Natasha moves up, letting you taste yourself in her mouth.

“Hey, baby”

“Hey” you say, smiling.

“Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I’d like to make it up to you”

“Yes to dinner. And give me a couple more of those orgasms and we’ll call it even”

“That sounds like a deal” she smiles against your lips, eager to make up for the lost time.

[queerpumpkinnn]

Two Doors Down

2.5k words

Summary: Your vibrator dies mid-session, so your roommate offers to help you out.

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: smut obviously, dom/sub dynamics, brief use of a vibrator, brief dry humping, cunnilingus, slight hair pulling (bucky receiving), pet names (sweet ones like honey, baby, etc. but also some on the more degrading side),scratching (bucky receiving), a healthy dose of degradation, nipple play, finger sucking, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, dumbification, slight edging but if you blink you'll miss it, let me know if I'm missing something!

While listening, I recommend you listen to enemies to lovers - a Spotify playlist by me!

~

"God fucking damn it!"

Your frustrated curse echoed off the walls of your bedroom, followed by a dull thump of your vibrator falling on the mattress. You sat up begrudgingly and flopped over the bed, reaching for the charger and plugging in the toy.

You huffed, sitting on the bed for a few moments before tugging your shorts back on and standing, leaving your bedroom to go explore the great unknown: your apartment.

The sound of the television was more audible when your door opened, the white and blue lights from the TV tinting the entire living room and kitchen area in a cold glow. While your eyes needed a second to adjust to the change from the dim, warm light of your room, Bucky, your roommate, was staring blankly at the television, listening to the newscaster droning on while sifting through a bowl of cereal with a spoon.

You didn't greet him, despite the tiny alarm in your head telling you it was bad manners. You stomped past him, headed for the fridge to find leftover pasta. Once a bowl was heated up, you stomped around over to the couch, flopping down beside him.

Bucky raised a brow. "You doin' alright?" He asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"Yeah."

"Then stop stabbing your pasta."

You looked down to see your fork digging into the bottom of the bowl, spearing through the noodles with more aggression than was necessary.

"I'm fine."

"Wanna tell me?"

Your mind raced just at the thought of his suggestion. "No. Nothing's wrong."

"Ah." He turned back to the television, one leg crossing over the other. "Thought it might have somethin' to do with your vibrator dying on you."

You nearly choked, head whipping around to watch him incredulously. "How-"

"TV ain't on that loud." He snorted.

You buried your face in your palms, cheeks warm. Bucky only laughed at your mortification.

"Hey, it's all good." Bucky waved a hand in dismissal, you caught it as you lifted your head. Your gaze somehow got stuck on it, specifically, his fingers. The thought of them on you made the heat in between your legs flare up again. You could practically feel them tilting your chin up, tugging your hips closer, prodding into your cunt...

Bucky seemed to notice your sudden interest, looking between your eyes to his hand and back with curiosity. He let out a soft 'ah', a grin of delight splitting his face. When you finally clocked in on his understanding, silent but knowing, you looked down in what was definitely the least subtle way possible.

"Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but I can't remember a time when hands didn't get the job done."

That didn't help your embarrassment, and for some reason you continued the conversation. "Well, I can't get the right angle..."

Bucky exhaled, passing his tongue over his teeth. "Tell me to shut up if I've got the wrong idea. But I have hands." You peeked out from your hands. He wiggled his metal fingers slowly as if to prove the obvious. "I think you've noticed."

All of the thoughts you'd wrestled with moments ago came flooding in again. Sparks of excitement shot down your belly, and you swore your heartrate doubled.

You attempted to keep an even voice, but nonchalance definitely escaped you for the timebeing. "So... what's your point?"

You were terrified you might have misread the situation. That this excitement would die down and you'd be left wanting him. You needed him to tell you.

"My point is," Bucky uncrossed his legs, turning to face you and leaning forward. "That I'm offering to do what your vibrator can't."

You were shivering with excitement, voice shaking as you sighed,

"Please."

Bucky stood slowly, pushing off of the couch with his hands. His gaze was fixated on you, bordering on ravenous as he eyed you up and down. He relished the way your eyes followed his, and as a result, when he finally towered over you, he was met with a sight that made his cock throb.

You could feel your head turning cloudy, anticipation bubbling in your stomach as you peered up at Bucky. A single, metal hand came up to your chin, stroking slowly over the bone. Your eyes fluttered, leaning into his touch.

"Poor thing." Bucky tutted, shaking your head side to side a bit. "So pitiful. Can't even get off right, needs a toy to get the job done."

You whimpered when he used his grip on your jaw to make you nod yes.

"Shh, you're okay. 'M right here, gonna take good care of you. Yeah?"

"Yeah," you replied weakly.

"Good." Bucky let go of your face, opting to sit on the couch instead, legs spread wide. He patted one of his thighs, gesturing with the other. "C'mon, take a seat."

You crawled over him, hands resting on his shoulders tentatively. Bucky traced a finger up the column of your throat, sending a shiver down your spine. The pressure on the underside of your jaw brought your gaze upwards.

"Gonna need you to keep your eyes on me, dove, think y'can do that?"

You nodded slowly, itching to move but frozen in place by his attention.

"Good." Bucky's hand was a whisper around your throat, quickly finding its home again on your jaw. His thumb swiped over your bottom lip, to which your mouth fell open oh so slightly.

His lips quirked in amusement. His thumb pressed down, earning your jaw lowering further. Two fingers slipped past your lips to settle on your tongue and you happily took them, one hand coming to hold his wrist in place while you suckled.

His free hand began rising up your hips, and you straightened your posture at the feeling, almost tickling. They descended just after his thumb grazed your lower chest. You gasped around his fingers, and his subtle raise of brow made your cheeks heat.

You squeezed his wrist, and it moved from your mouth to your waist. Hands reaching for the back of his neck, you tugged him forward into a sloppy kiss.

Bucky wasn't sure where the line was before. He understood that he had struck a purely sexual deal offer, so kissing for some might be too intimate an exchange under those circumstances, but Christ did he love the feel of your mouth on his. The clash of teeth and spit, your soft moans swallowed up into his own mouth sounding like heaven. Even more so when he sucked on your tongue, pride coursing through his veins when you squeaked.

And oh, you just couldn't help it, when you started rocking your hips back and forth. It was his fault really, teasing you so much.

"So fuckin' needy, angel, just can't wait, huh?" Bucky groaned, head falling back for a minute before jerking back up. "Need to get you taken care of, isn't that right?"

You nodded pathetically, brain long turned to mush. Your senses, every atom in your body was on fire and so, so sensitive, but your head was empty.

And Bucky knew it.

Which is why he lifted you up, strong hands supporting you under the thighs, which wrapped around his torso to keep you up. Bucky groaned, the feel of your legs around his waist sending blood rushing to his cock.

It was a messy trip to your room, to say the least. Bucky had to stop multiple times in the hallway to press you up against the wall and stick his tongue in your throat, rutting into you and breathing heavy into your mouth. His groans were pure sin and you wanted to pull as many of them from him as you could.

Bucky set you down gently, but as you laid, he remained, towering over you with hungry eyes and bated breath.

"Look at you," Bucky grazed his metal fingers over your cheek. "So fuckin' needy, hm? So desperate, you just hop on the first dick you see."

His words didn't even register, not when his leg was pressed right between your legs, so you nodded along dumbly.

He chuckled, almost a bark of a laugh. "Lucky I'm here to take care of you, hm?"

"Yeah," you sighed, your feeble grip on his shirt attempting to tug him closer. "Please, Bucky, need you to take care of me, please..."

"Alright, alright, I've gotcha." Bucky leaned in, pressing wet kisses to your neck whilst his fingers slipped under your shirt, grazing feather-light over your nipples. You could feel him smirk when you arched into his touch.

"Can we take this off, baby?" His voice was soft, and you nodded, pulling your hands up so he could bare your chest.

Bucky gave a groan at the sight, his mouth traveling downward to press licks and kisses over your chest. He pressed his palm over your ribs, indicating you to lie back. Bucky followed, propped up on his arm. His other hand walked up the inside of your thigh, making you shudder into him.

"Buck, please," you breathed, eyes rolling back.

"Nuh uh, none of that." Bucky's hand was quick to reach up and grasp your jaw, this time with more force. "Eyes on me."

He nodded your head for you. He maintained a more intense stare as he moved, slowly and deliberately, down between your thighs. He watched you as he kissed up and down your thighs, pressed his thumb into the junction between your cunt and your leg, pressed a firm kiss to the area just above your clit. Your hips jerked up, following his touch.

"I know, I know. Bein' so patient, so proud of you." Bucky purred, tugging your bottoms down in one go. "And would you look at that, no underwear. God, you're soaked."

Bucky actually moaned at the sight, like the idea of going down on you was pleasurable for him. And Lord, was it.

He started with, for lack of better word, toying with you, thumbs pulling your lips apart to watch your slick web from them. Even though he wasn't watching your face anymore, your eyes were glued to him. His fascinated expression, his strong arms holding your legs apart, his toned back rippling under every movement- somewhere along the line he had lost the shirt; you couldn't remember when but Christ was it better he did.

You nearly levitated off the bed when a finger came to collect your slick onto your clit, followed by lips attaching to the nerves and tonguing over it lasciviously.

Your hesitancy to make noise had gone out the window the minute his mouth was on you, jaw falling open to let out your sounds of bliss. The only thing keeping your head from falling back was the sight in front of you; Bucky was pure sex incarnate. His head swayed back and forth, groans and muffled praises vibrating against your skin, hair tickling your thighs.

"Taste so damn good angel, so fuckin' wet." Bucky tugged you impossibly closer- you swore you saw his hips moving into the sheets. "Should let your vibrator die more often."

Your breath had all but escaped you, coming out ragged and whiny. Your hands reached for his hair, tugging at the roots softly- harder when he groaned louder, sending both of you into a frenzy.

"Fuck, Bucky, right there, fuckfuckfuck-" your noises, if even possible, got louder when the man under you found just the right spot to prod his finger. It slipped in so easily, the wetness helping you welcome him in.

It didn't take Bucky long to figure out where that spot was inside of you, pulling moan after gasp after cry of his name once he bullied his fingers into it just right. He repeated the motion until there was a sheen of sweat on your forehead, grasping onto his hair, his arm, whatever of him you could find as if he was your lifeline.

"Oh, just like that, so close Buck..." You kicked your hips up into his face, rolling them for any kind of friction you could get- friction he was elated to give you.

You nearly sobbed when he pulled his face away from you, fingers leaving your pussy feeling unbearably empty.

"I know, honey, I know. Gonna give you something even better, hm? Gonna give you my cock, fill y'up real nice."

You almost drooled at the sight of Bucky sat up, nothing but sweats being hastily pulled down until the bulge fell heavily over the band. He kicked his bottoms away to some forgotten corner, stroking himself languidly a few times, kicking his head back.

You whined a bit at the lack of attention, thighs pressing together. That seemed to have alerted Bucky, as he tilted his head back down to face you. "Sorry, sunshine. Won't keep you waitin' any longer, yeah?"

Bucky lined himself up with you, teasing your sopping entrance with the tip. However, when your legs hooked around his waist, just like before, all notions of control were lost on him as he sheathed himself inside of you. A guttural groan, more sensual and more animalistic than before, ripped through him and sent sparks shooting into you. He stretched you deliciously, the friction electrifying.

"Don't fuckin' clench, holy shit- not gonna last long," Bucky huffed, rocking slowly into you. He was leaned over your body, almost folding you in half so that he could mutter filthy praises into your ear, tonguing at the shell of it lightly.

If he wasn't gonna last, what could be said of you? Your orgasm was approaching fast, if your throbbing cunt and frantic moans were any indication.

"There we go, y'gonna cum? Fuckin' cum for me, honey, make a mess on my cock, go on."

White-hot pleasure drowned you as you scratched faint pink lines down Bucky's chest. This time your eyes screwed shut, but Bucky chose instead to help you ride out your high, pistoning into you until he let himself go, filling you up in a way that left you feeling warm and full and very, very satisfied.

Only the sound of yours and Bucky's panting could be heard in the room, the air suddenly thick and musky with the smell of sex.

After a moment, he pulls out, murmuring 'shit' to himself a few times. "Gonna get you cleaned up, 'kay?" Bucky pressed a kiss to your temple, picking his boxers up on the way to his ensuite bathroom and coming back with a rag a minute later.

"Feeling alright?" Bucky asks. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, you were great." You huffed, a stupid hazy grin tugging your lips. "Bit thirsty, that's about it."

"Noted," he mused. "I meant it, by the way."

You cocked your head. "Meant what?"

"You should let your vibrator die more often. I'm just two doors down, and I reckon I know a few more tricks than that piece of junk you've got." He gestures to the vibrator, which had fallen onto the floor at some point.

You definitely made sure to keep that in mind.

~

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[mingigoo]

chocolate || Choi San (m.)

❆ pairing ⇢ (fem) reader x brother’s best friend! Choi San

❆ summary ⇢ you never got along with your brother’s best friend San, but you really never needed to. His pretty face and cocky attitude pissed you right off. But when he shows up on New Year’s Eve when you’re home alone, and a snowstorm forces you to stay together for the time being, you can’t help yourself from his enchanting charms—and sexy ass body.

❆ genre/au ⇢ smut, forced proximity, brothers best friend au, snowed in au

❆ warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ MINORS DNI, fingering, shower sex, oral sex (male receiving), slightly rough but really not too much, creampie, unprotected sex, the power goes out and they want to fuck each ther so bad I’m sorry

❆ word count ⇢ 5.2k

❆ taglist ⇢  @atinywhore @ch0isa99ie @jjhmk @yukine-smx @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @y00nzin0 @yesv01 @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @gayliljoong @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @baguette-atiny @seokwoosmole @nyeatinyjunkie @juliettechokilo @pockyddalgi @justaqueerbufoin @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @miriamxsworld @daegale @knucklesdeepmingi @naiify @yeoyeoland @arya9111 @mdibby @8tinytings @angelicyeo @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts @mangishii @yeoyeoland @pink-hwaberry @wooyoluvrr @maru-matt @pearltinyy @loveuwoo @m3chigo @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 (if I missed you please lmk!! bold = can’t tag)

The snow crunched under your feet as you walked up to your parents' home.

Christmas had just passed—although both your mom and dad were out of the area, having the time of their lives in the warmth of another country. You envied them, but you were happy to be back in town after a rough breakup and a messy semester.

When you walked in the door with a bag of groceries and now covering your eyelashes, your little brother Wooyoung sat on the couch in the living room, star-shaped shades on his face and a shiny jacket over his bare chest.

“What….why are you dressed like that?” you inquired, shoving your snowy shoes off your feet.

He stared at you blankly. “Are you stupid?”

You scoffed, walking past him to put the bag of groceries away—groceries that were solely for baking cookies. A perfect way to spend the night.

He stood up and followed you in. “Y/n, it’s New Year's Eve. How else should I be dressed?”

You forgot about it. All of it. It already pained you that you were alone this new Year after spending four of them with the same man.

You shoved the bag of flour into the cabinet aggressively. “I don't know, not like a disco ball? That jacket is gonna get puked on and ruined.”

He looked over at you, noticing your distaste. “Are you…..is Soobin, you know, coming in for the holiday? He already missed Christmas.”

Soobin decided to dump you for reasons unknown. You believed it was because he was chasing his dream of becoming an idol, and he couldn't have a bunch of sexy baggage like you, so you let him lose you. 

But if that wasn't the case and he broke up for you for the hell of it, you would strangle that stupid hot boy and let him pay for his crime of losing the best he’s ever had.

Anyway…

“Oh, we broke up,” you shoved the stuff around in the cabinet, hoping to distract your brother from the horrible news. You didn't tell him the whole time you've been home. You've been avoiding it—it was already embarrassing to be dumped, more so around Christmas.

It did not, in fact, distract him.

“Holy fuck, really?” he leaned forward, intrigued. “Why? What did he do?”

“Oh, you know,” you bit the corner of your lip, trying not to look like you were lying straight through your teeth. “He’s chasing his dream. I broke up with him so he didn't have to struggle with the girlfriend baggage and all. He was so heartbroken….”

Woo blinked. 

“Oh, girl,” he offered a sincere smile. Well, as sincere as wooyoung could possibly get. “He dumped your ass, didn't he?”

You stared at him for a second. You couldn't get past him—he’s seen breakups way too many times with San by his side.

“Yep.”

You stood there in silence for a minute or two, trying your best not to reminisce on your relationship—even though you were over him. It wasn't even about Soobin; rather, it was the aching feeling of being someone’s number two. A career, an understandable priority, still felt like a slap in the face to you, as you were less important in his eyes. You can joke with yourself and others all you want—but you crave that feeling of being someone’s pride and joy. Someone’s only thought when the world is about to end.

“Welp,” Woo sighed, not knowing what to say. “I have to head out soon. I’m meeting up with San and Yeosang to head to the party.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter behind you. “Have fun.”

He pondered for a second, sticking his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “Wanna come with us?” he asked.

You shook your head, already not feeling like doing anything—especially anything involving…..San. “No, no, you go have fun,” you smiled at him as best as you could.

He nodded, but gave you a look of worry before he left the kitchen.

You followed him like a lost puppy as he tossed his shoes on in the doorway, struggling to bring his chucks over his heel—his frat shoes, as he likes to express. The shoes he doesn't mind puking on. You watched in enjoyment as he wrestled his shoes.

“I’ll be back later,” he ruffled your hair tenderly, but the grimace on his face felt like he wanted to tackle you—in a playful way, of course.

“Be safe—”

He shut the door with a smirk before you finished your sentence.

—

“A sudden storm will be rising upon us within the next hour or so, with wind gusts up to……”

You could hardly hear the TV from the kitchen as you blasted Christmas music, flour on every square inch of you. You were baking—your favorite hobby. It’s been a while since you were able to bake carefree, and now that you had an unlimited amount of free time, you were going to bake as much as you missed out on. 

As you shoved in another pan of cookies into the oven, you heard the door open and shut loudly, so loud that you were able to hear it over your music.

“Wooyoung, what the hell?” you grumbled, your back turned from the doorway as you fixed up the already baked cookies to cool. “Can you slam that shit any louder? And aren't you supposed to be at a party?”

Silence. No response. 

“I said, aren't you supposed to be—”

And when you turned around, it was most definitely not wooyoung in the kitchen doorway.

You dropped a cookie onto the floor. 

“Well,” San smirked, his grey hood covering his dark hair, his lips curled sexily, and his eyebrows raised. “Aren't you a beauty?”

You stood there in a flour-covered apron, flour-covered hair, face, and everything in between, looking at the man across the kitchen table.

“San,” you breathed, brushing your hands off on your apron and bending down quickly to pick up the dropped cookie. “What are you doing here? Wooyoung told me he was meeting up with you.”

“To see you, of course,” He purred, taking a step closer to you. He walked around the table to get to where you were standing, and not surprisingly, he lifted a finger to the corner of your lips and then continued to taste it on his own. 

You shivered in what you wished was disgust.

His eyes lit up as he tasted it, licking his lips. “Mmm. Chocolate?” he hummed, leaning against the counter next to you. He pulled down his hood to reveal his messy, silky black hair. “You've always been such a great baker.”

“You scoffed, turning back to the stove to check on your cooling cookies. “Why are you here?”

“You just asked me that.”

“Yeah, but you didn't answer correctly.”

“I’m here to see you, baby,” he leaned forward. 

You leaned back.

“Ha!” you laughed sarcastically, picking up your spatula to wield it like a weapon in his direction. When you met his gaze, you felt your stomach drop from his pretty smile and his sickening gaze. “Wooyoung isn't here, alright? So you better leave, or I will kick you out—”

“I’ll just wait here for him until he gets back.” San shrugged, stealing a cookie before running away from the kitchen.

You followed him into the living room, tracking your flouriness all over the place. “Can't you just go home? I don't understand why—”

He was standing in front of the TV as your voice trailed off. Apparently, there was a huge storm that no one saw coming. San watched intently as he snacked happily on the cookie as if finding out that there was a blizzard outside was the best news he’d ever heard.

“A blizzard?” you freaked out, running up to the screen right next to him. After watching for a few moments, you went to the window, looking out to see the roads completely covered and the wind blowing a dusting of white all over the place.

“Oh….I didn't see that coming,” San’s irritatingly attractive voice spoke from right behind you, and when you turned around, he stood with a sinister smile on his face.

“You should go, for real,” you sighed, looking up into his eyes before moving your gaze anxiously. “Before you can't.” 

He peered over your shoulder, letting out a puff of air. “I don't think I can drive back on the roads like this….” he sighed, tilting his head at you. “It's too dangerous.”

You blinked, trying your hardest not to cave into those lustrous cat-like eyes. He blinked at you now, his expression unreadable.

It's been ages since you saw this man—ages, and he still treats you as if you were best buddies all your life. In reality, you've never once liked the guy. His hair pissed you off, his crooked smile boiled your blood, and god, his ears? Why were they so cute? How can ears be cute? Don't get yourself started on his lips…..lips that you….may have kissed once or twice all those years ago.

He never talked about it, so you just ignored it.

And now that you were thinking about his lips, your eyes dropped down to them, and when you realized, you cleared your throat and brought your gaze back up to his eyes.

“If you stay, you have to act like you're not here,” you breathed, crossing your arms over your messy apron. He looked down—down at your cleavage and smirked. “Eyes up here, mister.”

He hesitated to move his gaze, and when he did, your stomach flipped once more—god, maybe you just needed to get laid. It's been ages since you had a good fuck….

No. what were you thinking? No. no, no. Stop it.

You took a second to gain your thoughts before speaking again. “Just… don't do anything until wooyoung gets here.”

He stood close to you, looking down with those seductive eyes, his smile blindingly attractive. He didn't even need to speak to make your knees weak—which was probably why you hated him so much.

He bent his head to get closer to you, that smile still on his face. 

“Can I speak, master?” he nearly moaned, biting the corner of his lip. “I feel like it would be unfortunate to remain silent during our….reuniting time.”

You let out a little chuckle. “What? Reuniting time?” you uncrossed your arms. “That's funny. We were never close enough to unite in the first place.”

“Oh, y/n,” he purred, reaching out to twirl a finger around your hair. You wanted to run away. Your mind told you to, but everything else craved him—as it always has. “I would say we united many times, haven't we?”

He looked like he wanted to grab you as tight as he could and swallow you whole—but the conflict in his eyes said no. you watched his eyes dance around you, how his hand froze mid-air within your hair, and his lips flat in a line.

And it took everything in you to move away from him. 

You took a step back, watching his eyes drop to your feet.

“You can stay,” you coughed, looking anywhere but him. “But don't…don’t bother me. Don't talk about….uniting, or reuniting, or whatever…..” you huffed, giving him one last look before running into the kitchen, only to find the cookies in the oven burnt to a crisp.

And once again, the cycle began. San’s enchantment was whirling around you, capturing everything in its wake. Your heart never belonged to you—no, it always belonged to him.

And he will make sure you will never forget it.

—

San sat at the table, watching you intently as you made another batch of cookie dough.

“How’s school?” he asked you, his voice soft.

You shrugged, stirring the dough with your bare hand, as there was no mixer. “It's fine, same same.”

He nodded, his chin held up by his palm. You continued to mix the dough.

“How’s what's his name? Soo—Soomin? Soojin? Soo–”

“Soobin?” you asked, trying not to smile at his obvious distaste.

He nodded, a frown on his lips.

You didn't get to respond as your phone interrupted the conversation.

“Ugh,” you huffed, holding your dough-covered hands in the air, unable to get your phone in your pocket. “Can you…can you get my phone for me?”

San stood up. “Where is it?” 

You pointed to your back pocket. “There, in my pocket.”

When he got next to you, he hesitated on reaching to get it, but when you gave him the death stare, his gentle hand glided down your back, down your ass, and to your pocket. You froze at his touch and nearly missed the phone call from your mess of emotions. 

He answered the call for you and held it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank god,” wooyoung breathed. “Don't go anywhere, alright?”

You scoffed, looking down at your dough-covered hands and your filthy clothes. “Ah, I wouldn't worry about me going anywhere. I’m definitely not fit for an outing.”

Wooyoung didn't laugh like his normal self. “For real, don't go anywhere. I won't be home for a good while because of the storm, so make sure you stay safe and warm.”

