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trashytracktales · 2 days ago

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Girl i need. NEED. Lando and reader sneaking out of their own wedding to fuck. i can’t get it out of my head pls pls pls pls.

like imagine himmmm: obsessed with how she looks, can’t stop being handsy and touchy and always looking for kisses and attention that at some point he drags her in some bathroom and gets under her massive bridal skirt AAAASSAASNFHDJS i can’t pls pls make it happen 😭😭

5 minutes. 7, tops | LN⁴

☁️ summary ──── Lando has never been the one to resist her. And on their wedding day, when she looks the most beautiful he’s ever seen her, wrapped in white and glowing just for him, he doesn’t even try.

☁️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x Wife!Reader

☁️ rating ──── explicit

☁️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, dirty talk, swearing, banter and emotional intimacy, smut, semi-public, brief fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, teasing, possessiveness, unprotected (bathroom) sex.

☁️ word count ──── 4.2k

☁️ date ──── Jun. 22, 2025

☁️ a/n ──── Based on this ask, this os was highly requested for some reason, so take a slice until I find a way to finish the other 5 I started 🫴🏻🍰

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” a voice cuts through the air, loud and vibrating with excitement. “For the first time ever, I have the honor to present you: Mr. and Mrs. Norris!”

A set of double doors at the back of the hall swing open, and a wave of applause and cheers rolls forward as the newly married couple appears in sight.

Lando is holding her hand tightly, like he has no plans of letting go ever again. He looks like a fairytale, wearing a tailored black suit with clean lines down the legs, the kind of cut that says money but doesn’t scream it. His shirt is a stark white beneath, the collar buttoned all the way up, his tie coordinating perfectly with her dress without being too much. There’s a hidden message in those seemingly small choices that might go unnoticed. But they say more than words ever could. No loosened collar means a man who knows exactly who he belongs to, and the matching tie means that, from now on, every step is made with her in mind.

His smile is blinding, spreading all over his face and lighting his features with happiness. He’s not smiling for the crowd or cameras, but for her. His eyes keep flicking sideways to catch hers like he still can’t believe this is real.

“Let’s go, Landooo!” someone shouts, making the guests laugh, and his smile blooms even further.

They walk in perfect harmony toward the center of the room, surrounded by clapping and whistles, artificial fog and confetti, and her dress molds softly against her legs as they move, his steps steady and sure, despite the fact that on the inside, Lando already fainted three times, received CPR