“Awe, I didn't know you cared so much about me,” you cooed, but when you saw San’s little smile at your words, you immediately swallowed hard, lost in thoughts you shouldn't be having while you're on the phone.

“Anyway, just be safe,” Woo sighed, taking a breath in. “I’ll be living off this shitty-ass beer and stale cookies. These sons of bitches are so cheap I swear—”

Without warning, the lights flickered slightly.

And then they went completely off, leaving you and San with no lights, no power, no anything.

“What the fuck—”

“For fucks sake,” San hissed, catching him off guard. Wooyoung, however, perked up the minute he heard a man.

“Who’s there with you? I heard a voice?”

“Oh, it’s just San,” you mumbled, looking up at him, where his eyes even sparkled in the dark. You forgot your train of thought for a moment. “He came here looking for you.”

“Yeah, right. That dude’s been obsessed with seeing you ever since he knew you were coming home. What a little pussy. He had to make up a lie to come over? Pfft—”

“Ah, oh no, looks like we lost service too—you’re breaking up—” San coughed, and after a moment of time for wooyoung to react, he hit the end button, tossing your phone onto the counter with haste.

You gave him a funny look as he tried to ignore your gaze. The room was extremely dark—not a single light source other than the little bluish glow from your home screen on your phone. 

You had no idea what to say to him; he didn't know what to say, either. You just stood in the dark kitchen, the oven at a standstill, and so were your feelings. He was looking down at his feet, trying his hardest not to look at you—although it was too dark to see you, anyway.

“Guess I’m done baking,” you hummed, giving him a slight look of curiosity before you took the cookies out of the cold oven. 

“Yeah, that won't work now,” he muttered quietly, very much unlike his usual dickhead way of speaking. He swallowed hard, too close to you. 

You stood strong right in front of him, your body telling you to grab him by the neck and kiss those gorgeous lips of his. Maybe you were just that desperate to feel something after your breakup—or maybe you always wanted San—either way, you were so close to giving in to your desire, but you pushed yourself away and took off your apron slowly.

“You never….you never answered my question earlier.”

You set the apron down on the counter next to your phone. It shut off now, leaving you in complete darkness, with San only a shadow in front of you.

You frowned, but you couldn't see the look on his face in front of you. “What question?”

“About how Soobin is?”

You scoffed, trying your best to look up into San’s eyes. You saw them sparkle slightly, and you stared into them. “So you do know his name.”

“I really don't care what his name is, y/n,” he grumbled, taking a step closer to you.

You smiled, knowing by the tone of his voice that he was aggravated. “Well, if you must know, I really don't know how he is.”

San grew quiet, but you heard him take a breath in. “what do you mean?”

“We broke up, so I wouldn't know how he is, alright?” you hissed at him, but only to get a reaction out of him—god, you didn't know what you’d do if what wooyoung said was true—that if San came here to see you, that he was waiting to see you for ages, that he’s irritated over the fact you’ve had a boyfriend—all of it would send you into a spiral. You always told yourself you'd need to be completely wasted to even think of San in a new light….but here in the dark, with his hot breath caressing your cheeks, you were ready to say fuck it to your facade. 

He didn't say anything for a while. He just stood there, his one hand leaning against the table to hold himself up. 

“You…broke up with him?” he hummed quietly.

“Mhm,” you nodded, tilting your head up to try and meet his gaze.

He swallowed, nodding. “Mmm. I see,” he smiled—at least it looked like he did. “Nice.”

“Nice?” you furrowed your brows.

“Well, I mean, I never liked the guy, so—”

“Why?”

“I don't know—”

“Yes, you do know,” you took a step even closer, causing him to catch his breath. “What’s the reason?”

He sighed, his breath dancing across your skin. “Well, like, two years ago or so, when we were out at the bar,” San took a second to form what he wanted to say, and you stood and looked up at him without a blink. “He got you a drink with Malibu in it.”

You blinked, confused. “So? I don't even remember that San, I don't know why you're bringing that up—”

“Because you hate coconut, y/n,” he interrupted you, his tone of voice exasperated. “And you hate going to bars—they stress you out. You didn't even finish the drink before he got you another and didn't even care to know what you liked…so I didn't like him.”

You stood there, mouth slightly dropped after his words. 

That was enough of a confession for you. 

“So….you didn't like him because he got me a coconut drink or….” you reached out, your fingers delicately draping over his that were resting on the table. He jumped slightly at your touch as if he was never expecting it. “Or because you could do better than him?”

San remained still as you let your fingers glide up his arm, feeling the softness of his hoodie that you wished to take off.

“....I think you know why I didn't like him….” He breathed.

You leaned forward in the dark, your gaze piercing right into his. Your hand met the base of his neck, sending shivers down his spine from the coldness of them. He let out a sound of pleasure at your touch, your other hand meeting his waist.

You didn't say anything else. You just wanted to fall into him, even with the consequences; it didn't matter what would happen tomorrow. He was breathing shallowly, his lips parted, begging you to kiss them as if he was waiting forever. 

And as if they knew the timing, the lights flickered back on, revealing a lovestruck San—his eyes hazy with desire and his expression out of a book.

His fingertips found their home on the side of your cheek, holding your face gently, carefully, as if you were glass.

You were less than an inch away from his lips, but before you pressed them to his, you stepped back, knowing that you were a filthy mess—you didn't want him to spend this time with you while you were embarrassingly messy.

“I….” you paused, pulling away from his hold. “I…need to shower,” you mumbled, giving him a look.

He blinked slowly. “A…shower?” 

“Yeah.”

With one last look at him, you saw the hesitation in his eyes. You walked past him, brushing up against him before you walked up the steps.

And before you got to the bathroom at the end of the hall, you heard his clunky footsteps make their way up the creaky stairs.

“Wait, hold on,” he huffed, grabbing your wrist to turn you around. “What was that?”

You looked at him innocently. “What was what?”

He furrowed his brows. “You know, that.”

You shrugged, fighting the smile that begged to arise. “What?”

He groaned, dropping your hand in a fit. “You were going to kiss me.”

You tilted your head, playing with him. “Was I?”

“Were you not?”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do know! You were literally about to kiss me—”

“And what if I was?” you whispered, your eyes slanted with mischief. He looked at you, his own expression changing from confusion to….well, more confusion. 

He bit his bottom lip. 

“Am I supposed to follow you into the shower?”

You smiled, letting him decide what you wanted him to do.

With a curt turn, you opened the bathroom door, leaving it open a crack, inviting him in.

You took off your messy top, covered in flour. You waited patiently, taking off your bra and your pants, and all that was left was your panties before he entered abruptly. 

“Listen, you can't leave that door open and not expect me to—oh,” he paused, his breath shaky. 

You stood unmovingly, facing him.

And with a slight scoff, he ran towards you. 

“Fuck it,” he huffed, slamming his body into yours, swallowing you with his whole being.

His lips caressed yours, biting your tongue, shoving his own into your mouth. You took in a sharp breath as he sucked on your soul, his hand finding your breast to squeeze it tightly.

“God, I’ve been waiting to do that forever,” he groaned against your mouth, his other hand playing with the hem of your underwear. With one quick motion, he pulled them down, falling onto your ankles as you stepped out of them.

You smiled into his kiss, tearing away at his hoodie before he pulled it over his head, leaving him shirtless and full of glory. You parted away from his lips, kissing down his chest, over his mounds of muscle, until your knees hit the floor.

He froze under your touch, your fingertips gliding over his hard-on. You grinned devilishly up at him, his expression in a mess of excitement and nervousness. Him? Nervous? Impossible.

You pulled down his pants as swiftly as you could, causing him to hiss sharply. He was fully on display for you now, his cock pulsing and ready for you. You grazed your fingers from his base to his tip; then you took it in your mouth without a warning.

He grunted, immediately gripping the hair on top of your head, tossing his own back with aggression. His little moans were music to your ears; not once did you ever believe you'd hear them—he looked so fuckable. So desirable. He always did, which explains why he was your first-ever kiss, why you always thought back to him when you were with Soobin, why you couldn't avoid his charms even though you so desperately tried.

He moaned your name—said it with such haste as if he couldn't hold back. As if he’s wanted this for ages. He leaned into your mouth, moving his hips slightly to push himself in deeper. You let out a gag, causing him to moan once more, making you smile against his cock.

You moved back and forth on him, no hands in sight. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes as you pressed your lips at the base of his dick, watching his eyes close tight and his chest heave.

“God fuck,” he huffed, his fingers tying knots in your hair, causing tears to build up behind your eyes. You liked it—loved it—his touch was ecstasy.

Without a minute to waste, San pulled you upward and off of him, just for him to press his lips to yours, reaching backward to turn the knob on the hot water.

You giggled against his lips as he almost fell. He smiled back, teeth clashing into yours as he pressed his bare skin to yours. You both stepped into the shower, not even caring that the water wasn't warm enough yet. 

His tongue slid down your throat, caressing the roof of your mouth, exploring the uncharted territory. Water spilled over your heads, dripping down your faces, drenching your hair. His hand gripped the back of your head as he slammed you into the wall of the shower, causing you to gasp.

He pulled away for a second, his eyes heavy, his lips parted as water dripped down his beautiful face. He pressed his forehead against yours—feeling as though this scene was all he’d ever wanted; it was premeditated—not a quick decision.

He blinked away the water, smiling before enveloping you in another kiss—this time, it was less lustful and more desperate. He breathed into your soul, his hands cradling your face with all the tender care he could muster. His breaths were shaky, and his hold on you was tight, as if there was somehow, someway, you would break away from his embrace.

You bit into his lip, your hands never finding a home as they explored all the planes of his body. He grunted as you reached for his dick, his eyes glimmering at your expression. No words were needed—he gave you one last look before flipping you around, shoving your face into the fall, and sticking his dick into your entrance. His lips were nibbling at your ear, his hot breath delicately stroking your body and soul.

He didn't push past your entrance just yet—no, but his fingers did. They glided over your clit from the back, your breasts aching from being pressed against the tile. He let out a little hum of a moan into your ear as his fingers entered you, two of them. You whimpered in delight, the movements turning you on more and more. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter, his fingers curling up inside you, his shallow breaths echoing in your mind. 

You couldn't take it anymore—you needed him inside you, now.

“I need you in me,” you moaned against the tile, tilting your head slightly to see his expression. “Now, please. God, please.”

He smirked, moving you now to the far wall, your back still to him. You nearly slammed your head into the wall as he moved you.

“As you wish,” he breathed, his voice dripping with lust, with love, with unknown feelings. With a quick movement, he shoved his dick inside you, causing you to arch your back from the fill. You cried out, holding onto the wall as he gripped your hips, moving rhythmically and melodicly. You furrowed your brows in pleasure, muttering his name. “Oh, San,” you moaned, causing him to move even faster.

The water crashed onto you, making you feel even higher than ever were before. The heat of it was scolding now, but nothing beat how hot San made you feel—he was indeed a genius in the manner of lovemaking, a god, at that. You knew why, everyone knew why, but you didn't care at the moment. The only thing you cared about was his body on yours, in yours, all around you.

You were reaching your high, your vision hazy. You let out a cry, a huff, something to show that you were enjoying him, and he made a sound, too.

As you reached your climax, you arched your back even more, shoving your face against the wall, your forehead thumping against it with every thrust of his. You came on his dick then, your body fighting the urge to shake from the feeling he supplied you. 

He felt it—you knew it, as he quickened his pace, his breaths becoming more uneven as the time went on, your body tightening around him. He hissed sharply, thrusting with grace until he emptied himself into you, coating you, becoming one within you.

He collapsed into you, against the wall, his dick slipping out from you. He huffed, catching his breath as the bathroom filled with steam and sweat. You turned around in his embrace, his head falling onto your shoulder with a thud.

And then he started to laugh.

A laugh so beautiful, so….raw. You began to laugh with him, smiling as you grabbed his cheeks to lift up his head—so he could see you. 

His eyes were red, but they sparkled with so much emotion that you wondered how he was feeling. 

“So,” you smiled, watching the water from the showerhead drip over his black hair. “Happy New Year, I guess?”

He smiled—a smile that made you want to stop everything.

And then his eyes widened. “What time is it?”

You frowned. “I don't know, my phone is downstairs,” you whispered, locking eyes with him.

He paused for a moment, not knowing what to do, or at least that’s what you believed until he leaned forward and brushed his lips to yours ever so gently.

A kiss for a lover. A kiss more meaningful than sex could offer.

He pulled away, but only slightly, as his forehead rested against yours. “Happy New Year,” he kissed you again. “Just in case it is midnight. You haven't been my New Year’s kiss since years ago, you know.”

You didn't know what to say—you weren't sure where he was going with this, as you had never brought up your kiss with him before. He spoke cautiously, yet without caution at all.

“I….well,” you swallowed hard, looking up at him shyly. “You can be my….new years kiss every year, if you’d like.”

He smiled—grinned like a wild animal at your words.

“Well, if you don't mind, I’d like to kiss you more than once a year.” he grabbed you by the waist swiftly, smirking,

You giggled like you were experiencing this for the first time. In all honesty, you may be. No one has ever made you feel this way. You never wanted anything more.

With a flirty smile, you leaned forward into his embrace, the shower hissing in the background of your confessions. 

“I would love that.” you nodded, looking up into his eyes. 

He looked like a dream, his hair wet, his eyes bright. You couldn't wait to share more New Year's kisses with him, more showers, more cookies. You wanted everything and more—even if you didn't exactly know it quite just yet.

He was your everything—Your heart never belonged to you—no, it always belonged to him. And you will never forget it.

[just-aake]

Who Would Sit at Your Grave the Longest?

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Who would ever mourn the life of a trained spy and assassin?

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, violence, mention of death, scenes from Marvel movies, multiple time skips

Words: 11,010

Red Room, Unknown — 2002

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

It was a strange question, posed by one of the girls in the Red Room. The answers from the others are what one would expect – mom, dad, siblings, friends. 

People they remembered from their lives before. 

People who loved them.

With so many choices, it was difficult for some to decide who would fill that position.

Natasha, however, didn’t need any time to consider her answer.

She raises the gun in her hand and fires multiple shots at the practice target, each one hitting a fatal area. After the last bullet, she removes the empty magazine with practiced ease, reloads the gun, and aims at the target once again.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

Her grip wavers slightly at the thought, but Natasha takes a short, steadying breath before steeling herself. 

Consecutive shots ring out in the room, hitting the target with perfect precision and demonstrating why she is one of the most feared assassins in the world.

For Natasha, the answer was clear.

“No one.” 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Abandoned Building, Budapest - 2003

With a tired sigh, Natasha leans her head against the wall of the abandoned building. She lifts her hand from her side, grimacing at the sight of blood covering her palm.

With a slight wince, she presses it against the wound again and glances at the person sitting across from her. 

His head hangs limply against his chest, his own hand pressing against a wound on his stomach. If not for his shallow breathing, Natasha would have thought he was already dead.

Taking a deep breath, she nudges him with her boot. “Hey, Barton, you still with me?”

He stirs slightly at her words, becoming more alert, and chuckles softly. “I knew you had a heart, Romanoff.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his comment, turning her gaze to the distance, searching for any sign of backup from his organization. 

Clint Barton had been the first to see something different in her—something better—and had offered her a way out of her previous life. 

Now, the one person who might actually care about her existence was dying right in front of her.

A coughing fit seizes Clint at that moment, and a trickle of blood escapes his lips.

“If your people don’t arrive here soon—”

Before she could finish, the sound of an engine fills the air as a quinjet lands nearby, kicking up a whirl of dust. 

Spotting the SHIELD logo, Natasha quickly stands, grunting as she pulls Clint up and slings his arm over her shoulder, dragging him toward the plane.

“Over here!” she shouts to the disembarking crew.

The agents at the front eye her warily, cautiously raising their weapons until they recognize Barton and realize his condition. They quickly rushed to help, taking her place and carrying him onto the quinjet.

Natasha shuffles forward slowly, keeping a close eye on them to ensure they’re handling him carefully.

Suddenly, a hand brushes her side, startling her. Instinctively, she grips the wrist and yanks it away, only to find herself locking eyes with you, surprise evident on your face.

Her glare is sharp, a silent warning, but you furrow your brows and pull your hand free, undeterred by her reaction. 

“You’re injured too,” you point out, trying to examine the wound on her side.

“I’m fine,” Natasha grits out, swallowing hard against the pain. “You should be taking care of Agent Barton.” 

She tries to sidestep you, but her strength falters as the adrenaline starts to fade, and she stumbles. Bracing herself for a hard landing, she’s surprised when a pair of arms catches her before she can fall.

Leaning her head on your shoulder, Natasha takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself and shake off the wave of dizziness.

“He has enough people,” you say firmly, your voice resolute. “I can focus on taking care of you.”

With that, you adjust her gently in your arms and start guiding her toward the quinjet.

“Come on, you’re not dying today.”

You say it with such certainty and determination that Natasha can’t help but believe you.

As you walk, she glances at the side of your face, her curiosity piqued.

“How strange,” Natasha muses to herself, “to have found another person who seems to care about her existence.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Mansion, Malibu - 2010

After pretending to be impressed by Stark’s demonstration of the Iron Man armored glove and its repulsor beam, Natasha quietly slips away as Miss Potts confronts him for his reckless behavior.

At the private bar, Natasha prepares more drinks, anticipating Tony’s inevitable request for another round.

“This is quite the birthday party,” a voice comments from behind.

Natasha turns her head to find you leaning casually on the opposite side of the bar countertop, giving her a friendly smile. 

Since her initial encounter with you after joining SHIELD, Natasha hasn’t had the opportunity to work with you again, only spotting you in passing until now. 

She raises a questioning brow at you, curious about your presence and wondering how she missed you being part of the team for this mission.

“It seems you’ve gained Mr. Stark’s trust pretty well,” you remark, referring to her little performance earlier.

Returning to her task, Natasha responds as she continues to pour the drinks. 

“It’s not hard. He’s a textbook narcissist.” 

A loud clatter erupts from the other room and interrupts the conversation, prompting both of you to look at the sound in alertness.  

Tony picks himself up from where he stumbled into the DJ booth, then throws his arms up in the air with a cheer, eliciting an excited response from the crowd.

Spotting how he leans heavily on the table for support, Natasha shakes her head and continues her observations.

“His condition is worsening, though. He’ll need something to take the edge off soon.”

From the corner of her eyes, Natasha notices your expression become contemplative as you tilt your head and observe her curiously. 

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” you reply with a small shake of your head. “It’s just nice of you to worry about your new friend.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at that. 

Tony Stark is just a potential candidate for the Avenger Initiative that she’s been assigned to assess. From what she’s seen, he cares less about being her friend than she does.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Natasha asserts, turning around with the tray of finished drinks.

You smoothly pluck a glass from the tray before Natasha can stop you and sip it nonchalantly, unbothered by her glare. Still, Natasha can’t help but smirk slightly, amused by your bold action. 

Setting the empty glass down, you glance at Tony, who is still playing to the crowd.

“No harm in building genuine friendships,” you comment before nodding at the billionaire. 

“Anyway, lucky for him, Fury agrees. He wants to meet with Mr. Stark soon,” you reveal.

Natasha’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Fury sent you just to tell me that?” 

You turn your gaze back to her, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you push yourself off the counter. 

“Me coming here was more of a personal choice.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion, still puzzled by your answer.

“Why would you do that?” 

With a light chuckle, you meet her gaze, a slight smirk playing on your lips. 

“Maybe I just wanted to see the legendary Black Widow in action,” you admit, your tone teasing, before turning to walk away.

For a moment, Natasha is left stunned, her mind racing to make sense of your reasoning. But as you disappear from view, a sudden sensation tightens in her chest. She quickly sets the tray down and moves around the counter, her instincts urging her to follow you. 

Just as she takes a step forward, a deafening crash reverberates through the building. 

Whirling toward the source of the noise, Natasha’s eyes widen as she spots Tony, now clad in his Iron Man armor, locked in a fierce struggle with one of his other mech suits.

Natasha groans, rolling her eyes as she braces herself to clean up yet another one of Stark’s infamous messes. 

She wonders how you could think this man could ever be among those she’d considered a friend.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Stark Tower, New York City - 2012

With the portal closed and the battle over, Natasha and the other newly assembled Avengers gather on the top floor of the Stark Tower to complete the final task of apprehending Loki.

“Alright, get him on his feet,” Tony says, gesturing at the defeated god sprawled on the floor. His Iron Man suit begins to disengage from his body as he walks away. 

“Oh, and by the way, feel free to clean up,” he remarks to the others, waving at the destroyed room left in the aftermath of the battle. 

Natasha rolls her eyes at his words before focusing on the piece of metal in her hands. She taps Loki’s scepter gently against her palm and asks, “So, who gets the magic wand?”

Standing near the shelves filled with various bottles of alcohol, Clint retrieves two glass cups and answers, “Strike team’s coming to secure it.”

As he finishes speaking, the strike team steps out of the elevator, carrying a large case. 

“We can take that,” an agent offers, heading towards her.

“By all means,” Natasha replies, handing it to them and walking toward Clint. Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices one of the agents examining the staff’s point with their hand. 

“Careful with that thing,” she warns.

Clint nods in agreement as he hands her a glass, “Unless you want your mind erased, and not the fun way.”

As they both turn around toward the bar, the cups are taken from their hands.

“And I’ll take these,” you declare, placing them on the counter. 

“Medical team is also here,” you announce with a smirk, placing your hands on your hips. “Which means the agent with blood dripping from their head should have a seat.”

Natasha and Clint exchange glances to see who you’re referring to.

“Looks like you’re going first,” Clint declares happily, patting Natasha on her shoulder and stepping around you–not before sneakily taking back his cup. 

When Natasha doesn’t move, you cross your arms and tilt your head at her with a raised brow. 

“Well, are you going to sit, or do I need to wait until you fall on me again?”

Natasha huffs in amusement at the reminder before taking a seat on the barstool, giving you space to come closer. 

Stepping forward, you place yourself between her legs and gently brush back her hair as you examine her forehead. 

“Doesn’t look like you’ll need stitches, so that’s good,” you comment.

Natasha clicks her tongue in mock disappointment. 

“No scar? That’s a shame.”

Your lips twitch upward slightly at her words, and Natasha grins proudly, knowing she almost made you smile. 

As you clean her wound, your hands move delicately across her skin, treating her with the utmost care.

Noticing your closeness, Natasha takes a moment to observe you, intrigued at how comfortable you are around her. She was so absorbed in watching you that she almost missed your next words. 

“You all make a good team.”

At the mention of the others, Natasha glances over at them across the room, talking and jostling each other in a friendly fashion. 

It’s admittedly an odd bunch that Fury managed to assemble: a demi-god, a super soldier, a billionaire tech genius, a scientist with an angry alter ego, and a couple of master assassins.

“Not what I imagined, but surprisingly, it turned out okay,” Natasha admits. 

After finishing the bandages, your hand drifts from her hair to gently cup her face, lifting it to meet your eyes. 

“You came together, trusted each other, and had each other’s backs—all within just a few days,” you say, your voice steady with conviction. “That’s more than just okay.”

You give her a soft smile, tilting your head lightly. 

“It’s actually pretty incredible…and so are you.”

Natasha’s eyes widen at your words, leaving her speechless.

A familiar warmth stirs in her chest, similar to the sensation she felt the last time she met you—a subtle yet undeniable pull towards you. 

The intensity of your gaze draws her in, making her feel connected to you in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Her fingers fidget in her lap as she considers bridging the small gap between you. She raises her hand hesitantly, about to reach out—

“Romanoff!” Tony calls, causing Natasha to withdraw her hand and turn her head, inadvertently making your hand fall from her face, much to her disappointment.

He and the others are gathered by the elevator, looking in her direction. Tony waves his hand in a hurried gesture.

“Hurry it up with the doctor-patient roleplay! The shawarma’s going to get cold.”

Natasha glares at him for the interruption before returning her attention to you. 

“Shawarma?” you ask with a questioning tilt of your head.

She shakes her head exasperatedly. 

“I don’t know. Tony wants to try it.”

You hum in understanding and take a step back. 

“Well, that bandage should be fine for now, but you’ll need a more thorough check-up when you return.”

Natasha leans forward slightly, a small smirk playing on her lips as she teases, “By you?”

You meet her smirk with an amused smile. “We’ll see.”

Accepting that she won’t get a definitive answer, Natasha nods and stands. As she’s about to pass by you, a thought crosses her mind, and she pauses beside you.

“What about you?” she asks.

You look up from where you’re packing your things. “What about me?”

Natasha huffs lightly at your evasiveness, ready to respond, but she hesitates. Her usual confidence falters, and uncertainty flickers in her eyes for a brief moment as they meet yours. 

After everything she’s been through, Natasha is still unsure whether she deserves to feel this way about someone—to want to not feel alone.

Noticing her hesitation, your expression softens, and you offer an understanding smile. With a gentle push on her back, you urge her forward.

“Go, you deserve to celebrate this win with your team,” you say, your voice calm and encouraging.

Before Natasha can reply, Tony calls out again. 

“The elevator’s going to leave without you, Romanoff,” he warns. 

You give her an encouraging nod, and with a light sigh, she makes her way to the elevator, where the others are already waiting inside.

Tony leans casually against the elevator doors, arms crossed and a teasing grin on his face. 

Before he can make a comment, Natasha gives him a shove, pushing him inside, and quickly presses the button. As the doors close, she catches one last glimpse of your little wave at her before you disappear from view.

Reflecting on your words, Natasha glances around at the people beside her. Surrounded by her new teammates, she begins to realize that maybe, she’s not so alone anymore, after all.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

National Mall, Washington, D.C. – 2014

Natasha lets go of the back of Steve’s neck, breaking the kiss, and turns around casually on the escalator. With their fake display of affection, Rumlow and the other SHIELD agents do not spare them a glance as they search the mall.

She steps off the escalator smoothly and glances slightly over her shoulder at the super soldier. 

“You still uncomfortable?”

Steve clears his throat lightly, trying to regain his composure. 

“It’s not exactly the word I would use.”

The two walk calmly until they reach the path leading to the underground parking garage. As they pass through the doors, Natasha notices Steve’s awkward silence and decides to tease him a little.

“Don’t tell me you’re still flustered from that kiss, Rogers?”

Steve sighs at her teasing, “No, I just wasn’t expecting–”

As they round a corner, Natasha and Steve abruptly come to a stop, finding themselves face-to-face with a SHIELD agent.

He eyes them suspiciously, his hand moving toward his walkie-talkie. 

Reacting swiftly, Steve tackles him before he can alert the others, and the two engage in a fierce fistfight.

Natasha steps forward to assist, but before she can reach them, someone grabs her from behind and throws her against a concrete column. She groans in surprise as pain radiates from the impact. 

Before she can recover, a body pins her against the wall, an arm pressing against her collarbone.

Natasha’s hands instinctively push against the pressure as she focuses on her attacker. Her eyes widen in surprise at who she sees.

“Since when are you a part of the strike team?” she grunts out.

You frown slightly and nod toward Steve. 

“Since Captain America took down most of their men, and they had to pull others from different teams,” you explain before giving her a questioning look. “You do know he’s wanted by SHIELD, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha grits out, raising her knee sharply, catching you off guard. 

The sudden pain in your side forces you to loosen your grip just enough for her to slip out. With a swift motion, Natasha twists her body, reversing your positions, and slams you against the wall, pinning you there.

“Do you know why SHIELD wants you to hunt him?” Natasha challenges.

Despite being pinned, your expression remains calm as you raise a brow at her.

“What happened to the Black Widow who followed every order—no questions asked?”

Natasha pauses, thinking about the anger and sense of loss she felt after Fury’s sudden death—one of the few who had become an important figure in her life. He was betrayed, and she was determined to find out who was behind it, even if it meant going against orders.

“I’m trying something new,” Natasha answers. 

To her surprise, a smile spreads across your face, and you remark proudly, “Good.”

It’s then Natasha notices you aren’t even trying to break free from your pinned position. Your hands hang limply at your sides, offering no resistance. 

Slowly, Natasha lowers her arm from your chest and takes a small step back, allowing you to lean against the wall on your own.

You make no move to attack her.

Before Natasha can question your intentions, the walkie-talkie at your side crackles to life with incoming communication.

“Anything in the lower levels?” Rumlow’s voice asks.

Your eyes drift down to the device at the request for an answer. As your hand reaches for the walkie-talkie, Steve, having just dealt with the other agent, rushes toward you. 

But Natasha quickly stops him, holding out her to block his path. She watches you calmly as you raise the walkie to your mouth, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time.

“Negative in the parking garage,” you respond.

Rumlow’s frustrated growl sounds through the speaker. “Expand the search area and sweep the floors again.”

“Understood.”

With that, you casually toss the walkie aside and raise your hands in surrender. When Natasha and Steve remain still, you give them a pointed look.

“Shouldn’t the two of you be looking for a way to escape?” you suggest, your tone laced with a hint of urgency.

Understanding your intentions, Steve gives you an appreciative nod and gently touches Natasha’s arm. 

“I’ll go find us a ride,” he says.

“Okay,” Natasha replies with a nod, watching as Steve heads off in search of a vehicle.

When she turns back to you, she notices a slight frown on your face as your arms cross over your chest.

“You two seem closer,” you observe.

Natasha chuckles softly, catching the hint of displeasure in your tone. 

“Aren’t you the one who told me to make friends?”

You huff in response, giving her a tiny glare before walking past her.

As you examine the unconscious agent on the ground, a thoughtful hum escapes you, clearly contemplating your next move.

Sensing your dilemma, Natasha steps beside you and offers, “You could always come with us.”

You shake your head and turn to her with a slight smirk. 

“Three’s a crowd,” you reply before taking a step closer, tilting your head curiously. “Did you really kiss him?”

Realizing you must have overheard her earlier comment, Natasha starts to explain.

“It was just a cover.”

She watches you carefully as you take another step closer, leaving only a small gap between your bodies. Feeling slightly distracted, Natasha swallows lightly and continues, unsure why she feels the need to explain herself further.

“Public displays of affection make people very…”

Natasha’s words trail off as you place your hands on her waist and lean in slightly with a tilt of your head.

“…uncomfortable,” she finishes softly, her eyes falling to your lips, which curve up slightly at her attention.

Her pulse quickens, and for a moment, the world around the two of you fades, leaving only the charged tension in the air between you. 

That familiar, tempting feeling stirs within her again.

She lifts her eyes to meet yours, noticing the amusement dancing in your gaze.

“Are you uncomfortable?” you whisper, the words softly caressing her lips.

Natasha finds herself leaning forward as she responds with a breathless sigh, “No.” 

Just as the space between you is about to disappear, you abruptly pull back, removing your hands from her hips and stepping away. 

“Good to know,” you say with a playful grin. You raise your hand to reveal a tiny taser disk between your fingers. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

Still stunned by your sudden move, Natasha remains frozen, too shocked to react to the revelation of the item you swiped from her.

You chuckle at her silence, tilting your head playfully. 

“Catch me?” you request before activating the device and delivering an electric shock to yourself.

Recovering quickly, Natasha catches you as you slump forward, wrapping her arms around you and gently lowering you to the ground.

With a small huff of disbelief, Natasha cups your unconscious face, caressing your cheek with a fond touch.

You always know how to leave her speechless.

A truck pulls up beside her, and Steve leans out from the driver’s seat. “Ready to go?”

Natasha takes a moment to make sure you’re positioned comfortably before nodding and hopping into the passenger seat.

As they drive toward New Jersey, the silence eventually gives way to their earlier conversation.

“Really? Nobody special, though?” Natasha asks, glancing over at Steve.

Steve sighs, a touch of exasperation in his voice. 

“Believe it or not, it’s kind of hard to find someone with shared life experiences,” he replies, then gestures toward her. “And what about you? You keep urging me to go on dates, but it doesn’t seem like you’re taking any steps in your love life either.”

He nudges her arm encouragingly, adding, “That agent earlier seemed interested.”

Natasha smirks at his observation, her gaze drifting to the window as the trees blur past. After a pause, she answers, her voice thoughtful.

“I don’t know. People usually want something real,” she says, her eyes distant, as if she’s seeing something far beyond the road. She turns to Steve with a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Nothing about me is.”

Steve remains silent for a moment, processing her words.

“You know, you’ll never find out if someone can accept you until you let them see the real you,” he says gently, his tone firm yet understanding.

“Yeah…” Natasha whispers, almost to herself. 

Her thoughts wander to her secretive past, the parts of herself hidden from the world. If you knew who she really was, would you still trust her? Or would you leave her, like so many others had? 

Her entire life, people wanted her to be something for them—a killer, a spy, a tool. Everyone had their own agenda.

She turns back to Steve, a curious glint in her eyes. “Who do you want me to be?”

Steve meets her gaze, sincerity in his expression. “How about a friend?” he suggests, his words simple yet filled with meaning.

Natasha laughs, starting with disbelief but gradually softening into something more genuine.

Shaking her head, she imagines what her past self would think of her now—a person trying to be more open to others.

“Maybe I could manage that,” she decides, her tone lighter than ever before.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avengers Tower, New York City – 2015

Laughter fills the common room of the Avengers Tower as everyone takes turns trying to lift Thor’s hammer. With one last grunt, Steve lets go and shakes his head in defeat, returning to his seat with a chuckle.

“Alright, be honest, it’s rigged,” Tony remarks to Thor. “The handle is imprinted. The one who is worthy is the one with Thor’s fingerprints, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Clint agrees with a laugh, clinking his bottle with Natasha’s. He sits on the floor, leaning against her seat, and takes another sip.

Natasha chuckles lightly and brings her bottle up for a drink, only to pull it away and see it’s empty. She looks at it in confusion, wondering when she had finished it.

A hand takes the empty bottle from her, and Natasha turns to see you sitting on the arm of her chair, giving her an amused smile.

“You finished it two attempts ago,” you reveal.

“Were you watching me the entire time?” Natasha asks with a playful smirk.

You return her expression with a slight smirk of your own and lean in closer, your hand sliding against the back of her chair.

“Well, it’s hard to pay attention to anyone else when you’re around,” you reply.

Before Natasha can respond, Tony claps his hands together, exclaiming, “Alright, who’s next? Romanoff? Hill?”

Maria shakes her head as she stands and heads to the bar. “I’m going to have to pass.”

Chuckling lightly, you stand also and give Natasha an encouraging touch on her shoulder.

“You have fun. I’m going to get us another round.” 

Natasha’s eyes follow you the entire time as you walk away. When she finally turns back around, she notices Steve giving her a pointed look. 

“What?” she questions, arching a brow.

“Come on, you and her. It’s obvious there’s something between you two,” Steve insists.

“Don’t bother, Cap. She’s not going to be convinced. I’ve tried,” Clint chimes in, earning a tiny kick from Natasha in reprimand.

“Ow, see what I mean.”

Natasha rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“We flirt,” she defends with a shrug. “It’s what we’ve always done. Just some innocent fun.” 

Tony, overhearing the exchange, joins the conversation with a nod toward something behind her.

“Yeah, well, it’s not looking so innocent over there,” he remarks.

Natasha furrows her brows and turns to look at the bar. Her frown deepens at what she sees.

You and Maria are talking and laughing together, with the latter leaning a bit too close for Natasha’s comfort.

“Hey, take it from someone who knows. You don’t want to wait before it’s too late,” Steve advises.

Natasha considers his words as she watches the two of you, contemplating what she should do. 

You and she have grown and maintained this comfortable dynamic for years. Of course, there’s an undeniable attraction, but Natasha isn’t sure if taking things further would be worth the risk of losing what she already has with you.

However, when Maria leans forward to whisper something in your ear, Natasha suddenly finds herself rising from her chair and heading toward the bar.

Just as you duck down to grab something from the bottom shelves, Maria takes the opportunity to slip away, passing by Natasha with a pat on the shoulder and a whispered, “Good luck.”

Frowning in confusion, Natasha glances back to see Maria and Clint exchanging a high-five. Realizing she’s been set up, Natasha turns to retreat to her seat before you notice her.

But it’s too late.

“Oh, hey, I’m almost finished with the drinks,” you call out, straightening with a grin as you spot her.

With her escape route cut off, Natasha decides to sit at the counter, her earlier irritation melting away when she meets your gaze.

“You sure you’re not getting distracted over here?” Natasha teases, her tone playful.

You laugh lightly as you secure the top of the shaker, shaking it with practiced ease, your eyes never leaving hers.

“Only if you’re the distraction,” you tease back.

Natasha relaxes at the warmth of the familiar banter, putting her at ease as she watches you finish preparing the drinks and pour them into two glasses.

You slide one across the counter to her and nod curiously toward the gathered group.

“You didn’t want to try to lift the hammer?” you ask with a curious tilt of your head.

“Oh, no,” Natasha replies, shaking her head slightly as she raises her glass to her lips. “No, that’s not a question that I need answered.”

“Really?” you respond, leaning forward on the counter, bringing yourself closer to her. Your hand inches toward hers, brushing her fingers lightly and letting the touch linger. 

With a slight smirk, you raise a brow. “Then what is?”

That familiar feeling stirs in Natasha’s chest again as she holds your gaze—the temptation to close the distance between you two growing stronger.

Recalling Steve’s advice, Natasha swallows nervously and answers in a soft whisper, “Something probably only you can help me with.”

Intrigued, you gesture for her to continue, your attention entirely on her.

“There’s this thing—this feeling,” Natasha begins cautiously. “It appears during certain situations, like a pressure in my chest.” 

You furrow your brows in concern. “Does it hurt?”

Natasha chuckles lightly, her gaze dropping to the drink you made for her, swirling it gently. The small ripples are nothing compared to the pounding of her heart at that moment.

“Sometimes,” she admits, her eyes drifting to your hand beside hers. She’s tempted to intertwine them but ultimately decides against it.

“It feels like I’m standing on the edge,” Natasha explains, meeting your eyes again. “I know what’s waiting for me if I turn and walk away, but if I choose to fall…”

She releases a shaky breath. 

“…I don’t know what that future looks like, and that terrifies me.”

Your expression softens with understanding. You reach out, this time more deliberately, and your fingers find hers with gentle assurance.

Natasha clears her throat lightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she tries to mask the vulnerability of her confession.

“So what should I do?” she asks, her tone teasing, an attempt to deflect the seriousness of the moment.

You chuckle softly, recognizing her attempt to lighten the mood.

“I think—”

The sound of scratching metal against the floor interrupts the conversation as Natasha and everyone in the room turn to look at the dilapidated robot that has just dragged itself in front of them.

The moments after that are chaotic as she and the Avengers have to deal with Ultron’s threat to the world.

New Avengers Facility, Upstate New York

With Ultron defeated and most of the original members either retired or off on their own adventures, Natasha watches bittersweetly as Steve welcomes the new recruits to the Avengers. 

Footsteps approach and stop beside her, and Natasha doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

“The new team looks good,” you comment, your eyes scanning the mix of familiar and new faces before glancing at Natasha’s expression.

“Do you miss them?” you ask softly, understanding the emotions behind her eyes.

Natasha sighs, her gaze still fixed on the newcomers.

“Nothing lasts forever,” she replies, a touch of sadness in her voice but not surprised. She’s accustomed to things not staying a part of her life.

You hum thoughtfully, considering her words before declaring with quiet conviction, “Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me.”

Natasha turns to look at you with a curious tilt of her head.

You offer her a small, reassuring smile. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, your words laced with promise.

A soft smile spreads across Natasha’s face at your assurance, feeling the familiar warmth blossoming in her chest.

“You never answered my question,” she reminds you, referring to the conversation that was interrupted earlier.

Natasha waits, her nerves on edge as you consider your response. Finally, you meet her gaze with a soft expression, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“You should do whatever feels right for you,” you say sincerely, giving her arm a comforting squeeze before turning to leave.

Natasha looks down, a slight shake of her head and a light huff of amusement escaping her as she recognizes your deflection.

“But if you want my opinion…” you add, pausing at the doorway, prompting Natasha to look back up at you.

Lingering at the threshold, you offer her a playful smirk. “… I’d say, based on my track record, I’ve caught you when you’ve fallen before.” You shrug lightly. “And it seems like everything has turned out fine since then.”

Your smile widens as you notice Natasha rendered speechless once again before you turn to leave the room.

Recovering quickly, Natasha strides after you with determination. She catches up to you this time, gently taking your hand and turning you around to face her.

Cupping your cheek, she leans in and kisses you, pouring all her emotions into the gesture.

Before she can even worry that she might have made a mistake, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving fervently against hers.

The world around Natasha fades away, leaving only the two of you in that moment, and she knows she made the right decision.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Leipzig-Halle Airport, Leipzig – 2016

Natasha looks across the airport at the people she had come to call friends and then back at those standing beside her. As the two sides rush at each other and engage in battle, she can’t help but wonder how it came to this—how they all decided that fighting each other was the only option left. 

She’s not even sure if signing the accords was the right choice, but the one thing she does know is that staying together is supposed to be the most important thing. 

Just because they’re fighting now doesn’t mean Natasha cares any less about them. The thought lingers as the chaos of battle surrounds her. 

Clint flips her to the ground, and she reacts instinctively, bringing up her batons to block his bow from pinning her down. The two lock eyes, a familiar intensity passing between them.

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks, her voice steady despite the conflict around them.

Clint smirks, the kind of smile that reassures her, even in the midst of battle. 

“Depends on how hard you hit me.”

Natasha grins back, then uses her legs to flip him off of her. She springs to her feet, ready to deliver a follow-up kick, when a sudden wave of red energy wraps around her leg, freezing her in place. 

Startled, she glances to the side, catching only a brief glimpse of Wanda before she’s hurled through the air. 

Natasha braces herself for the inevitable impact, but instead of hitting the metal wall of an airport car, she collides with a body in mid-air. 

A pair of arms wrap around her, cushioning the fall as they both tumble to the ground. They roll to a stop, with Natasha ending up on top. 

Dazed but unharmed, she pushes herself up, her breath coming in short gasps as she looks down to see who caught her.

“Hey,” Natasha greets softly, a small smile forming on her lips as she cups your face with her hands. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t return her smile, instead frowning at her with concern. 

“The Avengers are fighting each other, and you didn’t think to call me?” 

Natasha’s smile falters, and she shifts her gaze away, her voice soft with guilt. 

“I didn’t want you to have to choose a side.”

You release a knowing sigh. 

“You mean, you were afraid I wouldn’t agree with your choice,” you correct gently.

Natasha twists her lips at the truth in your words. 

Yes, she’s afraid. Her makeshift family is breaking apart before her eyes, and she’s desperate to protect the one other part of her life that matters. 

Why wouldn’t she try to shield you from this chaos?

Your hand covers hers, still resting on your cheek, drawing her attention back to you.

“I’ve told you, Nat. Do whatever it is you feel is right for you. I’ll support you no matter what.”

Natasha’s eyes soften, a wave of relief washing over her. She starts to lean in, but you stop her with a gentle press of your finger against her lips.

“However,” you add, your voice firm and disapproving, “not calling me and having me find out from Stark? That’s a different kind of trouble you’re in.” 

Natasha chuckles, taking your hand from her face and pressing a gentle kiss against your palm, a hint of playfulness entering her voice.

“Well, you still love me though, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to maintain your stern expression, though it softens slightly.

“I don��t know. Ask me again after this,” you tease back at her. 

Before Natasha can respond, Tony’s voice crackles through the comms, interrupting the moment. 

“Uh, less flirting, you two. In case you forgot, there are multiple fights happening around you.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, but the smile remains on her face as she helps you up, ready to rejoin the fray.

Leipzig Hospital Balcony

“You let them go, Nat,” Tony accuses, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Natasha doesn’t deny it. In the end, she chose to help Steve and Bucky because it was the right thing to do. If the fighting didn’t stop, it would only cause more pain for everyone involved.

“We played this wrong,” Natasha admits, her voice tinged with regret.

“We?” Tony scoffs, shaking his head in frustration. “You know, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Natasha flinches inwardly, the hurt flickering across her face before she quickly masks it. 

His comment cuts deeper than she expected, reminding her of the ghosts of her past, the shadows she’s fought so hard to leave behind after all these years. 

But here, at this moment, those shadows seem to close in on her, dark and suffocating, reminding her of the person she used to be.

Her voice hardens, a cold edge creeping into her tone. “Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?” 

Tony’s expression remains stony, but there’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe, or disappointment. He doesn’t back down, though. 

“T’Challa told Ross what you did, so…they’re coming for you.” 

Natasha meets his gaze, her eyes steely, refusing to show any sign of fear. 

“I’m not the one that needs to watch their back,” she replies before turning to leave.

As she walks away, the weight of the confrontation settles in her chest, heavy and suffocating. 

She finds an empty hallway and leans against the wall, pressing her hands to her eyes, trying to push back the frustration and the sting of Tony’s words. Her breath comes in uneven gasps as she struggles to regain her composure.

A gentle hand touches her wrist, a gesture of comfort, but in her raw state, she instinctively swats it away. 

When she looks up, your expression is sad as your hands retreat to your sides. You clear your throat awkwardly, searching for the right words. 

“I can talk with Ross. Maybe change his mind or something.”

Natasha breaks away from your soft gaze, looking down and biting her lip to stop herself from saying the cutting remark on the tip of her tongue—that it would not make a difference, not with her past. 

She’s all too aware of the person she was, and no words could erase that history.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you try to reassure her. 

Despite the same certainty and determination in your tone, Natasha can’t seem to find it in her to believe that to be true this time.

Glancing up, Natasha’s eyes fall on the bruises and scratches on your face, injuries you sustained because of her—because you chose to stand by her side. 

The sight only deepens the ache in her chest.

“Don’t,” Natasha mutters, her voice trembling. “Just leave.”

“Nat…” you begin, your voice soft, filled with concern.

But she closes her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if to block out the sound. “I said go! Leave me alone!” 

The harshness in her tone is laced with pain, and it cuts through the air like a knife. 

For a moment, there’s silence, thick and heavy, before you turn and walk away, leaving Natasha alone with her thoughts. 

The hallway echoes with the sound of your retreating footsteps.

Natasha sinks down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, feeling the weight of her actions pressing down on her like never before.

She thought she could finally have a different life, that she could change, but nothing has changed. She still hurts the people around her.

So, Natasha does what she does best. She disappears.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Seventh Circle Prison, Russia – 2016

The whirl of the helicopter blades fills the air as Natasha flies away from the prison, the tension inside the cabin palpable among its three occupants.

“It means so much to me that you girls came back for me,” Alexei begins, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Natasha, however, isn’t in the mood for such sentimentality. Her voice is sharp as she cuts him off, “No. No, you’re gonna tell us how to get to the Red Room.”

Alexei huffs, slightly taken aback by her tone.

“Whoa, look at you, huh? All business.”

“Trust me, this isn’t pleasure,” Natasha retorts, her eyes narrowing in irritation. She was not prepared to deal with her old family after just losing her new one. But the quicker she destroys the Red Room and saves the remaining Widows, the faster she can leave this part of her past behind.

Behind her, Alexei chuckles, though there’s a trace of bitterness in his laughter.

“Little Natasha, all indoctrinated into the Western agenda.”

Natasha’s gaze hardens as she turns to glare at him. 

“I chose to go west to become an Avenger. At least they treated me like family.”

“Really? Family?” Alexei’s tone drips with sarcasm. “Well, where are they now?”

From the corner of her eye, Natasha catches Yelena looking at her. A mix of emotions crosses Yelena’s face—curiosity, concern, and a brief flash of sadness—before she turns away, staring forward.

“Where is that family now?” Alexei repeats, his voice louder, more insistent.

Unable to face the question any longer, Natasha turns away, focusing on the landscape outside instead.

The ache of loss resurfaces within her, a painful reminder of the bonds she once believed were unbreakable, now torn apart so easily.

As the helicopter continues to slice through the air, the silence between them grows heavier, especially after Natasha discovers that Melina is still working for Dreykov, remotely operating somewhere outside of Saint Petersburg.

With Yelena now at the controls of the helicopter, Natasha takes a moment for herself. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small flip phone—the only possession she hadn’t discarded when she went on the run.

Opening it, she stares at the screen, at the message she’s been fixated on for weeks.

“I love you” 

It was the last thing you sent her after she had disappeared. 

Natasha swallows nervously before attempting once more to type a response. Her fingers move over the keys, spelling out the same words that appeared on the screen countless times before.

I’m sorry|

But once again, nothing else follows. Frustration wells up inside her as her fingers hesitate, struggling to find the right words.

Instead of clarity, a heavy weight presses down on her—guilt from your last moment together, regret over her actions, and fear of what the future holds for the two of you.

Before she can dwell on it further, the helicopter suddenly lurches, jostling everyone inside.

“Yelena?!” Natasha calls out, her voice filled with alarm.

The blonde-haired Widow nods calmly, her tone casual despite the situation. 

“Uh, yeah, the plane’s going down.” She flips a few switches, nodding in confirmation. “Told you we didn’t have enough fuel to get there.”

Groaning in frustration, Natasha quickly tucks the phone away, securing herself as she declares, “Everyone, brace yourselves.”

After a rough landing and leaving the wrecked helicopter behind, they finally arrive at Melina’s home.

The four of them sit awkwardly around the table, a scene eerily reminiscent of how it was many years ago.

Breaking the silence, Alexei exclaims joyfully, “Family! Back together again!”

Natasha rolls her eyes, dismissing his enthusiasm as she tries to stay focused on the mission.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen—”

“Natasha, don’t slouch,” Melina interrupts, her voice carrying a motherly tone.

Blinking in surprise, Natasha straightens slightly, though she couldn’t help but argue, “I’m not slouching.”

“Yes, yes you are,” Melina insists, her tone firm.

“I don’t slouch,” Natasha retorts, irritation creeping into her voice. 

“You’re going to get a back hunch,” Melina continues, unfazed by Natasha’s resistance.

Alexei nods in agreement, tapping her arm. “Listen to your mother.” 

“All right, enough! All of you,” Natasha snaps, trying to regain control of the situation and her emotions. Her voice is tinged with disbelief at their sudden concern—as if they hadn’t abandoned her and Yelena to the Red Room once their mission was over.

“I didn’t say anything. That’s not fair,” Yelena quips, her tone laced with dry humor.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha tries again, “Here’s what’s going to happen—”

“I don’t want any food,” Yelena complains as Melina places a spoonful onto her plate.

“Eat a little something, Yelena, for God’s sake,” Melina urges, her voice slipping back into the role of a concerned mother.

The constant interruptions and forced familial interactions finally push Natasha over the edge, and her frustration boils over.

“Enough! Stop, just stop pretending to care. Our family was never real,” Natasha snaps, her voice rising. “Nothing about us is real!”

Yelena’s breath catches in her throat at Natasha’s declaration.

“Don’t say that.” Yelena’s frown deepens as she continues, “Please don’t say that. It was real. It was real to me.” 

Natasha falters at Yelena’s response, regret immediately washing over her. She hadn’t meant to hurt her sister, but with everything that’s happened in the past weeks, she could no longer control her anger and frustration.

Swallowing hard, Natasha stays silent, her hands clenching in her lap to keep from reaching out to comfort Yelena.

Yelena shakes her head in disbelief, hastily wiping away a stray tear. “The best part of my life was fake,” she exhales deeply, her voice trembling with emotion, “and none of you told me.”

She turns to Natasha, her voice filled with hurt and heavy with accusation. “And you…you got out. Dreykov made sure no one could escape after that. Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Natasha holds Yelena’s gaze for a long, tense moment, the silence between them charged with unspoken pain. Finally, Natasha flinches away, guilt preventing her from finding the right words.

Melina reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Yelena’s shoulder. But Yelena quickly brushes it off, standing abruptly and turning to leave.

“Yelena…” Natasha calls after her, her voice heavy with regret.

Yelena ignores her, slamming the door behind her as she storms out.

“Uh…I’ll go talk to her,” Alexei offers, standing up to follow.

Natasha’s gaze falls, her eyes glaring at the table as the weight of guilt presses down on her chest, almost suffocating her. She suddenly stands, pushing her chair back with a harsh scrape, and quickly leaves the table, heading for the bathroom.

Once inside, she splashes cold water on her face, hoping to wash away the turmoil churning inside her.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, frustration is etched into every line of her face.

Why does it seem like the only thing she’s capable of is hurting those around her?

Natasha can’t even remember what made her believe that someone like her could have a different life—that she could change and be more than what she was trained to be.

Sighing deeply, Natasha leaves the bathroom and returns to the table, only to find that Melina has gone as well.

Unsurprised, Natasha finds herself alone once again. She closes her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. As she does, she recalls how she used to cope with the pain of loneliness, slowly beginning to rebuild the walls around her heart.

But then, a small commotion outside catches her attention.

Moving cautiously, Natasha heads toward the front of the house to investigate. As she reaches the door, she freezes, hearing a familiar voice that stops her in her tracks.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just looking for someone.”

Natasha’s brow furrows in recognition, but she quickly shakes her head, dismissing the thought. It can’t be possible.

“The next town is five miles that way,” Melina’s voice responds, cold and unwelcoming.

Curiosity gets the better of her, and Natasha peeks out the door, stepping outside cautiously. Her eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours.

“Nat…” you say softly, taking a hesitant step closer. But before you can move further, Melina raises the gun in her hand, her eyes filled with a clear warning.

“Wait,” Natasha calls out, rushing forward. She places her hand on Melina’s, gently but firmly lowering the weapon. “She’s not a threat.” 

“Well, that’s a little offensive,” you remark with a slight glare, crossing your arms. 

Natasha gives you a look, silently conveying that she didn’t mean it that way, then turns back to Melina.

“Could you give us a moment?” Natasha asks. 

Melina hesitates briefly, her protective gaze lingering on Natasha, but eventually nods. With a wary glance in your direction, she retreats back into the house.

Once alone, Natasha turns to you, her expression conflicted with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“How did you find me?” 

“I got worried after the message you sent me,” you explain, pulling out your phone and showing her the screen.

On it is a jumbled message: “I’m sorrywjhsgf”

Natasha grimaces, realizing her fingers must have accidentally pressed some buttons during the helicopter’s turbulent descent. She mentally kicks herself for the unintended message.

“I didn’t mean to send that.”

At her words, your face falls as understanding dawns on you, the light in your eyes dimming. 

“Oh,” you mutter quietly, glancing down as you fidget with your phone before tucking it away. You shuffle in place unsurely before turning away with a shake of your head. 

“I should just go,” you say, disappointment clear in your voice. 

Realizing the misunderstanding she’s caused, Natasha quickly reaches out, catching your arm and turning you back to face her, her words spilling out in a rush.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant,” Natasha blurts out, her voice urgent as she steps closer. “I wanted to say more than just sorry,” she clarifies, hoping you’ll understand.

You pause, your gaze lingering where her hand rests on your arm. Slowly, you pull away, and her hand drops back to her side.

At your distancing action, Natasha’s heart pounds painfully in her chest as she realizes how much she’s risked by not reaching out sooner and letting her fears and insecurities get in the way of what truly matters.

She braces herself for the inevitable. 

But instead of leaving, you surprise her by simply crossing your arms and waiting, a silent gesture that tells her you’re willing to listen.

Natasha exhales, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. The familiar way you look at her, unchanged from before, causes the walls she’d been building to crumble.

Taking a deep breath, she begins to speak.

“You have every right to be angry with me,” she says, her voice tinged with guilt. Natasha hesitates, searching for the right words to express the turmoil inside her, still struggling to find herself amidst all the chaos.

“There’s so much more I need to say,” she continues, her voice softening, almost pleading. “But the problem is that I haven’t figured it all out yet. What I do know, though—” she pauses, her eyes locking onto yours, searching for any hint of hope, “—is that I don’t want you to leave.”

When she finishes, your expression remains unreadable.

Natasha bites her lip, anxiety twisting in her stomach as she watches you contemplate her words. Being this vulnerable is unfamiliar territory for her, and it terrifies her more than she’s willing to admit. 

“Please don’t go,” she whispers, a final, desperate plea, hoping it’s enough to convey the depth of her true feelings.

You look up at the sky, exhaling softly as if weighing your options.

When your gaze finally meets hers again, a small, playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You gesture toward the house, the tension easing as a lighter tone returns to your voice.

“New friends?” you ask, the warmth in your tone bringing a small smile to Natasha’s face.

Natasha chuckles lightly, the pressure in her chest easing at your familiar banter.

“More like an old, broken family.”

You hum thoughtfully, your teasing grin softening into a more sympathetic expression.

“So, not much different,” you remark, referencing the fractured state of the Avengers.

Natasha sighs sadly, her smile fading at the reminder of her situation.

“What should I do?” she asks, her voice tinged with the uncertainty she’s been trying so hard to conceal. 

It feels as though no matter what she does, nothing ever changes. She pretends to have all the answers, but deep down, she knows the truth is far from that.

“Whatever you feel is right,” you respond without hesitation, your confidence in her unwavering.

Natasha scoffs softly, a flicker of disbelief crossing her features as she hesitates. Her eyes meet yours, searching for reassurance.

“And what makes you so sure I’ll make the right choice?” she asks, her voice revealing the doubt that lingers deep within her.

You take a moment to consider your response before stepping closer, gently cupping her face in your hands.

“Because after everything you’ve been through, you’ve still kept your heart,” you say with quiet conviction, your thumb gently brushing her cheek as you lean your forehead against hers.

“That’s how I know you’ll figure this out, too,” you add, your voice filled with certainty.

Your words settle over Natasha, bringing a sense of calm to her chaotic thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she feels a glimmer of hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, she can find her way through this mess and everything else, too.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Avenger Compound, Upstate New York – 2018

Natasha sits on the edge of the bed in her old room at the Avengers Compound, watching you as you methodically strap on your gear and check your weapons.

The room is dimly lit, shadows playing along the walls, and the tension from the past few hours hangs heavily in the air.

Her leg bounces with nervous energy, worry gnawing at her. She presses her palms together, fidgeting with her fingers, before dropping her gaze to the floor and releasing a soft, scared sigh.

But the fear isn’t for herself. 

“You can still go, you know,” Natasha mutters softly, her voice barely breaking the silence. 

You hum in acknowledgment, not pausing in your preparation, the sound of buckles and straps filling the room. 

“Do you want me to?” you ask over your shoulder, your tone casual, almost too casual for the weight of the question.

Natasha huffs, recognizing your familiar deflection, and shakes her head. 

With Bruce’s dire warning about the impending battle with Thanos and his army still echoing in her mind, she can’t help the fear that tightens her chest as she looks at the person who has chosen to stand by her side, time and time again. 

“I want you safe,” Natasha admits, her voice trembling with the honesty of her words. 

“Good, I feel the same about you,” you reply, turning to face her, your expression softening as you take in the sight of her.

“I’m serious. This isn’t like anything we’ve faced before,” Natasha warns, her eyes pleading with yours to understand. 

“Which means you’ll need all the help you can get,” you say, stepping closer until you’re standing right in front of her.

Natasha twists her lips, frustrated by the truth in your words. She looks away, trying to hide the turmoil in her eyes. 

But you won’t let her retreat. 

You gently catch her chin with your finger, guiding her face back to yours as you lean down to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

Natasha’s eyes flutter shut as she returns the kiss, her hand instinctively finding the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if she can anchor herself in the warmth of your touch.

When you finally pull away, Natasha bites her lip lightly, trying to hold onto the warmth for just a moment longer.

You rest your forehead against hers, and she finally opens her eyes, meeting yours with a rare vulnerability she shows only to you.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly, your voice laced with the same fear gnawing at her. 

Natasha’s eyes roam across your face, memorizing every detail as if it might be the last time she sees you.

“Terrified,” she admits, her voice raw with emotion.

“Me too,” you say, a small, reassuring smile tugging at your lips as your thumb gently caresses her cheek. 

“Are you going to leave?” you ask, even though Natasha’s sure you already know the answer. 

The Avengers are her family. Imperfect and flawed, but they always strive to make the world a safer place—to do what’s right. She would never abandon them when they need her most.

“No,” she responds, her voice filled with determined resolve. 

You smile knowingly at her response, your gaze drifting around the room as a look of nostalgia washes over you. 

The soft, wistful look in your eyes tells Natasha that you’re recalling the memories of all the times the two of you spent together in this space. 

When you meet Natasha’s gaze again, a playful smile tugs at your lips.

“Do you still love me?” you ask teasingly.

Natasha huffs in mock offense, the corner of her lips twitching into a half-smile. You can’t help but chuckle at her reaction, raising a brow in amusement.

“Well?” you whisper, your voice low as you lean in closer, your breath warm against her skin, your hands resting gently on her shoulders.

Instead of answering, Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in until you’re straddling her, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of her. 

The bed dips slightly under your combined weight, and Natasha holds you close, her hands firm yet gentle on your waist.

“I love you,” Natasha breathes out, her voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want to lose you.” 

You cup her face in your hands, your eyes filled with love and adoration as you give her a reassuring smile. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reaffirm, your voice steady and full of the certainty she needs to hear. 

You lower yourself onto her, gently guiding her down to lie back against the bed, your lips meeting hers in a tender kiss. 

You had said it with such conviction that Natasha can’t help but believe you, just as she always has. 

But how could she have known that after this battle, for the first time ever, it wouldn’t be true?

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Vomir – 2023

They say that when someone is about to die, their life flashes before their eyes—a rapid montage of memories, achievements, failures, regrets, and the relationships that mattered most.

For Natasha, the idea of her life flashing before her eyes seems almost laughable. Her early years are a blur of pain, manipulation, and control—years she would rather forget than relive.

The truth is, her real life didn’t begin until much later.

If Natasha had to pinpoint the exact moment, it would be when she found herself face-to-face with the sharp point of an arrow—the moment she met the first person to see something in her worth saving when she had seen nothing in herself.

That was the moment she was given the chance to truly live.

Her mind floods with memories of the life she built after that fateful encounter—a life she had never imagined for herself, filled with friends, laughter, and moments of unexpected warmth.

She remembers the first time she allowed herself to trust again, to let people in despite the walls she had built around her heart. 

With all their quirks and flaws, the Avengers became the family she never knew she needed. They challenged her, frustrated her, and made her feel alive in ways she had never thought possible.

But it wasn’t always easy. Natasha recalls the arguments, the disagreements, and the moments when it seemed like they were tearing apart at the seams. 

However, no matter how far they drifted, they always found their way back to each other.

She learned to fight for them, to fight for herself, and to fight for something greater than her past.

And then there were those who reached out from her previous life, some seeking assistance, some seeking redemption. Even then, Natasha chose to rebuild those broken bonds of the past.

Yet, among all these memories, one person stands out more than any other. 

That person was there at every pivotal moment in her life—whether she was on the verge of giving up or standing tall in the face of adversity. Through the highs and lows, they were her constant, the one who saw her for who she truly was and loved her all the more for it.

In her final moments, Natasha’s mind doesn’t dwell on her victories or her failures.

Instead, she sees your face, the one constant in her life that brought her peace and happiness. 

Natasha remembers the way you looked at her, with eyes that held no judgment, only love. She recalls the way your touch calmed her, the way your presence made her feel safe in a world that had always been hostile.

As she falls, Natasha realizes that this connection is what matters most. It’s not the battles or the missions that define her, but the love she found in the most unexpected place. 

And as the darkness closes in, the last thing she sees is you, a symbol of everything she has fought for and everything she has come to cherish.

Her final breath is taken not in fear but in peace, knowing that she lived a life worth remembering—a life filled with love, friendship, and purpose.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Cemetery, Ohio — 2023

“If you passed away, who would sit at your grave the longest?”

Natasha had asked you that question once. 

At the time, you couldn’t come up with a definite answer, so you had turned the question back to her. 

You remember the way her lips curved into a small, wistful smile as she considered it, her eyes reflecting a depth of sadness you had only glimpsed before. 

“I don’t know,” she had replied, her voice soft but honest, as if she had long accepted that was her inevitable fate.

Natasha could not come up with an answer then, but you did.

“Who would sit at her grave the longest?”

You didn’t need any time to think about the answer. Many people could rightfully fill that role. 

To Melina and Alexei, she was their beloved daughter, the one who had been torn from them too soon, only to return with a strength and resolve that made them proud. 

To Yelena, she was her cherished sister—a mentor, a protector, the person who had sacrificed so much to ensure Yelena had a chance at a real life, free from the chains of the Red Room. 

To the Avengers, she was a valued teammate and friend, the glue that held them together through the darkest times. She was their moral compass, the one who always found a way to do what was right, even when the cost was high. 

To the world, she was a hero, a symbol of resilience and redemption. The Black Widow, who had fought for a better future, leaving a legacy that would inspire generations to come.

To you…she was everything.

Your fingers trace the delicate grooves of her engraved name, feeling the weight of every memory, every moment you had shared. 

You stood by her side through nearly all of it—the battles, the victories, the losses. You had seen her at her best and at her worst, through moments of triumph and times of doubt. 

You loved her fiercely, from strangers to friends to something so much more.

She was the woman who had shown you the strength of vulnerability, the power of redemption, and the courage to love despite the risks.

In the end, you were right about all those who would come to see her, to pay their respects to the woman who had become an important part of their lives. 

But they would all eventually leave, returning to their own lives, their own battles. They would remember her, yes, but they would move on.

But not you.

“So, who would sit at Natasha’s grave the longest?”

That answer was clear.

“You would. Now and forever.” 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: this one was really long so if you made it to the end in one go, kudos for you and thank you for taking the time to read it!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

He's My Man (Part 1)

Summary: The reader receives an anonymous text from a new client needing an off the books patch job. However he's annoyingly good looking and the last thing you need is some ex-special ops guy hanging around. Unfortunately for you, Russell Shaw isn't the kind of guy to walk away when he knows something's wrong...

Masterlist

Pairing: Russell Shaw x reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, gun shot injury

A/N: Contains minor spoilers for Tracker 1x12. Please enjoy the start of this new series! I'm not sure how long it will go but thanks for coming on this ride with me!

__________

Your ears perked up on Saturday morning when your phone buzzed on the coffee table before you. Not your everyday one but your one for work. You swiped it open, pursing your lips when you saw it was from an unknown number.

Need a patch job on a quilt. Doug recommended you as a good seamstress in the area.

Alright, well at least this guy knew one of your clients. Doug wasn’t a regular but you’d seen him once or twice over the years which meant the person on the other end wasn’t a cop most likely.

I can fit you in. More complicated the patch, the more it’ll cost.

Not an issue.

You hummed and stood up, grabbing your coffee mug along the way.

129 Edwards Ave in twenty minutes. Use the red back door.

You took a long sip and went over to the kitchen, tossing the rest down the sink, leaving the mug to be cleaned later. 

You just hoped this job wasn’t as bad as the last one.

Eighteen minutes later you heard the back door open and then silence, a moment’s hesitation as your new client entered what looked like a storage area. You flipped a light switch, illuminating the small enter sign over the doorway to the room you were prepping in. A few moments later there were heavy boots against the cement ground as he entered, turning to tile, your head lifting. 

A man in his forties, a quite handsome one at that, gave the small operating room a cursory glance before settling on you, determining you were the only one there. Meanwhile your gaze shot to his injured left arm, a gunshot from the looks of it. You only spotted one bloody bullet hole and figured that was the worst of it from the way he cradled his forearm.

“You the seamstress?” he asked quietly, scanning the counter full of medical equipment and metal table in the center of the room. 

“Take a seat,” you said, patting the table. You went to a sink and washed up, making sure to keep him in view at all times. He winced and struggled to get the coat off, finally managing and revealing a quick patch job had been done. After drying your hands, you snapped on some gloves, the man’s coat and overshirt now on the table behind him.

“Russell Shaw by the way,” he said.

“Y/N,” you said, carefully taking his forearm in one hand, the top of his muscular bicep in the other. You turned his arm slightly, Russell wincing again. “Looks like a through and through. We’ll do a quick x-ray to make sure there’s no shrapnel and then we’ll get you stitched up and I’ll send you home with some supplies and instructions to care for it. This your only injury?”

“Yeah. Doug said you were good.”

“I am,” you said, offering him a brief smile, he returned. “Do you have any PTSD? Going to come at me if I I need to use a scalpel?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I’m good with all that.”

You hummed, guiding him to lay back. Three minutes later you were pushing your x-ray machine aside and taking the lead vest away, Russell sitting upright. 

“Can I ask a question?” 

“You can ask, don’t mean I’ll answer, sweetie,” you said back, hanging up the vest and going to your laptop on the counter.

“How does one get into this line of work?” he asked.

“Asks the man that’s ex-special ops and does private contract gigs, not to mention killed probably three people minimum tonight.” You glanced over to him, Russell tilting his head. “I know who Doug is and what he does. Makes sense you do it too. You have blood under your fingernails and given the splatter patterns on your jeans, you had multiple different angled shots so multiple bodies you hit.”

“...And you don’t report that sort of thing?” he asked cautiously. You determined his x-ray looked good and washed up again, putting on more new gloves. By the time you were standing before him again, he looked nervous.

“On occasion. But only the monsters. You, you don’t strike me as a monster, Russell,” you said, wiping some antiseptic over his entry and exit wounds. He flinched but only slightly at the quick burn. A moment later you were giving him something to numb the area.

“Someone took Doug. Someone bad. They would have come back if I hadn’t done what needed to be done.” You wiped sterile gauze over his wound and then flushed it, Russell watching your graceful movements with interest.

“Like I said, not a monster.” You hummed as you worked, Russell fixated on you carefully cleaning and then pulling the skin back together, tying it up neatly. You wiped away the evidence of his blood and wrapped his bicep in thick gauze, taping it down so he could still get movement without worrying about it coming off.

You chucked your gloves in the trash and nodded back to the door behind you.

“There’s a shower in there and some brushes. Turn it on low, scrub yourself clean, under your nails too. Use the blue soap. When you’re done, throw everything away in the bin, including your bloody clothes. You leave your boots, anything you want to keep out here with me. There’s men’s sweats and some shirts on the shelf. By the time you’re done, your boots and other items will have no trace of wherever you’ve been. Got it?”

“I do like a woman that takes charge.” He smirked, sliding off the table and dropping slowly to kneel to unlace his shoes, still looking up at you. “Full service deal you got going here.”

“Yes it is and here’s a friendly reminder for my new client. You come anywhere near me with your dick out, I’ll make you regret being alive. Understand, sweetie?” you said, patting his cheek. “Off you go.”

“God damn, I love you,” he muttered under his breath. You rolled your eyes but smirked when your back was to him. Ten minutes later the room was clean and Russell exited the bathroom with damp, slicked back hair wearing a plain white t-shirt, black hanes sweat pants and white socks. You nodded to where his shoes sat on the end of the counter, Russell taking a seat in the chair nearby as he slipped them on.

After he checked he had his phone, keys and wallet, he raised himself to his feet, pulling out his wallet. 

“What do I owe you?”

“A thousand.” To your surprise, he didn’t flinch at that number. But like most of your clients, he didn’t have the cash on him, at least not that much. Russell smirked as he glanced back in the bathroom.

“Smart woman. You keep the evidence as ransom until your clients pay up. You won’t destroy that until after I pay, will you.” 

“Not until we get to know each other better do I do that sort of thing without payment. Seeing as you’re new and a friend of Doug’s, I’ll give you to the end of next week to pull it together. I offer payment plan options and other alternative forms of care if shit ever really hit the fan for you.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, putting down five hundred dollar bills. “I can bring the other half back here later today. Just need to run to an ATM.”

“Text me when you got the rest. I’ll send you a place to meet,” you said, nodding towards the door. He gave you a small salute and shook his head with a smile. 

Forty minutes later you were sitting at a table in the cafe three blocks over, happily sipping on your coffee while working your way through a cheese danish. You spotted Russell when he came in. He gave you a quick, adorably awkward wave and ordered himself a drink. A few minutes later he was sitting down across from you, a small cup and what appeared to be a banana muffin in hand.

“You’re a coffee snob aren’t you. This place is pricey,” he teased, his brow furrowing when he had a drink from his styrofoam cup. “Shit. That’s fucking good.”

“Beats whatever motel crap I’m sure you’re used to,” you said, his gaze hardening for a split second. “Sorry. I always tail my first time clients to make sure they aren’t…you know who. You know the Elkwood Lodge on route 8 is cleaner and cheaper than what you’re paying for now.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. You shrugged and simply grinned, taking another bite of danish. He licked his lips, pointing at the yet to be touched danish beside you. “Was that one for me?”

“God no. I fucking love danishes and these are incredible,” you said, finishing off the first and biting into the other.

“You are something else,” he said, smirking when he slid a white envelope across the table. You tucked it into your jacket pocket, Russell picking at his own muffin. “You ain’t going to check it’s all there?”

“You’re a smart man, Russell. I think you know not to screw me over.” He looked you up and down, earning a pointed response. “Keep that gutter mind to yourself.”

“If I’m in the gutter, you’re right there with me,” he said, absently rubbing his injured arm. “And uh, if it gets infected or I think it is, I should reach out?”

“Absolutely. That ain’t a normal injury you’re used to. Don’t play tough guy, tough guy.” He nodded, his body twisting ever so slightly towards a standing position. “Nope. Stay for at least five minutes, then you can go.”

“You really like telling me what to do, don’t you,” he grinned. 

“Russell.” Hss grin was wide before he took a long drag of coffee, humming as it went down. 

“What if I want to stay more than five minutes?” You paused mid-chew of your danish. “Come on, one conversation won’t kill you.”

“I don’t get involved with clients.”

“Alright. I respect that but this ain’t my end goal. I’m going to have a normal life someday. I make a pretty mean homebrew. Going to get some land, open up a brewery, have some food, make it a little family place everybody can enjoy. So that’s my goal. I sure as hell know working as a seamstress ain’t your end goal either. So again, what’s the harm in one conversation?”

You bit your bottom lip, Russell’s expression changing, ever so slightly. 

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered. “What-“

“Shut up,” you mumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your fucking face did. You don’t want to be a seamstress, do you? Can you not get out of your line of work?” You glanced out the window, even the wonderful flavors of the pastry doing nothing to help the unease in your gut. “I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” you snapped. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Sorry. I…I’m just crabby because I didn’t have my morning coffee until just now.”

“Nice try.” You glared at him, his green eyes remarkably gentle. “I don’t leave my friends behind. Now either you tell me what’s going on or I’m going to poke around myself and I guarantee that’s going to be a lot more dangerous and you’ll just have to patch me up even more. What do you say?”

You stared at him and stared at him and stared at him for what felt like forever. Then you took out the envelope and handed it back to him, along with the five hundred in your purse. 

“Go buy me two more cheese danishes and a large caramel frappe to go. Then take me to your motel room. This is a long fucking story.”

__________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[prdx-invdr]

୨୧⸝⸝﹕it’s salty in the middle of those sweet moments.

SUMMARY! for reasons unknown to him, you seem to absolutely hate lee anton. on several occasions, he’s tried to hate you right back, but found that it can be difficult to dislike someone when you’re completely infatuated with them.

PAIRING! lee anton x fem!reader

GENRE! college!au, slice of life, swim team!au idk what to call it actually but anton and reader are both captains, fluff, angst (kinda), (one-sided) enemies to lovers WC 6.6k

WARNING! swearing, reader is mean to anton for a while, miscommunication, i have no knowledge of swimming as a sport and had to do a lot of research for this one so sorry if this contains some inaccuracies, not proofread

NOTE! when anon requested this i jumped out of my seat bc rivals to lovers with anton was my very first wip on this acc but i scrapped it and this gave me an excuse to write abt it again

anton thinks the world of you while you think nothing of him. he’s unsure of how someone he thinks of so highly could hate him so much, and he’s even more unsure of how he could still be so enamored by you despite knowing that you feel the exact opposite way about him.

he gave up on trying to understand the root of your hatred towards him long ago.

at first, he assumed that you were just jealous of the fact that the boy’s swim team had a bigger budget than the girl’s. this wasn’t anton’s fault by any means, but he thought that you might’ve been taking your anger out on him due to his position as team captain. the school administration seemed to simply favor the boy’s swim team over yours, and even anton knew that it wasn’t fair. the favoritism meant that anton’s team received better funding, which inevitably meant better… everything.

anton vividly remembers the glare that you’re always giving him only growing in intensity the day he and his team stepped into the pool area wearing their brand new goggles and swim trunks. he recalls the way the other girls on your team looked down at their own worn out swimsuits upon seeing anton’s team’s new attire, and he felt terrible. if it were up to him, he would’ve entered the room wearing the same faded blue swim jammers he and his teammates were forced to wear at the start of the semester if it meant you’d stop looking at him with such disdain in your eyes.

if this had been the reason behind your distaste for the boy, he would’ve understood. but the hatred you held for him extended beyond swimming, too.

“your hair looks stupid like that,” he hears you mutter from behind him. he turns around, an indifferent expression adorning his features to mask his nervousness.

the fact that you still manage to get the boy’s heart racing and his palms sweating despite your cruel words is baffling to him.

anton’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, wanting to retaliate but not having the slightest idea what to say. “my hair looks like this everyday,” is all he can pathetically exhale.

you’re still staring at him with a furrowed brow and he stares back at you, perplexed. he wonders if you have anything else to say to him or if you were insulting his hair for the pure fun of it. he thinks he’d be fine with either, because at least you’re talking to him.

he feels like slapping himself in the forehead at his own lovesickness.

after a few moments of silence, you scoff, signaling with your hand that you want him to move out of your way.

wordlessly, anton obliges, stepping aside and watching as you continue on your way to whatever class you have next. he notices merely seconds afterwards that the hallway he’s currently standing in isn’t narrow in the slightest, meaning you could’ve easily gone around him and still insisted on making him move. he wishes he could dislike you— he really does.

anton turns around to find sohee and seunghan now leaning against the wall, having observed the entire interaction between you and their love-struck friend. sohee looks at him pitifully while seunghan claps, slowly and sarcastically.

“don’t,” is all anton says to them, hanging his head. he knows that they’d like to drill another lesson into his mind about how he needs to stop letting you push him around like that, and he’s not in the mood for it.

“anton, my man,” seunghan sighs, putting an arm around his shoulders. “i get that you like her, i really do, and that she’s pretty and all,” he feels anton’s shoulders momentarily tense at his words, “but i don’t think she’s into you. like, at all.”

anton shrugs the older boy’s arm off, shaking his head. “i don’t like her,” he lies through gritted teeth. sohee and seunghan share an unamused look.

in actuality, the two of them were there to witness anton fall for you firsthand. when their younger friend first saw you and two of your friends walking through the quad area of campus, they watched the way his eyes widened and the way the oxygen left his lungs. they recall thinking that anton’s heart would burst out of his chest and fall right onto the grass below the three of them. his friends were in disbelief that anton was currently standing in front of them and denying his feelings for you when they quite literally saw him develop said feelings in real time.

when anton found out that you were captain of the girl’s swim team, it only solidified the way he felt about you. being captain of the boy’s swim team himself, he thought it was the perfect setup. he was too shy to nonchalantly walk up to you and initiate conversation, but he had the notion that swimming would make good enough of an excuse.

his hopes of becoming acquainted with you through your shared interest in the sport were crushed almost immediately. when he first tried to strike up a conversation with you, you sent him a scowl that intimidated him into walking the other way. on a separate occasion, he attempted to talk to you again, only for you to turn your head and pretend that you hadn’t heard him. he hasn’t tried to initiate anything ever since, the only time the two of you ever interact being whenever you glare at him or make a remark about him in passing.

he never found out what your problem was when it came to him, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

anton sees sohee and seunghan’s solemn faces and scoffs. “i’m serious, guys!” he complains, “you’ve seen the way she acts towards me. why would i like somebody like that? that’s like setting myself up for failure.” his chest tightens as the words leave his mouth. he only said that so his friends would drop the subject, but he knows that there’s truth behind his statement. the two boys only exhale disappointedly.

sohee purses his lips. “if she didn’t absolutely hate you for no reason, you guys would probably look good together,” he comments. seunghan nods, “too bad she’s got a stick up her ass.”

for whatever reason, anton wants to defend you and tell his friend that there is no stick up your ass— you’re only hostile when it comes to him. he realizes how pitiful that sentence would sound to sohee and seunghan and decides against saying it out loud.

“stop being hung up on that girl, anton,” sohee chimes, putting a hand on his friend’s arm, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea. you would know all about that, right? since you’re a swimmer and all.”

seunghan hits sohee in the arm jokingly. “he’s on the swim team, not a fucking merman.”

“he’s so cute, are you kidding me?” you hear rei practically squeal as you step into the locker room. she and jiwon are both already wearing their swimsuits, and the latter looks up upon hearing you enter the room.

“who are we talking about?” you smile, setting down your backpack. it’s late in the afternoon and you’re relieved to be done with your classes for the day, finally able to do what you love most.

“um,” jiwon begins, “no one in particular. right, rei?” your friend sounds a bit on edge as she turns to the girl sitting on the bench beside her, who shrugs. “we’re talking about anton,” she replies, earning a slap on the arm from jiwon. “ow! what the hell?”

jiwon watches as you halt your process of taking off your shirt, about to change into your swimsuit. she knew that your mood would turn sour at the mention of the boy; it’s a known fact amongst the members of your team that you hate lee anton.

“you think anton is cute?” you turn to rei, frowning. the girl lets out a huff of air, her bangs moving in the process. “i don’t see how you don’t,” she mutters, “and i don’t get why you hate his guts either. he’s super nice.”

you continue changing, the two girls looking away from you as you do so out of respect. “you wouldn’t understand,” is all you say in response. jiwon bites her lip, feeling bad for the boy. she’s seen it all— the fleeting, longing glances anton sends your way, and the scornful looks you send him in return. she doesn’t comment on it, not wanting to upset you, but a minuscule, intrusive part of her desperately wants to know what’s going on between you and the captain of the boy’s team.

rei, however, seems to know no boundaries. “would you be mad if i dated him, then?” she chortles, giddily kicking her legs. not facing you, she doesn’t see the way you grow tense at her question. you open your mouth to respond when a knock at the locker room door startles the three of you.

the door opens a fraction and you turn to see yujin pop her head inside. “are you guys almost ready?” she asks, scanning the room before her eyes land on you. “oh, hey, captain,” she smiles, eyes forming crescents. you wave, and the older girl continues. “coach wanted me to remind you guys that we have a joint training session today,” she clenches her teeth for a second, eyes moving to jiwon and rei who are wearing matching nervous expressions at the reminder. “you know, with the boys team,” yujin finishes, not daring to look you in the eye in fear of how you might react.

as captain of the team, you were curious as to why your coach would want to remind you of that, seeing as you were often the first person to obtain this information. upon deeper thought, you realize it was probably because even your coach knew about your hatred towards anton and wanted you to stay focused this time around rather than glaring at him every few minutes. you almost let out a laugh at the thought.

“you hear that, captain?” rei teases, “prepare yourself! don’t let anton distract you this time.”

you throw a towel in her direction, earning a grunt from her. “i should be telling you that,” you scold, “seeing as you’re obsessed with him all of a sudden.”

rei laughs, and you’re unsure of how to feel when you come to the realization that she didn’t disagree with your statement.

once you finally leave the locker room, you come face to face with your sworn enemy himself.

anton doesn’t look in your direction for as long as he normally does, memories of your interaction from earlier in the day flooding his mind. no matter how small of a gesture it is, your teammates take notice of it. “he’s not staring at you today,” gaeul whispers, shocked.

you only shake your head. “like i care,” you spit, crossing your arms, “i prefer it that way, actually. he should focus on his own team.”

wonyoung puts her hands on your shoulders from behind, lightly shaking you. “loosen up, okay?” she advises, her own eyes drifting over to anton’s team. as if on cue, anton looks over at you for a moment, watching as you joke around with your teammate. he wishes that you were even half as nice to him as you are to your team, wondering what it would be like to laugh with you the same way wonyoung is right now.

noticing anton’s preoccupied state, one of his teammates calls out to him. “captain!” anton turns his head away from you, looking his teammate in the eye. “yeah, taesan? you need something?” he inquires, getting back into his leader headspace. taesan looks over anton’s shoulder at your team, making the inference that he had been distracted by you. like always, taesan thinks to himself.

“do some stretches with me, yeah?” he says, wanting anton to fully dedicate himself to practicing instead of letting you pose as an obstacle.

anton is a good team captain— any of his teammates can attest. but it feels like anytime you’re in his presence, he’s only able to give 80% as opposed to his usual hundred, the other 20% being spent completely fixated on you.

he walks over to his dark haired teammate with a nod, agreeing to help him warm up. he thinks it serves as a more productive way to pass time than staring at you like a lovesick idiot.

“i was thinking,” taesan starts, copying the way anton does shoulder stretches to loosen his joints, “well, me and leehan were talking about it, actually. we should do a bonfire later, at the beach,” he tells the older boy.

anton licks his lips, nodding absentmindedly. “just you and leehan?” he asks, looking around the room for the boy in question. he sees leehan standing in the corner looking disinterested and waves him over. with an inaudible sigh, leehan reluctantly joins the two boys who are now doing tricep stretches. taesan shakes his head in response to the question anton had posed, “no, i meant, like, the whole team,” he corrects. “tell him, leehan,” taesan nudges his teammate.

“i hate stretching,” leehan murmurs, gaze aimed towards the white tiles beneath him. “about the bonfire, dumbass,” taesan deadpans. leehan perks up at the mention of something that he actually cares about. “oh, yeah! we’re gonna invite the whole team,” he grins, “it’ll be a blast, anton. you’ve gotta go.”

anton thinks it over, biting the inside of his cheek. “it’s already kind of late though, no?” he points out, causing the two boys on either side of him to groan. “bonfires are literally supposed to happen at night,” taesan comments at the same time leehan says, “don’t be such a buzzkill.”

“is the girls team invited?” anton can’t stop himself from asking, earning more groans from the two boys. “i don’t want to go through the trouble of inviting them,” leehan complains. “yeah,” his friend nods, “plus, he’s only asking because he wants their captain to be there.”

taesan’s comment makes anton come to a halt, and he’s now the only one out of the three of them no longer stretching. “that’s not true,” he defends himself, “i just feel kind of bad. i mean, we already have a bigger budget than them, and stuff.”

“keep telling yourself that, champ,” leehan grumbles. “we see right through you.” anton steps forward, looking at both of them simultaneously. “guys, seriously,” he says lowly, “i feel bad.”

taesan lets out a laugh, “right, you feel bad that you won’t be able to make heart eyes at y/n tonight.”

anton rubs his palm across his face, frustrated. “here’s an offer for you. you either invite the girls team, or…” he pauses, attempting to appear intimidating, “you’re not allowed to have the bonfire at all.”

the two boys scoff in unison. “you can’t just do that,” taesan snorts, “you’re our captain, not our mom.” anton scratches his head at that, disorientated. “look, i— okay,” he tries again, “i don’t know. i’ll buy you guys food, or something.”

it’s now taesan and leehan’s turn freeze in their places. “why didn’t you start with that?”

practice ends faster than you wish it had and you hoist your bag over your shoulder. you turn to jiwon and rei, about to ask if they’re ready to leave when you’re interrupted by two loud voices. “girls! hey!” you turn your head to see two members of the boys swim team— who’s names you never bothered to learn— running up to you and your friends.

“hey,” one of them pants, “don’t leave yet.” you look at your friends once more, studying their expressions that look just as confused as yours. “anton wanted— ouch!” the boy is interrupted by his friend slapping him on the arm harshly, as if he had said something wrong. “all of us, i mean, wanted to know if you girls would like to join us tonight,” the boy finishes, rubbing his arm while sending a subtle glare in his friend’s direction.

“join you.. in doing what, exactly?” you inquire, serious as ever. the two boys seemingly grow smaller under your intimidating gaze as if they hadn’t anticipated your somber attitude. “we’re doing a bonfire,” the other boy replies, pointing his thumb in the direction of the rest of his team. you look over the boy’s shoulder, your eyes landing upon anton, who is already looking at you. upon seeing your eyes scan over him, he looks away.

rei claps her hands together a few times, “we’ll be there! thank you for inviting us.” her words startle you and you open your mouth to protest. you had just been seconds away from telling the boys in front of you that you weren’t interested.

“yeah, count us in!” jiwon chimes, and you want the tiled floor below to swallow you whole. “you guys have fun, then,” you tell them, eyes swimming with boredom, “i’m going home.”

“no!” the boys in front of you shout in unison, startling you and your team. “you have to come. especially,” one of them pleads. “and why is that?” you put one hand on your hip, intimidating them further.

everyone already seems to know the answer to your question before the boys can even formulate the words to say it. “our captain wants you to.”

your teammates all but drag you to the beach against your will, uttering complaints about how you “need to learn how to have fun” and how they’ve “been waiting for something exciting like this to happen”.

within the first 5 minutes of your arrival, you’ve already tried to escape more times than your friends are able to count. wonyoung had to keep a tight grip on your wrist to ensure that you wouldn’t go anywhere, and you swear at the girl in your head for being stronger than she appears.

“i can’t believe anton himself told his friends to invite us just so he could see y/n,” rei mutters, astonished, “do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“that’s definitely not the reason,” you deny, already wanting to drop the topic, “they probably just thought it would be funny because everybody on the planet knows that i hate him.”

and while taesan and leehan are most definitely aware of your hatred towards their captain, their reasoning for inviting you and your team really was because anton wanted to see you.

“invite the girls team!” leehan mocks, intentionally making his voice sound higher, “i feel sooo bad for them!” anton pays no mind to the way he’s being blatantly teased, his eyes trained on you. “feel bad for them my ass,” taesan comments under his breath, “he’s already making heart eyes at her, just like i said.”

“you’re a real masochist, you know that?” leehan adds, waving a hand in front of anton’s line of sight. the taller boy blinks in response as if he had broken out of whatever trance you had him under. “that girl doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she hates you, and you’re still, like, obsessed with her.”

anton sharply exhales through his nose, not needing another reminder of the fact that you dislike him and that he’s stupid for helplessly pining after you.

“i’ve heard that a million times,” he retorts, “and i’m not obsessed with her. in fact, i’m starting to hate her, too.”

he thinks that lying to his teammates is just as difficult as lying to sohee and seunghan, only receiving humorless looks in response to his statement. “right,” taesan scoffs, “you hate her so much that you forced me and leehan to invite the entire girls swim team just so you could see her.” anton lightly hits him with the back of his hand, muttering, “i told you that’s not the reason.”

all three boys turn to look at you, arms crossed and unamused. “oh, man,” leehan laughs, “she’s bored out of her fucking mind.” anton watches you carefully, your eyes burning a hole in the sand beneath your shoes. “why don’t you go talk to her, captain?” taesan teases, slapping his friend on the back boyishly. anton staggers forward about a centimeter due to the impact, looking back at the boy. “or anyone on the girls team, for that matter. since you made us invite every single one of them,” leehan quips.

but anton thinks that talking to you would only dampen your mood even further, and he doesn’t want the glare that you’re currently directing towards the sand to be aimed at him. “try talking to her, right there,” leehan points to someone in your general direction and anton follows his finger with his gaze, “naoi rei. she’s one of y/n’s closest friends, i think.”

taesan lets out another scoff, “yeah, but she’s not y/n. anton wants y/n, not the next best thing.”

jiwon and rei stand next to the bonfire, and you overhear one of them comment on how it isn’t as big as they were expecting it to be. you see wonyoung and yujin sitting on some large rocks a short distance away from the shore. you quickly scan the perimeter looking for gaeul, who you find sitting on the sand and looking up at the stars. your friends are all enjoying themselves— why aren’t you?

as per usual, you want to blame your discomfort on the fact that anton is in your vicinity. but how exactly could you do that when he hasn’t interacted with you all night?

come to think of it, your last interaction with the boy in question was earlier today when you told him that his hair looked stupid. you shake your head at the memory— you hadn’t even meant it. you actually liked his hair, but you’d rather drop dead than admit that to him. you hate lee anton with a burning passion, and you hate that you like his hair.

you hate that you’re currently sitting here wishing that he would come up to you and say something. after all, your friends dragged you here and his teammates made it seem as though your attendance was obligatory. the way you see it, the least anton could do after subjecting you to all of that is talk to you. you suppose that you can’t really blame him for not wanting to, though. you kick the sand beneath you at the realization.

you’re not sure how much time you spend thinking about the boy you swear to hate with every fiber of your being, but you conclude that a few long minutes must’ve gone by, because suddenly you look up and find that both your team and anton’s team are gathered around the fire. you watch them carefully, eyes wandering from individual to individual.

you see yujin laughing with some guy from the other team. you see the two boys that invited you and your friends to this very event. finally, your eyes land on anton, and you regret it almost immediately.

he’s nervously scratching the back of his neck the way you often catch him doing. he’s got a bashful smile on his lips as he looks down at whoever he’s currently talking to. you crane your neck to see who that may be, and find that it’s none other than your own teammate and friend— naoi rei.

you make a face of disgust that no one sees, and only then do you realize that you’re still standing a good distance away from the large group. “oh my god,” you scowl. you run a hand over your face, conflicted. you already hated being here, and seeing anton converse with one of your closest friends might’ve just made your attitude towards this whole situation a million times worse. you know that rei is probably over the moon right now, looking up at him with a twinkle in her eye and a girlish smile.

you want to be happy for her— you think that any good friend would jump at the sight of their teammate getting along with the person they find attractive— and you swear that you would be if the person she was talking to was anyone but him. you tell yourself that it’s because rei deserves better than him, ignoring the way your heart plummets. he was only going to chase after you for so long.

you shake your head rapidly as if it would rid your mind of the thought, not knowing where it came from in the first place.

you need to get out of here— asap.

you hate lee anton and you hate that you like his hair and you hate that you spent a decent amount of time tonight wishing that he’d speak to you.

you hate that you even care in the slightest that he’s currently flirting with your best friend and you hate that almost everyone here managed to convince you that he and his teammates invited you simply because he wanted you here.

you discreetly make your way around the group, advancing towards the shore. you don’t think anyone sees you as you do so, hearing the sound of their laughter grow more distant with each step you take towards the sea. as you continue moving forward absentmindedly, you don’t realize that you’re already knees deep in the water until a salty wave crashes into you, reaching the area below your thigh.

“what are you doing?” your head quickly turns to find the source of the voice and you scowl once you realize who it is.

of course, anton chooses now to finally talk to you.

you turn back around, ignoring him, because that’s how you are— you think about him more than you’d ever like to admit and act indifferent towards him once he’s in your presence. anton watches as you turn your back to him, unsure of why he assumed that this interaction with you would be any different from your interactions in the past.

nonetheless, with bravery that he didn’t even know he had, anton continues talking. “you could get sick if you go any further,” he blurts out.

in truth, anton had been watching you through his peripheral vision as he was conversing with rei, and saw as you treaded through the sand and into the water. he excused himself— he had been looking for a way to escape the conversation anyway— and followed your silhouette that was now standing in the ocean, letting waves collide with your legs.

in retrospect, he should’ve thought of something to say to you beforehand, because if the mere act of him talking to you wasn’t enough to piss you off, anton was sure that lecturing you about how you could get sick from swimming at night would definitely cause you to flip your lid.

his suspicions appear to have been correct, because you whip your head back around and give him an angry look. “what are you doing here?” you spit, expecting him to flinch and avoid your gaze the same way that he always does.

“why can’t i be here?” he presses, furrowing his brow, and you’re the one that flinches. “do you own the ocean?”

you’re sure that steam would be coming out of your ears right now if you were living in an old cartoon. you clench your fist, taken aback.

“why do you hate me so much, y/n?” anton pleads, unable to prevent the million dollar question from leaving his lips. this is a position he never thought he’d find himself in; confronting you about your unadulterated hatred towards him while your entire bottom half is almost completely submerged in the ocean.

your lip quivers and you clench your teeth as you feel your resilient facade start to crack. neither you nor anton are sure where his daring attitude came from, but it seems to be catching both of you by surprise, because even the boy in question moves to wipe his palms against his jeans to rid them of their clamminess. “answer me,” he demands, his voice as soft as it normally is and yet it still intimidates you.

you turn around for the forth and final time, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of discovering the root of your distaste towards him. anton shakes his head, although you’re unable to see it, and sharply inhales in preparation for what he’s about to do.

he cautiously takes a step forward, letting the water dampen the cuffs of his jeans. he cringes, but proceeds nevertheless, mimicking the strides that you had taken minutes prior.

before you’re able to prevent it from happening, anton is standing directly beside you, jeans darkening as the water seeps into them, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

the tall boy leans forward, and you lean back. “answer me,” he repeats his previous words in a hushed voice.

you’re looking down at the water that the two of you are standing in and anton thinks it’s funny, for a moment, how the roles seem to be reversed— you’re tense and apprehensive while he’s bold and collected, trying to crane his neck to meet your downward pointed gaze.

“you should know the reason why,” he hears you speak under your breath. you finally look at him, eyes narrowed. “you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” you question, and he recoils.

“i’m not— what? why would— why do you think i’m making fun of you?” anton sputters, genuinely appalled at the accusation. he’s unable to wrap his head around what kind of thoughts might be running through your mind right now.

“because there’s no way in hell that you don’t know why i hate you, lee anton,” you say, words flying from your mouth hurriedly. “there’s no way you just let me push you around and stare at you like you’re the scum of the earth if you don’t know the reason why. you have to know,” you look into his eyes in search of an answer but you’re only met with confusion.

anton shakes his head. “i don’t know, y/n,” he begins, “i really don’t know, and i’m sorry if you think i’m playing a prank on you right now, but i’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

he looks down momentarily, his eyes landing on his wet jeans. when he looks back up, he’s zoned in on the way the moon makes your eyes look as though they’re sparkling, and he thinks it’s beautiful. “you may know this already,” he starts speaking again, “but i’m in love with you.”

he makes sure not to stutter or appear anxious in the slightest, afraid that if he made the slightest mistake, he’d try to prevent the words from leaving his mouth. and he needs you to know.

your lips part, his words shocking you more than anything else that has taken place tonight. “i’m always lying to my teammates and my friends, saying that i don’t like you because they think i’m insane for chasing after someone who wishes i didn’t even exist,” anton continues, his tone becoming sorrowful, “but i can’t lie anymore. especially not to you.”

by now, both of your hearts are pounding, and you’re sure that they would be audible if it weren’t for the sounds of the waves crashing. “so, no,” he says, “the reason i let you push me around isn’t because i know why you hate me. it’s because i’m in love with you, and no matter how hard i try, i can’t stop.”

he waits for you to respond, eyes trained on yours. you finally start speaking, lowly and carefully. “there was this guy,” you tell him, “you used to hang out with him last year. i would see you and him laughing together all the time, with two other friends of yours.”

taking in your words, anton ponders who you could be referring to before his eyes widen slightly. “wonbin?” he asks, although he has no doubt in his mind that you’re talking about his older friend. wonbin, seunghan, sohee and anton were practically attached at the hip during the latter’s freshman year of college, and when wonbin made the decision to drop out in order to pursue a career in music, the other three were left to fend for themselves.

you scoff, despite wanting to contain your hostility towards the boy after his confession. “i don’t know his name,” you mumble, “but yeah, that’s probably him.”

anton nods, urging you to continue. he’s finally going to find out why you’ve disliked him for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to waste a second. “he told me that you liked me,” you say, watching as the boy flinches in your peripheral at your words. “and i was so happy at the time because i liked you, too.”

it’s anton’s turn to be stunned by your confession, not believing the words that are coming out of your mouth. “i would always look at you, but you’d never look at me back. when your friend— wonbin, i guess— told me that you liked me, i thought that meant you would talk to me,” you shake your head at the memory, “but you never did. it was like i didn’t even exist to you.”

you keep talking, quietly, “every single person who knew me knew that i liked you. one day, i saw you guys laughing together like you always did, and then it clicked in my brain.” you’re silent for a moment before you continue. “i figured that you must’ve known that i liked you, too, and told your friend to say that to me as some sort of cruel joke.”

anton is yet again appalled at your words. “you only seemed to start caring about my existence at the beginning of last semester. you tried to come up to me a few times, and i always assumed it was because you were finally feeling bad about the whole wonbin thing and wanted to apologize, and i didn’t want to hear it. it was around that time that i started hating you.”

you scratch the back of your neck, not having thought that you’d ever admit any of this to the boy standing beside you. anton swallows before he thinks over his next words. “i didn’t know about any of that,” he assures you, and he can sense that you doubt his words momentarily because he starts talking faster. “i’m not sure what prompted wonbin to say that to you, but i can tell you this,” he whispers, “i’ve been in love with you from the very first time i saw you, and no amount of insults or glares from you is ever going to change that.” for a moment, even the waves of the ocean seem to still, leaving only the sound of anton’s voice ringing in your ears.

you’re not used to feeling this vulnerable, and the fact that you’re sharing a moment like this with lee anton— the man you (no longer) hate— sends a shiver down your spine. you find yourself searching for a sense of familiarity, even if it comes in the form of playful banter rather than the usual insult.

“say that again,” you tell him, and he’s unsure if you’re being serious at first. when silence lingers in the air, he finally begins speaking. “i’ve… been in love with you since the first time i saw you,” anton says, unsure. you shake your head, displeased.

“put it in the present tense,” you purse your lips, crossing your arms. anton lets out a curt laugh, now realizing that you’re actually joking with him. so this, he thinks, is what it feels like to laugh with you. “i’m in love with you, y/n,” by now, he’s adorning a smile that reaches his eyes, head slightly tilted towards the ground bashfully.

“wanna know something, lee anton? i think i might be, too.”

weeks later, you’re swinging open the doors to the pool area, the smell of chlorine crashing into you as you step inside.

the boys team is in the middle of practicing, leehan and taesan— who’s names you finally learned after enduring weeks of their relentless teasing, always having to hear a complaint from them about how their team captain is even less focused than before since the two of you started dating— spotting you almost immediately. they let out exaggerated groans, knowing they now have to witness you and anton grossly interact.

“captain!” taesan calls out with dread lacing his tone, “your girlfriend is here.” upon hearing that, anton, who is currently in the pool, whips his head around so quickly that you’re almost positive he could’ve gotten whiplash. you wave, and rather than exiting the water, he swims over to where you stand on the poolside. looking up at you, he smiles, slightly out of breath. “hey, lovely,” he says, removing the goggles from around his head so he can study you better.

he pays no mind to the sounds of his teammates gagging in the background, not looking anywhere but at you.

to say that both your team and anton’s team were surprised upon hearing about your blossoming relationship with the boy would be an understatement. not only did both teams have to grow accustomed to the fact that you no longer hated anton, but they also needed to get used to the mere concept of you two dating each other. it wasn’t as though you two no longer served as distractions to the other, however— if anything, you both stared at each other even more than you had previously, the difference being that now you looked at anton with adoration in your eyes rather than resentment.

“i don’t know if seeing you two together makes my heart want to explode with joy, or if it makes me wanna throw up,” you recall rei telling you during practice one day. anton has shared similar stories, stating that although both taesan and leehan are happy to see their captain in a relationship with the girl he’s been pining after, they hate the way anton apparently never shuts up about you during training.

you look down at the boy, flashing him a smile of your own. droplets of water threaten to fall into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “hey,” you hum, “i won’t bother you long. just checking in.” anton shakes his head, water spraying the floor beneath you in the process. “you never bother me,” he says.

“oh, hush,” you wave your hand dismissively. “i’m serious. hey, can you come down here for a sec?” anton asks, gesturing for you to crouch next to the pool. you give him a suspicious look, morphing your lips into a tight line. “anton, i’m not letting you pull me in there.”

he shakes his head again, letting out a laugh. “i’m not gonna pull you in,” he tells you, and you still aren’t convinced. “y/n!” he whines, stretching the final syllable. you look to the ceiling for a moment, letting out a scoff before kneeling down next to the pool.

in a swift motion, anton grabs your shoulders and lands a kiss on your lips. it’s wet from the water of the pool and you pull away, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. anton is laughing as you swat at his arm, muttering something about how he got your shirt wet.

anton sees an opportunity in the fact that you haven’t stood up yet, fully wrapping his arms around your shoulders, nearly causing you to fall into the chlorinated water. his laughter only increases in volume, and his teammates don’t think they’ve ever heard him laugh that hard. you let out a yelp, feeling the water continue to seep through the fabric of your shirt. you struggle against his embrace, and he shows no signs of releasing you. “lee anton! oh my god— i hate you!”

you both know that you’re lying.

AUTHOR’S NOTE! this is my 30th time trying to post this but we move

[imtryingbuck]

Choices

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. past Bucky x fem!Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve’s in a relationship with reader and Bucky and goes back to Peggy when he comes back he regrets it

Word count: 1,963

Warnings: angst. stupid Steve. pregnancy. fluff. swearing.

Masterlist

Walking into the wooden area that Bruce had the portal set up for Steve to take back the stones, hand in hand with both Bucky and Steve you noticed the brunette giving glances to the blonde to your left, when you gave him a questioning look he just smiled. A smile that looked forced and didn’t reach his eyes.

You should have realised something was wrong when Bucky whispered in your ear to go and talk to Sam whilst he spoke to Steve, you should have noticed the hushed argument between your two boyfriends but you were distracted by Bruce’s explanation of the portal and Sam’s million questions.

You should have realised something was wrong when Steve kissed you deeply or when Bucky only gave him a quick kiss before stepping back to be behind you instead.

Or that his last words before he disappeared back into the past was ‘I love you’ to you and your other boyfriend.

“Bruce where is he?” You asked nervously as he hadn’t returned.

“I-I‘m not sure”

Looking at Bucky who refused to look at you, finding the twig he was kicking lightly with his foot more interesting. “Buck? Bucky where is he?”

“I-Y/n/n-“

“Bucky”

At Sam’s voice you both turned to face where your closest friend was looking, on a stone bench sat an old man that was most definitely not there to begin with. Sam slowly walked over to the man leaving his friends behind.

“He’s gone back…back to Peggy”

“N-no-no he wouldn’t! James…he-he wouldn’t do that!”

“Baby he’s already done it, I’m so sorry” he hates the way your eyes filled with tears and the way you clutched at your chest.

“B-but why? Did I do something wrong? Was I not good enough for him? It’s my fault Buck, it’s my fault he went back to her and left you”

“God no baby! Baby he didn’t leave because of you I promise you that, I-I don’t know why he left us but we’re not alone we still have each other, right?”

“W-what? You still want to be with me now that St-he’s left”

“Of course I do, I love you just as much as I love him”

“I love you Bucky”

Though you meant every possible meaning of those words you couldn’t help but feel partially to blame for Steve abandoning the brunette in front of you, the same one he fought so hard to save, protect and defended. Steve cried in your arms when he confessed he had feelings not only for you but his longest friend, he was so confused and ashamed, not of his sexuality but at the fact that he was in love with two people at the same time. When you whispered to him that you had fallen for both super soldiers he blushed and gave you the most shyest smile you had ever seen. And unknown to the pair of you, the other missing piece of your hearts was standing outside of Steve’s office. Bucky’s heart soared when he heard his two loves saying that they loved him back.

It took a few weeks after the confessions before you three started dating, none of your friends-family was bothered as long as you were all happy. 

And yes even though Steve hadn’t left Bucky behind in a world where he was still learning how to operate in on his own because he had you and of course Sam but it still upset you, he left the pair of you for some woman who he kissed once, some woman who had moved on with her life - marriage and all, the same woman who had a niece that he kissed a few times. It made no sense to you.

“Baby…Y/n-“

“I need to talk to him, I need to understand why he left us for a woman who told him to move on and be happy, she told him that Buck! I was right there when she said it!”

“I know doll but-shit”

You were already out of his grasp and was walking over to Sam and the old version of your former boyfriend, your feet faltering when you saw Steve handing the shield over to Sam. Shaking your head you stood next to Sam, eyes slanting as you got a proper look at Steve.

“Y/n/n-“

“Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Did she make you happy? Did you have a great life? Did you even think about me and Bucky?”

“Of course I thought about you and Buck, doll you both mean the world to me”

“Did she make you happy?” You repeated the same question.

“Yes” he answered hesitantly with his eyes closed.

“Did you have a great life?”

“Doll-“

“Did you Steven, yes or no?”

He hesitated once again before answering “yes”.

“Good. Good. Well goodbye Steven” 

“Y/n-“ Steve tries to stop you from backing away by reaching out for your hand, with a shake of your head you move away and walk towards Bucky who took your hand in his as soon as you reached him.

Heading back to the home you three once shared not knowing how empty the place was going to feel now it was just the two of you.

The bed felt bigger and colder now that Steve wasn’t cuddled up on the right side of the bed - his side. Every night without fail you three would lay in bed all snuggled up and one by one you said ‘I love you’ Bucky always went first, then you and then Steve but now that he wasn’t lying next to you, you both waited with bated breath for his response which never came.

You found yourself calling out for Steve whenever you heard the front door open and close, only to find Bucky standing there with a frown etched on his face. He was the same though, one day he walked into the kitchen where you were, saying “Stevie, remind me to pick up milk. Steve-shit. Y/n I’m sorry”.

Of course neither one could blame each other, Steve had been a huge part of your day to day life. You both understood that this new life of yours would take time to get used to.

Since he had left you both for Peggy you both started questioning yourselves, wondering if the other was going to leave next. Not that you told each other your worries and doubts, terrified of coming across as needy, insecure. Beyond terrified of thinking that the other would only stay because you had mentioned it.

As the months went by and the seasons changed so had you and Bucky.

Three months after Steve had left, you had settled down in to bed waiting patiently for Bucky to finish his nightly routine, you frowned lightly when you didn’t hear any noise or movements coming from the joint bathroom.

“Buck? Have you fell asleep on the toilet…again? Bucky?” There wasn’t even a grumble of a response, not like last time when he had gone into the bathroom to do his nightly routine and Steve ended up going to check on him, the blonde bit his lip to stop himself from laughing he went back into the bed room to get Y/n, going back into the bathroom together they saw Bucky in his pjs sitting on the toilet fast asleep. It was lucky that Steve also had the serum because he was able to carry Bucky to bed.

Getting out of bed you went to check on him, frowning when you saw him standing in front of the mirror holding something in his hands. “Buck?”

“I-I found this” this being Steve’s razor. “I-he left us Y/n/n”

“I know bub, I know.” Your heart ached when he turned to face you with tears in his eyes. Seeing Bucky cry was something that always tugged painfully at your heart, he had gone through so much pain in his long life it wasn’t fair for him to be still going through it all because Steve decided he wanted a fantasy instead.

“I-it isn’t fair baby”

Finally getting Bucky to put the razor down after twenty minutes of trying, you managed to get him into bed, he clung to your body tightly whispering how much he loves you. He fell asleep hearing your voice softly telling him how much he means to you, how much love you have for him.

You decided it was time to move out of the apartment and find somewhere new to call home after that night. It wasn’t long until you both found a forever home. Plus you needed to find a bigger place as you had found out that you were pregnant two weeks prior.

For five years you and Bucky lived in the perfect haven, a four bedroom cottage with a few acres of land behind it that Bucky absolutely loved tending to. Bucky had built his own greenhouse with the help from Sam, he was so proud of everything he had grew in there ranging from cucumbers to tomatoes to potatoes and everything in between, the chillies however weren’t turning out like he wanted which made him a little defeated.

He loved his greenhouse. It became his happy place.

Whilst you and Bucky were getting your four year old twins sons and one year old daughter ready for a fun day of activities Sam was standing at his front door staring at someone who he thought he would never see again.

“What are you doing here?”

“Are Y/n and Bucky here?”

“No. Again what are you doing here?”

“W-where are they?”

“Steve, what are you doing back?”

Sighing, looking down whilst placing his hands on his hips “I made a mistake okay, I went to our apartment and someone else answered told me that they had been living there for four years, so I came here”

“Why? You can’t really expect to leave your partners whilst living a fantasy just to come back five years later.”

“It was a mistake, I miss them, it’s them I love”

“But you didn’t love them enough to stay, right?” Sam retorts, wanting to laugh at the man who didn’t just abandon his partners he claims to love but also him.

“I-I made a mistake okay Sam! Just tell me where they are so I can explain to them”

“I don’t think thats a good idea”

“Why not?” The blond snapped.

“Because they’ve moved on from you Steve, they moved on.”

“B-but I can make it right between us, please Sam”

“You can’t just show up and-“

“Please Sam!”

“Fine, but just remember that I did tell you that they’ve moved on.” Sam told him the address and slammed the door in the man’s face, rushing to grab his phone to ring his friends.

The car pulled to a slow stop outside the gate, checking the number on the mailbox he got out of the car he had “borrowed”. His heart twitched at hearing children’s laughter ringing out in the summer evening, walking up the driveway his heart dropped at the scene in front of him.

Due to both Bucky and your phones being inside neither one received the many miss calls or messages from Sam to warn you both about the man who broke both of your hearts was on his way to yours, you didn’t know that he was standing at the side of the house watching you and Bucky playing happily with your children.

Steve smiled sadly seeing what he had missed out on for a fantasy like Sam had said. Slowly walking back to the car a few stray tears fell from his eyes.

He only had himself to blame for his heart aching the way it did by making the worst choice of his life.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama

[lustfulslxt]

1949 ⭑ Matt Sturniolo

Prologue

summary : you move back home with your brother and click with his friends, though the tension is high with matt and it turns into something more

warnings : brothers best friend trope, slow burn, tension, sneaky relationship, swearing, eventual smut, slight traumatic past relationship with reader’s mother, and probably some other stuff

a/n : hiii! so, this is my first actual series.. idk how long it will be, it really just depends on how you guys like it. i appreciate feedback always xx

1.1k words

—

The world around you seems to fade away, a dull buzzing echoing in your ears. Your eyes burn with seemingly invisible tears as you stare off into the distance, a somber expression overtaking your features. You fail to process the chatter and movement occurring around you, too preoccupied by the overwhelming change you’re currently forced to endure.

You swallow the lump in your throat and close your eyes, trying to gather yourself and your spiraling thoughts. You have never been good with change, and only once before have you been put in an all too similar predicament.

Taking a deep breath, you turn your head to gaze out of the window. White, fluffy clouds hang just beneath you, showcasing a dark city sparkling with various lights. Taking in the new area, you’re immediately brought back to how this all started.

Life has been anything but fulfilling. Ever since you were younger, you had been craving the love you get with family. However, your mother had deprived you of it.

You used to be happy, back when you were just a little girl. Your parents, you, and your brother, Nate, all lived together as one big happy family. At least once a week, the four of you would go out and do something fun with each other — whether it be the zoo, an amusement park, shopping, a picnic — it was always something to ensure you spent time together and encourage a healthy development.

You didn’t have a worry in the world, until it all came crashing down. Next thing you knew, you were on a flight to Nevada.

You were ripped from your dad and brother at such a young age, for reasons still unknown to this day. A big part of you despised your mother for taking you from your family, especially when she was incapable of giving you the love you needed as a child.

You cried and begged her to tell you what was going on, but she was adamant about you staying in a child’s place, and that this was better for the two of you. Any time you kept up with the questions and concerns, it was as if she turned into a whole other person. She’d become very aggressive, and so, to avoid her wrath, you just stopped altogether.

You were forced to start a new school, make new friends, and completely forget about your family back in Boston. Of course, that was easier said than done.

You’d cry yourself to sleep every single night, wanting nothing more than to get back on the plane and go home, even if it meant going without your mother.

She changed. She became something you didn’t recognize. The soft, caring, and loving mom you once had was overtaken by a cold, mean, and almost lifeless exterior. The relationship between both of you dwindled into nothing but resentment and bitterness.

Growing up without your father was hard. He was always so good to you, being everything you ever needed as a dad. He was a good man to your family, neighbors, and anyone he ever came across. You’re unsure of what happened between him and your mom, but you couldn’t see him as anything other than what he’s been.

Losing Nate was by far the hardest. He was your best friend, your other half. The two of you were as thick as thieves, always at each other’s hips. You shared everything with each other, there wasn’t a single secret between you. You turned to him for everything, and he was always so supportive and understanding, even at your young age. You were never as happy and full of life as you were when you were with him. Being without him was unbearable. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, as if there was an invisible lifeline keeping you connected, and being ripped away to Nevada severed it.

You often wondered if he still thinks about you. Was it as hard for him as it was for you? Did he move on with ease? Did he find new friends to replace you? Does he have a new sibling?

You’ve wanted so bad to reach out to them, to tell them you miss them and you’re sorry, but your mother always made it impossible. She did any and everything she could to prevent you from contacting them.

However, with the sudden turn of events, you’re now all alone on a plane, flying back to a place that holds sentimental memories, and you’re unsure of what it’s going to bring you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, US Air welcomes you to Boston, Massachusetts. The local time is 6:47 PM—” Is spoken over the intercom, causing a dreaded feeling to brew in your stomach.

You’re beyond nervous, and your mind is racing with overwhelming thoughts. Do they hate you? Do they blame you for mom leaving? Do they even want you to come back? Should you have stayed in Nevada on your own? Do they even know why you’re coming back?

You seem to be moving on autopilot, because the next thing you know, you’re at bag pick up to receive your luggage, and the atmosphere is filled with a loud environment. Your heart is thumping quickly in your chest, your body ridded with anxiety. You’re unsure of what to even do with yourself at this point.

“Y/N?”

You freeze in place, eyes wide as goosebumps line your skin. You can practically feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The uneasy feeling in your stomach worsens, and you’re actually terrified to turn around.

But you do.

“It’s you.” The same voice repeats.

You’re met with two people, and though it’s been quite some time, you recognize them instantly. Your breath catches in your throat, and tears well up in your eyes as you take them in.

“Oh my god.” Your dad cries as Nate rushes to you.

Your body is hit with a strong force as Nate yanks you into a hug. You suddenly snap out of it and reciprocate the hug, squeezing for dear life. Your dad is instantly joining, the three of you rocking back and forth as you cry.

It doesn’t feel real. This moment is what you’ve dreamed of almost every night since you’ve been gone. You’ve longed for this. Your heart has been so heavy for years on end, and this is exactly what you needed for that weight to lift.

“Oh my god, it’s really you.” Nate whispers, cradling you into his arms. “You’re really here.”

“It’s me.” You choke out through tears, “I’m here.”

—

taglist : @luv4kozume @worldlxvlys @flowerxbunnie @sturniolowhore @creamoncreamoncream2 @lvrsparadise @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @tillies33ssss @chrissfavwh3re @its-jennarose @sophssturn @defnotayonna @ksskianshd @d0wnbad4chris @braindead4l @avasturn @luverboychris @remussbitch @stunza @rootbeerworshiper @dracoflaco @strnlsblog @domaniquessidehoe @mattslolita @junnniiieee07 @pepsienthusiasts @gamermattsgf @cupidsword @iloveneilperry @matt444nixi @sturniololol @evieolo @dlyansworld @luv2matt @nmegamett20 @angelic-sturniolos111

[arieslost]

one night only | cl16

charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: when the miami grand prix comes around, charles books a hotel room.

word count: 3,263

warnings: 18+ content MDNI!! mentions of cheating (don’t do it), cursing, charles is a player but you’re down bad (who isn’t), this is my first time writing smut so enjoy!

special thank you to @venusacrossthestars for being my beta reader, ily bestie <3

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

unknown number: Our hotel. 10:30. Your keycard is at the front desk.

It was like clockwork. Every weekend of the Miami Grand Prix, you always ended up with a keycard in your hand. When Monday came, you woke up, showered, and took the tiny bottle of shampoo that you used with you when you left. It went in a shoebox under your bed to remind yourself not only of your mistakes, but of each and every night you spent forgetting them in the arms of the biggest mistake himself— Charles Leclerc.

It’s happened twice now. You hardly remembered the first, barring a joke you made about whether or not you needed to sign a NDA. Charles had silenced you by backing you up against the locked door and pressing heated kisses to your jaw, lips moving down your neck as you pulled him closer. He was excited that weekend— he’d taken P2, and it was thanks to the celebration he partook in at the club that he met you.

You were a bartender for the VIP section at a club near the track. It was easy work, if you didn’t mind all the flirting and catcalling. You were never one to be affected by it; you knew they were all either drunk beyond recognition, or would be by the end of the night. You loved your job. You also loved your boyfriend, whose shift you’d picked up that night.

But then Charles Leclerc, Scuderia Ferrari’s golden boy, sat down at the bar. Your bar.

After that weekend, you didn’t have a boyfriend. How could you, when every time he kissed you, you saw a certain Monegasque behind your closed eyelids? When every time he touched you, you imagined different hands caressing your skin?

You’ve always prided yourself in being a strong, independent woman, but when it came to the Formula One driver, all your inhibitions went out the window, and your pride with them. So you tried not to get attached to him. You were perfectly happy to be the annual hookup, to let yourself go for one night out of the 365 that came in a year. You didn’t need to get to know him, you didn’t need to learn more about the sport; you didn’t even need to kiss him on the mouth.

You didn’t.

So why were the words “our hotel” making your heart race every time you read over the text from his unsaved number?

You thought about responding, but in the end, you settled for liking the message, just like you did the last time he texted you. It had been his idea to keep this up in the first place, anyway.

2021.

“Where’re you going?” He was half awake, sleep fading quickly from his eyes when he took in the sight of you with your hand on the doorknob.

“I was leaving… unless you changed your mind about that NDA?” You quipped.

“That’s as funny as it was last night,” he groaned, stretching out and pushing the blankets off his body.

Ahh, last night. He’d put his boxers back on before falling asleep, but they didn’t really leave much to the imagination. Especially because it was all so fresh in your mind. The way he looked– hair mussed after all the times your hands had run through it, golden skin against the crisp, white hotel sheets, the red scratch marks on his back… Yeah, it was a miracle that you didn’t launch yourself back into the bed right then and there. You still dreamt about it sometimes, the way he looked so ethereal in the early morning sunlight streaming through the curtains.

“Are you going to continue to mock my sense of humor, or can I be on my way?” Your throat was so dry.

“I’ll be back in the area next year.” He didn’t offer any explanation— it was Charles Leclerc. He didn’t have to.

You fished out the piece of paper you’d scrawled your number on earlier before promptly stuffing it into your pocket in a moment of retrospection. Hell bent on leaving the room before you acted on the impulse to get on top of him again, you tossed it onto the nightstand.

“Make sure I can tell it’s you.” It was the last thing you said to him before you finally made it out the door.

Now, you read over his text again as you climbed the steps to the VIP section of the club. Our hotel. You were going to need some liquid courage if you were going to fuck him tonight.

A solid perk of your job was free access to the VIP section when you weren’t working, and in times like these you were most definitely going to take advantage of it. A couple shots were all you needed to take the edge off, and you downed them in quick succession before checking the time- 10:10. You were cutting it close, but the closer it got to 10:30, the antsier you became. You decided to linger for five more minutes, and called for another round.

“You okay?” One of your coworkers asked from behind the bar as he filled the shot glasses in front of you. “You look a little nervous.”

You laughed, waving him off. “I’m fine. Now leave me alone so I can enjoy my drinks, will you?”

He flipped you off good naturedly before turning to his other customers.

With another shot down, you took out your phone, the text still front and center on the display. You swiped it away, instead opening up the search engine. Against your better judgment, you typed the sentence you’d been restraining yourself from searching up all day long: miami gp 2024 results.

The first thing you saw was his name. CHARLES LECLERC WINS 2024 MIAMI GRAND PRIX.

You fought the urge to smile, quickly grabbing your fourth and final shot and tipping it back. Ironically, the burn of the whiskey sobered you up a little as you gazed at the picture showcasing his beaming face and dimpled cheeks, both hands lifting the first place trophy high in the air. You made the mistake of bringing up the race (or lack thereof) the last time you saw him, and since then you’d made an effort to try and avoid anything to do with F1.

2022.

“Disqualified? I mean, it’s shit!” You exclaimed heatedly as you wiped down the bar. Your phone was burning a hole in your pocket, making your stomach squirm with excitement every time you remembered the text.

Same hotel. 10:30. There’s a keycard at the front desk. No NDA. You had giggled at that last bit, and if you’d completely given up on your morals then you might have fallen in love with him for remembering the joke that he didn’t even crack a smile at last year. You’d practiced some French, and you paid attention to news about the Miami Grand Prix, but you hadn’t given up on your morals.​​ You weren’t going to fall for and pursue the guy you only saw once a year.

The French was simply because you wanted to brush up on your rusty high school skills. As for the news… well, you were in the area. Everyone was paying attention to the news.

“I didn’t realize you cared so much.” Your coworker replied, an eyebrow cocked at your reaction to what the reporter was saying on the TV.

“I don’t care, I just think it’s stupid.” You backpedaled, trying to sound more casual than you did a second ago, especially when Charles appeared on the screen looking nothing short of dead inside and your heart began to beat a little faster. “Everyone should be able to race.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the FIA for you.” One of your patrons grumbled, thumbing through his wallet and producing two five dollar bills. “Thanks, guys.”

“You keep that,” you shoved both bills into your coworker’s hand after the customer was out of earshot. “I have to go.”

You changed at the speed of light in the VIP bathroom before going to the hotel. You showed the clerk your ID, collected the keycard, entered the room, and promptly made a fool of yourself.

“I heard about the disqualification on the news…” You trailed off when you were met with a glare, not necessarily towards you but rather the topic of conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Was all he said before he practically manhandled you onto the bed, pulling his shirt over his head as you bounced back on the mattress. “When I’m with you, I don’t want to talk about work. I don’t want to talk at all.”

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, any other words dying in your throat as he hurriedly pushed your dress up past your stomach and immediately started kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.

When he reached the apex of your thighs, he looked up at you. “The only thing I want to hear you say for the rest of the night is my name, understand?”

He’d grabbed your hands and put them in his hair that night, right as he had you seeing stars courtesy of his head between your legs. You dreamt about that, too. A lot. You always woke up sweating, in desperate need of a certain type of relief that only he could give you.

You were thinking about last year again as you walked through the revolving doors into the hotel lobby, the shots of whiskey making your veins thrum with excitement.

The way he had whined when you pulled his hair.

The way he smirked at you as he crawled back up your body, so full of himself and so damn sexy.

You found yourself wondering what he’d be like tonight after winning the race as you gave your name to the clerk at the front desk, hoping she wouldn’t comment on how flushed you looked. She asked to see your ID, then handed the keycard over. Room 24. You were there in moments. He always booked a room on the third floor. As you walked down the hallway, you were vaguely aware of the fact that, against your will, this had become something of a routine.

You and Charles Leclerc. One night only.

For three years in a row.

You hadn’t even bothered to dress up this time— your clothes wouldn’t be staying on very long, anyway.

You were glad to see that you’d gotten there first when you opened the door, pocketing the keycard as the door swung shut behind you. There was no point in looking around the room; you knew the layout like the back of your hand. Eventually, you drew your attention to the view out of the large window, moving the curtain out of your way to admire the view of the Miami night. You tried imagining what everyone else was doing at that exact moment to distract yourself, but your mind kept going back to Charles.

Charles, Charles, Charles. Just thinking about him made your heart knock against your chest, and you were in the middle of mentally berating yourself for it when you heard the door opening and Charles himself walked in, the trophy you saw him holding in the picture still in his hand.

“Hey,” you greeted him, nerves adding a slight shake to your voice.

He gave you a soft smile in return, setting the trophy down on the nightstand and adjusting it slightly.

You remembered how he reacted the last time you mentioned his job, but this had to be different. Besides, it felt wrong not to acknowledge it when the trophy was literally sitting right there.

“Congrats— or, actually, félicitations on the win,” you said, dropping the curtain back and stepping closer to get a better look at the trophy. “Much better result than last year.”

“You’re not kidding.” He scoffed, taking his hat off and tossing it on the other side of the nightstand. “You know French?”

“A little.”

He had changed out of his race suit, but when you stood next to him you could still smell the champagne.

“Think you’ll be in the running for the championship?” You asked casually, even though you knew that he was in a great position already and was most definitely in the running for the championship.

You tried to avoid Formula One. You just weren’t all that successful.

He gave you a look, like he was trying to get in your head and figure out when you’d started paying attention. “I hope so,” he finally answered. “This could be the year.”

“I hope so too.” A pause. “Would it be overstepping if I said I was proud of you?”

This brought a real smile to his face, his dimples seeming even more prominent than they did in the photo. “Not at all. It’s actually really nice… hearing that from you.”

The usual initial awkwardness had finally faded away, and you knew what was going to happen next. You wished you could sit down with him and listen to him retell every moment of his triumphant race, but you couldn’t.

That’s what girlfriends do. Not hookups. You were perfectly fine with being a hookup, and you would continue to repeat it to yourself until you believed it again.

To mask your disappointment, you reached out and gently took his hand. His palm was warm under your touch as you pulled him close. “How about we celebrate that first place, hmm?”

The two of you moved like a well oiled machine, even after not seeing each other in a year.

He always tried to kiss you. You always turned your head at the last second. If he was disappointed, he never showed it, instead focusing on getting you underneath him. Not that he had to try very hard.

Charles had a way of making you forget. With every brush of his fingers against your bare skin, every press of his lips at your collarbone, you slipped away from reality more and more, until the only things that mattered were you, him, and the hotel room. Nothing existed outside of the four walls you were within, and how could you care right now? You couldn’t, not when he had already gotten you out of your shirt and bra and his hand was gently taking hold of your breast. He was taking his time, studying your every move in response to his own. His thumb brushed across your nipple just enough for your breath to catch in your throat, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips.

“Yeah, baby, I know,” he murmured, ego clearly inflated by the fact that the slightest touch from him still had you reacting this way, and you wished more than anything that you could kiss that stupid smirk off his face.

“I thought we were supposed to be celebrating,” you managed to say as his thumb continued its back and forth motion.

“This is me celebrating.” He paused, giving you a pointed look. “Is this not good enough for you?”

You bit your tongue, chest rising and falling as you squirmed underneath him due to the sudden lack of stimulation. “I-I just—”

“What? Utilise tes mots, chérie. Je sais que tu peux.” Use your words, dear. I know you can.

You took a breath, then looked directly into his stunning green eyes as you reached up, grabbed his wrist, and pushed his hand down. “Je te veux ici, Charles.” I want you here.

He cursed lowly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when he heard you speaking French back to him. “You said you only knew a little.”

“Just the important stuff,” you teased, eyes traveling down from his bare chest to his fingers as he tugged your underwear off.

The rest of his clothes followed, and he didn’t waste any time rolling on a condom and pushing himself into you, a punched breath leaving his lips once he was fully seated inside you. “Thought about this all day,” he said, large hands running over your naked body. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”

“You can’t say that kind of shit to me, Charles.” You sighed, your eyes closed as you adjusted to him.

“Why not?”

“Because it messes with my head,” you admitted.

“I mean it, though.”

“Did you mean to say ‘our hotel’ too?” You opened your eyes now, the burning question finally about to be answered.

“It is, don’t you think?” He asked, and then he started to move; slowly, tantalizingly.

“Shit. I can’t think when I’m with you.”

You couldn’t talk after that, not when he was making you feel so good. You could only wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer and marking his neck wherever your lips landed. You shouldn’t have, and he should have stopped you, but neither of you cared. Every lewd noise coming from his mouth made you feel hotter and hotter, and just when you thought you were going to burst into a ball of flames, he started talking.

“I want you to look at yourself,” he instructed breathlessly, maneuvering you so he was now laying on his side behind you… and you were staring right into your own eyes in the shiny surface of his first place trophy. “See how beautiful you look when I fuck you.”

You gasped, eyes rolling back, bringing your arm back so your hand could find a home in his hair again. You watched through the trophy as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin and arm tightening around you as he picked up his pace.

“Charles, I—”

“Mhmm,” he moaned in your ear, his hand slipping back between your legs when he felt you tightening around him. “Go on, baby, let go for me.”

You didn’t need to learn more about Formula One, but you had. You didn’t need to know more about Charles Leclerc, but you wanted to. You didn’t need to kiss him on the mouth. But your mind was hazy, and you wanted to know how his lips felt on yours. You wanted it so bad that, when the both of you had come back down to earth, you didn’t fight it when he leaned in and captured your lips with his. He kissed you deeply, rolling you onto your back against the pillows. You felt his hand against your cheek, and as you opened your mouth for him you tangled your fingers with his.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that things wouldn’t change.

And they don’t.

You still wake up before him in the morning. You still shower. You still put your clothes back on. You still trade parting words with each other, and you don’t hear from him for another year. You still take the shampoo bottle and put it in your shoebox when you get home, ignoring the ache between your legs the whole while.

Nothing changes.

Except now, you’ve spent a year knowing what it’s like to kiss him. You know how easily your lips mold together, how you would happily spend your one night with him doing nothing but kissing him.

And when the text lights up your phone, a thrill shoots through you.

CL16: Our hotel. 10:00. You know where to find your keycard. 😉

Maybe, somehow, you can find a way to keep your morals and be in love with Charles Leclerc at the same time.

note: well, here it is— after two+ years, i have made my long awaited return to posting fics on tumblr. i’ve done it in style by posting 18+ content for the first time; i hope it wasn’t too cringy to read. i don’t know what came over me, but here we are. thank you so much for reading.

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

also, i’ve been out of high school for almost three years now, so i greatly apologize if the french is bad or incorrect.

beautiful dividers by @saradika !!

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @naturallyspontaneous @whatever7justchillin @outerudeth @devlovesbooks @wegaveitago @seagulltacotoaster @acarguello1 @fangirlika @simplyscorpio @nuccibeboo2 @heeygemmilala @toppersjeep @anedpev @vee2004dee @chriss-club @lewisroscoelove @scaramou @aneverythingwriter @bingewatche @candystarfish @bestpart0fmylife @topgunmav1df1 @taytaythirteen @jackiekennedys @tpwk-loml @mangodreamsicle @rafaaoli @bunbun9396 @olicitymckono @weareallsnottygirls @jenm26 @alicecourtier @oliveswiftly @janeholt3 @d3kstar @l-inas @smiithys @spookylilmeep @barcelono @ililali-blog @srhh15 @sainz-leclerc @lilycampbells-blog @cassandra-nerezza-black @nova-rush

[marxo-fm]

Take me to Church

✯ John Price x f!reader | Playlist

Summary: A reader who’s so religious that she doesn’t even think of anything close to inappropriate, until she meets her dad’s best friend, Mr. John Price.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mature themes and language, age gap (reader is 25 and Price is in his early 40’s), religious trauma from Catholic variety, dad’s best friend, loss of virginity, pet names, slight aftercare in the end, fear of getting caught from reader, smut, assurance, fingering, reader isn’t all that clueless but super inexperienced, protected PIV, oral (fem! receiving), reader has some troubles with masturbation (failure to finish), Price teaches the reader how to feel good, praising, no descriptions of readers body, race, skin color, ethnicity, hair type/length and body type.

A/N: Currently don’t know wtf I’m doing with my life and how this absurdity came to mind, but aye, I’m all here for it. This was so…..!? Yeah. Also big shout out to Hozier, my icon. Side note: I truly apologize If this fic is rough, I will edit it soon but it’s mostly because I haven’t written in a hot minute, due to school and shit, but I’m back now—and I’m proud of this!

—

The breeze kisses your skin as you soak the sun's warmth on a Friday afternoon. The grass is green, and the clouds are out, summer has just begun. You feel yourself start to come back, you were struggling but now that’s over—for a bit. You look over as you watch your dad chopping wood. Usually, he has his friends helping out, but you guessed they had things to do, which explains why they weren’t here.

You memorized their names.

There’s Gaz, Simon, a man who goes by the name of ‘Soap’—which you find funny and you’re not sure if that’s his real name or if it’s just a nickname—and then…John.

Mr. Price. Or so you call him. Sir or Mr works just fine. But you never explored your unknown and strange feelings for him. How you always felt so shy around his dominating presence, or how his voice sounds like honey and sins. You prayed at night and asked for forgiveness when thinking of such thoughts you’ve never thought of when you see John.

Until one day in high school—in health class—they taught about intercourse and other things that left you baffled and quite scared. Anxious. Curious.

You’d get scolded by your Catholic parents when you asked such things, they say it’s too early to get into these topics, or that you should wait until marriage. Your parents are good, but you always follow their rules. You never once disobeyed, only minor times but you always asked for forgiveness.

You’ve always been a good girl, but Mr. Price always makes the fire in your belly grow. And that fire burns through your veins in an excruciating need for something so sinful. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, but you never fight it off, and that was bad.

“Hey honey, ought to help me out here? The jerks I call my friends are out busy somewhere, c’mon, I’ll teach ya.” Your father motioned his hands as he walked to his area where he chops his wood, you’ve never done this before, but you’re excited. He gives you his axe, and you almost give out due to how heavy it is. “Can’t carry it like that sweet pie, hold it strong and firm.” He instructs.

You do as he says, squinting your eyes to look at his face of approval, “I think I got it.”

He nods and you bring the axe up to your shoulder, and you bring it down with every ounce of strength.

You chopped it.

“Attagirl, that’s one hell of a way to chop down wood.” A man with a deeper voice and a southern drawl said from right behind you, you turn around and the blood rushes to your head.

It’s John.

“Oh…Mr. Price,” you stammer, and you feel a rush of embarrassment plastering your cheeks.

“Y’know ya can call me John, right? Good job raisin’ her pal, she got manners.” He chews on his toothpick as he takes the axe from your hands, and the contact leaves you feeling vulnerable and so flustered. His rough hands that he used to work, chop wood, and fix things felt oddly familiar on your soft skin.

“We taught her well, ain’t that right darlin’?” John looks over his shoulder, his flannel covering his bulging biceps and that itself makes you feel thirsty for cold water.

“Yes, Dad,” you replied softly, “Well, I’m just going to head on over back home to help Mom out. Want anything to drink John?”

John looked at you momentarily, the way his name slipped out of your sweet mouth left him speechless. His eyes gaze over your white dress that sits just above your knees, it feels like he is undressing you, but he’s just wondering how and when the hell you looked like this. Of course, you were always beautiful, but there was something special there.

A spark.

“No ma’am.” He waved his hand and went back to work. You watched as his forearms grew bigger when he swung that axe down.

Forgive me for my sins.

You mumbled before you opened the door to your home and walked in.

—

“My baby’s such a bad girl, aren’t ya? Takin’ me so well.” John praises as he thrusts into you in sinister motions like he’s been deprived of something so good for such a long time, that it almost drove him over the wall.

How you felt so good, so welcoming, as his thrusts became deeper and faster. Touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed—nor could feel. It was an out-of-body experience like your soul had ascended, and you didn’t know whether it was real.

Until your alarm woke you up. It wasn’t real, but gosh did it feel real. You’re sweating, and your heart is running a marathon, as you regain your breath, you feel like you committed a crime. A crime so punishable that it could result in a death sentence.

You grab your rosary and you rock back and forth, praying and asking for forgiveness for ever dreaming about him. Your parents always told you that you wouldn’t have a good spot in the afterlife—a place called hell—if you thought of or committed any acts of sin. Especially anything and everything related to dirty inappropriate thoughts or worse, sex. Commit any of these before marriage, and you have a spot ready for you down below.

You feared for your life, even though it was impossible for anyone you love to know. They won’t ever know you have thoughts about John, or how you feel warmth between your legs when you picture him touching you in places you can’t please. Or how you picture him shirtless chopping wood, grabbing your waist from behind as he helps you hold the axe properly and swing it down. It was oh so shameful of you. Dirty, bad, sinful.

But you feel as if enough was enough, you’ve been good for far too long, that you deserve to feel good about yourself for once.

It was the perfect time, six thirty in the morning and both your parents were sleeping away, not knowing their good and obedient daughter was yearning to touch herself.

You lock your doors for safety as you scurried back to bed, you lay down on your back as you skim your fingers down your chest.

Deep breathes in and deep breathes out. You don’t know how to do this, but you’ll give in anyway. You sigh as you pull your shorts down, with your underwear as well. You drew circles around your belly before trailing down to your heat. Soft gasps escaped your mouth at your sensitive touch. Sensitive and swollen from the dream you just had.

You close your eyes, rubbing circular motions on your most sensitive area as you picture John doing this for you instead. Rough and hard-working hands aiding you. A coil in your stomach tightens, urging you to untie right then and there, but you can’t get the motions to stay the same.

You winced as you pushed your finger deeper, your back arching in response. You don’t feel anything, no pleasure, only pain and emptiness.

You want to scream in the agonizing torture of being so close yet so far away. You pull your shorts back up as you go inside the restroom to wash your hands.

You committed acts of sin and weren't pleased, and now you feel nothing but guilt and insecurity of not knowing how to do something right.

—

The next day, the same place you were before. Outside on your dad's truck watching his friends help out with work. John wore a tight brown tee that accentuated his muscles, he's a retired man, but you could see every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears in that body of his.

You blush, thinking about it. About what could be hiding under his shirt.

He catches you eyeing him but you quickly divert your eyes back to your book. John smirked, telling your dad he'll be back in a second and wants to talk with you.

"Ya watchin' me, sweetheart?" He smiled, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. You watched as he did so, fearing that he'd ask you to take a puff, though you never would. "I...I was just trying to learn how you chop your wood, sir."

A deep chuckle escapes his mouth, "Y'know I can teach you, doll," the new nickname had you unable to face him, but he loved seeing you flustered. He took a puff and you nodded, "Come on over to my place, your dad won't mind. I'm not at home much, anyway. S'good to learn y'know," he went on as he walked closer to you, his southern accent becomes deeper as he goes, "You'll have the privacy that you need, to read your books and pray." He knew how religious you are, heck, he's a good friend to your parents.

"I don't know if my father will let me go, with a man nonetheless." John looks back and then back to you, "It's only me, angel."

You decide to ask your father, just in case. You don't want to go behind his back, even if John is family. You walk on over, building the courage to ask your father if it's okay to go over to a man's house, a man you yearn for.

"Dad, is it okay If John takes me to his house? He's gonna teach me how to chop wood." Your dad looks at you momentarily, before speaking, "Of course honey, just because I want you to help an old man out here and there. 'Aka' me." You tried to keep your cool, to not look so eager about going over a man's house.

John smiled, the thought of having you all to himself at his place gets him straining against his jeans. He loves it when you eye him as if he doesn't know or sense when you drool over him.

--

"Here's your room, sweet thing, if ya ever need anything I'm just a shout away." He sets his tools down and walks to the kitchen, his jeans shaping his toned legs and shirt sizes too small. Butterflies invade your stomach, merely at the thought that you'd be sleeping under the same roof as this man, and willing to teach you something you're so interested in.

"Can't believe your dress is that short, doll. Your mother let you out like that?" He eyed your white dress that sits just above your knees and shows more skin than the dresses you usually wear. "You know, Mr. Price, I'm an adult now."

"Course you are," he takes a sip of his beer, "but I ain't take you as the one to dress like this. Can't say I don't like it."

You smile, flustered at the way he just complimented you. You can't deny that you like it, you love it. It sent a rush of arousal through your entire body, and he noticed the way you crossed your legs.

"Damnit,"

"What is it?" You asked curiously, not knowing that John saw the way you squeezed your thighs together. He wants to ease the need and desire that coursed through you, but he doesn't want to screw it all up.

"Nothin', now come on outside."

--

"Now, you're going to hold it just like this," he instructs, pushing his hard body against your back as he holds your arms. You could feel the hardness of his strain on your back and you scream internally, unable to form coherent thoughts.

You made this so hard for him, so difficult to the point where John himself forgot what he wanted to teach you.

"Easy," his calloused hands left your arms and snaked their way along your waist. Your stomach flipped at the action. Goosebumps flare over your entire skin, his manly scent entering your nose and taking over your mind. You swallowed, and continued.

"Now raise your axe, and swing it down."

You did just so, and you successfully chopped the wood.

"That's it, angel baby, look at ya. Such a good learner."

"I am, aren't I?" You slightly bit your lip, John cursed himself and cupped your face. "Mm, damn right you are." John wondered deeply if you were such a good learner in other parts as well. Price cupping your face was a first, but his calloused hands that signal just how much of a hard worker made the intense throb between your legs grow.

--

You wake up with your blanket suffocating as you struggle to fall asleep, again. You tossed and turned, repeating everything and every touch he gave you. You try to stop the need and the burn in your belly, you really do, but it's hard when you don't know how to fulfill your need. It became so bad to the point where you stood up and walked to the kitchen for water.

He wasn't in his room, he was out for the morning. A busy man and you're so silly for thinking he'd be home, even when he informed you he wouldn't be home every passing hour.

But oh how much you needed him. In ways, you couldn't forgive yourself for it.

You sit down, as quiet as a mouse, waiting patiently for him to come back just so you can confess your dirty sins. Maybe he'll forgive you for them, or maybe he won't show you mercy.

You try to occupy yourself, laying down on the couch and turning on the TV, still in your nightgown. You pull the blanket over, ready to watch a cooking video to learn a few things.

But it hits you that you're actually able to do something about the heat in between your legs, now that nobody is here. The house was quiet except for the TV playing.

Your hand trails under the blanket, lifting your nightgown as you reach for your soaked underwear. Shameful how you're soaked even when he's not around, John really leaves his mark on you. You let out a sigh as you reached your wet and sensitive clit.

It's not easy when you struggle to please yourself, it's so disappointing, honestly. Today was no different.

There is this creeping guilt, but it always hits you the most just when you creep up the tip of the mountain, only for you to fall off when you realize what you're doing.

You can't stop thinking of him, shoulders aching and tears urging to escape when you're so close to reaching the end, only for it to be unsuccessful.

So, you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. Spreading your legs further as your fingers plunged into your aching hole, you gasped. Picturing yet again, how he pleases his women. Of course, he knew how, he is well experienced and capable of pleasing a woman, to the point where she forgets her own name.

You're committing acts of sins in his own home, unforgivable and dirty. Because you were raised with the idea of being perfect, but no one is perfect. From the moment you're born and the moment you die--but the moment you die is the moment John Price fulfills your dirty little dreams.

He whispers in your ear telling you how to do this and how to do that.

'Just like that.'

'Those fingers are too light, darlin', lemme do all the work."

"Attagirl, in and out."

And you almost reached the top of the mountain, whispering finally as sweat buds trail down your forehead.

Finally, finally, finally.

Until you fell down the mountain you tried so hard climbing, when John swings open the door to the sight of his best friend's daughter getting off on his couch. You hurriedly pull your panties back up.

At that moment, you wanted to scream.

To run away.

To die.

He's going to tell your dad, and your entire body freezes. You can't plead for forgiveness when you're so far gone. No mercy will be shown when he kicks you out and tells your parents how bad their daughter truly is.

You sit straight as your body shakes in fear, you're unable to cry when you know your fate.

A sinful girl.

"John," you choke, "I-I am so so sorry, I didn't mean to. I really wasn't-"

"How long have you been at this?" Your heart drops all the way down as the blood from your face drains. "O..only," you struggle to speak as his deep brown eyes gaze at you, "It was only this one time."

You lied.

Another sin.

He stands in silence, shutting the door behind him as he takes big steps towards you. He hovers over you, looking down to see a dirty girl in front of him. As if you played this innocent and sweet girl, though you were, except in John's eyes you weren't. At least that's what you thought.

He takes your chin and pushes your head up to face him, you weren't able to look in his eyes, it was all too much.

"Look at me," he grumbled, you did just what he said. Not once resisting, although it was difficult.

"I ain't mad at ya, it's natural, honey."

Your eyes widened and your shoulders relaxed from the tension and fear.

"You're not going to tell on me?" You asked, Price chuckles.

"Course I'm not, I ain't no snitch, I'm a grown man." He bends on his knees, his thumbs rubbing circular motions on your exposed skin.

"Did it feel good? Sorry to have ruined it for ya' angel." It sure did feel good knowing you almost reached the top, it really did, but it felt better having John assuring you that it was all okay. "You don't have to be sorry--I was just..."

"Go on."

"Continue what I interrupted, don't let my presence stop ya," he signaled his pointer finger toward the door to his room, "it ain't comfortable here. No space to spread those sweet legs, is there?"

You shake your head, "Go on, unless you want me in there. I know deep down you do, doll, you can feel so much better." He's right, the moment you've been dreaming of, it finally comes true. How could you say no to John being in the same room making you feel good?

You almost can't believe it.

He suddenly picks you up from the couch, initiating a soft gasp from you when he opens the door and throws you on his mattress.

You balance yourself with your two hands when he undresses himself in front of you. Starting off with his shirt. You gasp once again, at the sight of his sculpted body before you. His chest was full of hair and his toned dad bod was the definition of perfect.

He gets on the bed and slowly crawls towards you, his head now in between your thighs. "I interrupted your time of need, sweet girl, let me make it up to you." He smiles before hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear, pulling them down all the way to your ankles. On display right before him, so shy you hid away, unable to look at the lewd sight in front of you. "That ain't gonna work for me, eyes over here." His fingers dug into your thighs, you did just as he said, looking at his eyes that continue to look at your pretty pussy.

"S'fuckin' wet."

It's a dream come true for John as well, to see you all wide open and soaking wet for him.

He places peppered kisses along your thighs, and you whimper as he stops. John makes his way up to your lips, biting your bottom lip before kissing you deeply and hungrily. Exactly like the dreams.

His stache brushing against your top lip only made it feel real, his tongue deep inside your mouth as your hands held the back of his head, pushing his mouth impossibly deeper. He's eating your face as if it were his last meal on death row. Like a predator catching his prey.

He pulls away from the intense kiss, the saliva leaving both of you.

Good God did he know how to kiss, you let him do all the work when you could barely kiss him back just as good.

His chest heaved, and he continued with his kisses on your neck and down your collarbone, pushing a soft moan out of you that drove John over the wall. "Make more noises, it's only the two of us, jus' let me hear ya." He cooed, his hands lifting your nightgown over your hips and then over your head. His eyes trailed over your breasts hidden in your bra. "Ah fuck," you sit up, allowing John to unclip your bra, the sight of your chest out on display for him made his mouth water. He grips your left breast with one hand while he sucks and kisses the other.

"Oh, John...keep doing that, please."

He kneads your breast, almost putting you to sleep with how good it feels, "mmmhm," you sighed, "you been wantin' this, and I'm sorry for waiting this long." He apologizes as he places kisses down your belly and finally makes his way back to being in between your thighs.

"No need...to be sorry," you breathe, tilting your head back when he swipes his tongue between your wet folds. The new feeling alone made your legs tremble, enticing a loud gasp from you. You start to rock your hips against his mouth as his deep groans vibrate through your entire nervous system. "Taste like fuckin' Heaven, oh sweet baby, I think you are heaven itself." Praise that had you dropping your jaw as he inserted his hot tongue in your hole.

You swore you saw Heaven.

Brows furrowed and back arched as he eats you like a hungry man, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you, and your legs spread further open inviting him in for more.

John inserts one finger in as his tongue continues to suck on your most sensitive area, and you let out the loudest moan you didn't think you were capable of ever making.

You died in this moment. And John swore he died in that moment, also.

"John," you pant, focusing on what could be your first-ever orgasm.

"I know, you're close baby, s'fuckin' tight, come for me." His words of encouragement suddenly break the coil inside your burning belly, the liquid seeping out of you as he continues to lick away every last bit from you.

He takes his finger and licks you away, which leaves you half-lidded.

"See? How hard was that? Like rippin' a damn bandaid off, does your wound feel better?" He teased, "It does," you say softly, still reminiscing what happened a few seconds ago. What you just felt, how it felt like fireworks exploding inside your veins.

"Such a perfect pussy, waiting to be full of me." He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans, you've never had sex, but you definitely never needed something more than now. You need him, to get to know him, even when you already do.

"Does it hurt like they say?" You asked nervously, watching as his jeans disappeared, leaving him only in his boxers. His thick thighs didn't do much justice in the dim light.

"When I do it, then it shouldn't be as bad, doll. Jus' a little pain, but if ya feel like it's too much, you jus' tell me. Hm?"

It makes you feel special with how sweet he treats you, he treats you with such care that it truly makes you dizzy.

He takes off his boxers and you almost lose all consciousness, his cock leaking with pre-cum and hard, you thought it was quite inhumane how big he is.

Sure you've explored your curiosity, but John, he differed from all of them.

"Poor thing needs some love and I'm going to show your pussy what the definition of love is." You grew heavy with desire, "ya need me to use a condom, sweetheart?" he asked, you nodded, simply because you weren't on the pill.

He opens his drawer and pulls out a condom, ripping it off with his teeth and spitting a piece of the wrapper out.

That was a sight for sore eyes.

He slips it on his thick cock, the condom intensifying every vien, it left your mouth dry like a Sahara desert.

How was that going to fit? Was all you were thinking about, but you were so sure he was going to make it feel okay.

He sets his heavy cock on your soaking entrance, teasing you while he moves his dick up and down your folds, you whine with need and John chuckles.

Was this the sinful thing that would literally damn you for eternity? How could something so dirty feel so good?

He brings a hand of his to pin your arms down, while the other holds your leg close to him. Your brows furrow as he slowly enters himself into you. John grows concerned when he sees your lips pursed and your eyes shut tightly, a tear escaping.

He stops, and you stop holding your breath.

"It hurts don't it? Want me to stop?"

"Please, no," you gasp, "I...I want you to keep going."

He readjusts your hips, before proceeding to continue, "You sure, honey?" You nod and whisper a hundred times yes before he thrusts deep inside of you.

"So fuckin' good for me, fuck!" he shouts, he loved the way your cunt fluttered and wrapped tightly around his cock.

The silence in the room was filled with his groans and loud moans from you, so lewd and so dirty. But you're too far deep to leave now, you're ready to die, happily.

"My," he thrusts, then pulling away and thrusting back in deeper, "gorgeous," you gasp when he continues his rhythm of thrusting and being so close to pulling out before he thrusts impossibly deeper again, "Girl." He breathed.

He brings his fingers to circle your sensitive clit, and you feel it happening again. It's more intense and heavier.

Your walls wrapped tightly on his cock, initiating that you're indeed closer than you have ever been before. "Mhmm," he moaned, and it was such a sweet sound you so badly wanted to hear again. He grabs hold of your legs, bringing them closer to your head, thrusting at a deeper angle that you can feel in your throat.

"That's it, baby, that's my fuckin' girl right here. All mine, gimme one more." He stopped as you cried out his name over and over until it became engraved in John's brain. He silences your cries with his lips as your legs shake around him.

"You did so well for me, your pussy jus' needed some medicine to be cured, got you coming all over my cock." He begins to move again, to finish himself this time. Your pain turns into pleasure and familiarity when he pushes himself in and out.

"John, that feels so..." He groans loudly at the way you watch his cock slide in and out, it was obscene but also surreal, "look at you, fuck, gonna make me cum just lookin' at me like that."

Which you felt so good about, it's all you wanted.

He pants as he reached a certain point, chest heaving as you can feel his cock twitching inside of you.

John pulls out, and there's sadness in your heart at the emptiness. Your heart thuds loudly that your first time to be with a man you dreamed about, it feels euphoric. You felt ecstatic.

He wipes away your dry tears and your hair away from your face, that drowned in sweat and tears.

John admired you the second he laid his eyes on you till now, he never knew the definition of perfect until this moment.

"Can you teach me how to feel good?" You asked as your hand roamed his broad shoulders and his back. And fuck, did John love that.

"Course' baby, on top of the choppin' the damn wood lessons," you both laugh, "I got all the time in the world, for you."

Your heart ached, he whispered sweet nothings before he carried you into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

Then you nestled under his arms and his body heat, his chest, and arms hugging you as the two of you slept the day away.

It was worth every waking second, and now you can sleep peacefully.

--

A/N: Y'all, wtf. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Need him.

This lowkey needs to be edited some more now that I’m reading it, but I’ll definitely do that later…

[literaila]

remembering

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru has a bad day

warnings: canon angst, sad satoru, worried reader, etc.

last part | next part

*

year five.

satoru has been sitting on the couch for over an hour, probably. he's been staring at the wall and he hasn't even been thinking, really, but remembering. 

today is a bad day. that was clear enough when he woke up with a headache, the other half of his bed empty--because you'd been gone that past few days on a mission somewhere satoru can't remember the name of.

and today was a bad day when he took megumi out on his own mission, surveying the area for anything weak and small, and the boy couldn't manage to summon his shikigami for some unknown reason. 

and it was a bad day when megumi asked why can't you do everything for us? when he complained the whole way home and said i don't want to do this. i don't want to be-- 

today's just a bad day. 

and it was a bad day exactly six years ago, when suguru left. and it's still bad now because satoru is still alone. 

even though you came home a couple of hours ago and have been messing around with the kids since. 

you didn't say anything about his mood at dinner, but satoru knows that you can feel it. he can feel it--the looming, the storm. he can feel his own muscles shaking beneath his skin like they're ready to burst. 

he can feel it every time his heart contracts, and every time his heart remembers that it has no purpose. that he's just a man; if only that. 

and honestly--he's a lucky person. he knows that. 

but he doesn't feel lucky today. 

and he's been sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, for far too long. his eyes almost burn. it can't be tears though, because satoru isn't upset. it can't be tears because he doesn't cry. maybe he hasn't been blinking. 

maybe he's already dead, floating in a hell designed just for him. 

god, he hates being alone. 

it's when he thinks this that you walk into the room, slightly bouncing, a fresh reprieve from everything else. 

satoru manages a small smile at you.

“hey,” you say to him, voice soft and sweet as you walk over. but there's a question in the word because satoru knows you’ve been waiting for him. just like you always do. “you weren’t in your room. what are you doing?” 

but you don’t give him enough time to respond—not that he was going to—before your leg brushes against his. you've reached the other side of the room in almost an instant, or maybe satoru's just making things up. 

your hands go to his face, soft and warm, brushing against skin that satoru wants to scrub dry. “you tired?” you ask him, rubbing at the spot under his eye. 

you're standing between his legs, just a bit taller than him like this, staring at him so intently that it feels cruel. satoru's face fades into something neutral--something lost. he doesn't want to talk to you like this. 

it's simple when you begin to climb on top of him, hands using his shoulders to keep yourself steady. you wrap your legs around his torso, almost like you're kneeling against him, and then your hands move, playing with his hair.

“no,” he mumbles, not looking at you.

he doesn't think that he can stand your eyes right now. or your heart, or your voice. there's never been a moment where he's wanted you to move away from him, but the prickling feeling under his skin is almost instinctual. 

satoru has spent his life keeping people away, blocking them from ever reaching him, and it's almost infuriating that he can't do that to you right now. 

that he doesn't really want to. 

you're not even that close, and still. the feeling of you relaxing against him increases his hesitation tenfold. 

should he pull you closer or push you away? 

are you safer falling against the floor, or into him? 

satoru doesn't know. he doesn't know anything, really. suguru would tell him that if he was here now. 

but he's not, satoru thinks, and his mood darkens once again. 

still, you're smiling at him like you know he’s lying. “how’d your thing with megumi go? he told me that you said you thought he was improving,” you nudge him, “were you trying to make him feel better?” 

satoru gives in and brushes a hand across your face, moving hair away from your eyes. “he’s good.” 

“wow. ‘good,’” you shake your head. “such glowing remarks for your only son. you’re a great teacher, you know? maybe next you'll explain the ranking system to him." 

“i thought you already did that.” 

“i'm kidding, satoru,” you smile at him, tilting your head. and then you frown, and the world spins. “you okay?” 

his heart falters. satoru hates lying to you. “yeah, i’m fine.” 

“you’ve got wrinkles,” you say and smooth the furrow in his brow. “what’s up?” 

“nothing.” 

“you know that you’re a terrible liar?” 

satoru sighs, he attempts a smile, but it's futile because he doesn't have one, right now. and he should be happy that you're here--he should feel like clinging to you, sleeping right next to you like he's wanted to for days--but he doesn't. 

and maybe that's worse than anything else. 

how ridiculous would suguru call him now? when he's got you right where he's always wanted you, right there in front of him and he can't even do anything?

how hard would he laugh at satoru?

“hey,” you say, a bit serious. you give him a look. “you can talk to me.” 

“i know.” 

“did something happen?” 

“no.”

“was it megumi? he didn’t say anything—“ 

“nothing happened.” 

“well, then what’s up?” 

“nothing. i’m fine. i’m good.” 

you've always been able to see through him, always known how he felt before he could. and he likes that, usually. he likes that you understand him, that you care. 

he should be basking in it. in you, in your sweet smile and simple composure. you're a pillar against him, strong and sure, and satoru feels like he's suffocating. 

how can you act so normal right now? today?

“you’re good?” you repeat, not a question. “you look…” 

satoru shakes his head, he looks towards the floor but nothing has changed. suguru still hasn't come back and his carpet is still white. “are you bullying me right now?” 

“no,” you say defensively. usually, it would be a joke, but it's like you can tell that his ego is already bruised. “i was going to say handsome.” 

“sure.” 

“satoru…” you’ve got a frown on. “what’s wrong?” 

“like i said, nothing.” 

“will you tell me? please?” 

“there’s nothing to tell.” 

“if somethings wrong i want—“ 

“can you just drop it?” his voice is hard, rough. it feels like he just swallowed dirt. satoru can tell that he's on the verge of breaking--falling to pieces under your whims and your charms--and he doesn’t want to tell anyone anything. 

especially not you and especially not when you look like that. when you're one of the only good things he has. when he could so easily destroy you. 

satoru swallows. 

he knows he’s just ruined your mood. he knows that he shouldn’t be short with you, shouldn’t avoid or eyes or pretend like he doesn’t love it when you sit in his lap. 

but currently, he would rather feel nothing, empty, than anything else. he would rather feel like bursting under the weight of his power than upset, than sick with himself. 

if you keep asking him… he’ll give you an answer. 

and it won’t be one you want. 

“i—“ you pause, observing his face. you’ve lost the teasing in your eyes, the clarity on your face. unfortunately, satoru can feel it as you tense. “okay. you don’t have to tell me.” 

he nods but doesn’t answer. he should say thank you, but he’s not grateful. 

just a little more, he almost pleads, keep going. 

but you won’t because he asked you not to. because you’re better than him, and you flinch away from conflict like it’ll bruise you. 

“i, um, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to push.” 

he sighs again. “it’s fine.” 

you bite your lip, and satoru knows that you want to say something—ask something—but can’t. he can almost feel the words on the tip of your tongue, begging to come out. 

there is a point. and a cause, and significance too. 

no, there's not. 

still, you try again, straightening on his lap. you mess with the hair by his ear. “did tsumiki tell you about her science fair? it’s in a couple of weeks.” 

“no.” 

“she wants to do a lemon circuit.” 

“why?” 

you shrug. “lemons are cool.” 

“are they?” he asks, and it’s almost a joke, but it lacks the warmth of his voice. it lacks his amusement, any care. 

“uh, yeah.” 

satoru wants to smile at you, but it still feels impossible. his voice feels small, and if he says anything else it won't be loud enough for you to hear. 

he wants so desperately to just give in to you. to shake himself out of this. 

but when he tries, he meets a wall of his own creation, the same moment over and over. 

he wishes he could give into this, your prodding, your smiles, but he can’t. 

and then, so softly, you ask, “do you want me to stop talking?” 

satoru exhales. “no.” 

he doesn't know what he wants. 

“okay. do you want me to get off?” 

you're so arrogant. 

“no.” 

you tuck your chin in. “are you lying to me, satoru?” 

satoru looks away, towards the wall. towards a past he can't manage to erase no matter how hard he tries. “no.” 

“i can leave you alone,” you whisper, “if you want me to.” 

“i don’t want you to.” 

“if you need space, that’s fine.” 

“i don’t.” 

“okay.” 

satoru nods. “okay.” 

a moment passes when satoru's chest is tight, his breath short and his body completely at will. he can't do anything right now, not breathe, not move, not love you the way you deserve. 

absolutely nothing. 

and he wants to scream at this version of himself. he wants to pick himself up off of the floor just so he can kick himself back down. but there's no point to that, no point to any of it. 

his eyes still burn. maybe he has something stuck in them.

“i just…” you start a moment later. it's almost like you know that he's falling apart like your body can feel it, even if you can't. the pause in your voice allows satoru's anger to surface. 

he knows that you can't help it, really. but it doesn't matter. 

“why can’t you leave this alone?” he asks, voice that same rough thing it was a minute ago. that cruel tone that he hopes will make you flinch away from him. 

but it doesn't. 

you frown. “because i’m worried about you. you’re not talking to me, and you won’t look me in the eye, and you seem upset.” 

he looks you in the eye. he knows his face is hard, just a plane of rays and lines. “look, i'm fine.” 

this time you look away first, away from the wrong version of him, shaking your head. 

“you don’t need to worry about me," satoru tells you, lump in his throat. his hands are plastered to his side, but his fingers move in a familiar motion. he could burn himself down right now, he thinks, it would only take a moment. 

“well, i’m going to. you think you’d have gotten used to it by now.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

you tilt your head so you can look at him more directly, get his eyes on your face. “i don’t know what to do, okay? you’re not like megumi or tsumiki, you don't tell me these things. and i can’t read your mind.” 

“good.” 

“why don’t you want to talk to me?” your face is soft, concerned.

satoru looks away. “i already told you, there’s nothing to talk about. i don’t even know why you’re worried.” 

“because of that,” you say, pointing at him. "you keep doing that."

“doing what?” 

“that. you’re being short with me.” 

“i'm just talking,” satoru closes his eyes. "i thought that was what you wanted."

he can't see you, but he can feel it as you lean back, away from him, and your body relaxes--but in defeat. he wants to open his eyes and study you, observe you like some science experiment. 

and he wants never to look at you again. 

you breathe in, intentionally. “you don’t want me to talk to you, and you don’t want me to go away. what do you want, satoru? what can i do to help?” 

“nothing…” he answers, whispering. “nothing,” he repeats. 

because it's true. if you could go back and fix everything for him. if you could've been there this morning when he was still a person and not a corpse, still a father and yours instead of a boy you once knew--if you could've done that, he'd be fine. 

or he wouldn't be. satoru doesn't even know anymore. 

“i won’t ridicule you for whatever’s wrong,” you tell him, as a reassurance, just in case he wasn’t sure. “i wouldn’t do that.” 

“wouldn’t you?” 

“satoru.” 

“look,” he sits up, holding onto you by your waist. your legs tighten around him. “there’s nothing wrong. you don’t need—i don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“i can’t help it.” 

“well, try.” 

you look away, towards the door. satoru can see you contemplating the words--he can feel the argument, the call of hypocrisy. he would tell you to talk to him, he would say that you needed to get it off your chest. 

somehow, satoru doesn't care. he'd rather be a hypocrite--cruel--and protect you from this than let you inside. let you mold in the core of him, rotten and unused.

you sigh, eventually, like you know what he's thinking. “do you want to go to bed?” 

it takes a moment, but satoru nods. he’s not tired—he’s almost wide awake—but at least being asleep would be better than this. 

at least if he can fall asleep and wake up then it won't be today anymore. then he won't have to think about all of this and try not to let the thoughts overflow out of him. 

“okay,” you finally smile again, though it’s slight. almost unnatural on your face. “c’mon.”

you climb off of him, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

satoru lets you lead the way to his bedroom, focusing on the feeling of your smaller hand in his. you’re warm, and satoru could reach up and feel your pulse. 

maybe he should. he’s not even sure if he’s alive right now. 

but when you reach for his door handle he stops, shaking your hand from his. 

it’s almost unconscious. his body knows what he wants.

he immediately feels the cold, but there’s no going back now. he can't grab your hand and pretend it was an accident, satoru can't go back to being the person who falls asleep in your arms, wrapped entirely around you. 

he just can't. 

you turn to look at him, tilting your head in question. 

"can i--" he stops, swallowing. this time, the burning in his eyes is different. 

"what?" you ask, softly. 

"could--i think i just need some space. tonight." 

"okay, i can--" you pause, eyes widening. "oh, you..." you look towards his door, back to him. satoru watches the realization hit your face, the pain. 

he wants to look away but he can't. 

"is that okay?" he wonders, voice smaller, softer. it feels almost natural. 

"yeah, that's fine," you nod your head immediately, too fast, too sharp. "that's totally fine. whatever you need." 

satoru leans back. "are you sure?" 

"yeah, satoru, of course. i'll just, um--" you shake your head, now, backing away. and then you sidestep him, trying to get away as fast as possible. "i'll see you in the morning, okay? just... you know, get me, if there's anything. if you need anything, i mean. if..." you stop there. 

satoru's heart feels rotten at the bewildered look on your face, the sudden fear in your eyes. 

but he only nods. he's not allowed to change his mind. 

and when you begin to back away, down the hall to your room, satoru doesn't open the door. he doesn't move. 

he watches you as you run far away from him, your body tense and your back turned towards him. 

if you want to kill me, then kill me, satoru hears. there would be a point to that. 

he stares at the space where you were even after you're gone, shut away behind your door, not having bothered to look back at him. he waits like you might come back. like he wants you to. 

and then, as if he's completely okay, satoru opens his door. 

when he closes it, the sound echoes in his core. 

*

satoru lays in bed for hours. 

he'd forgotten how difficult it was to fall asleep without someone there beside him. 

*

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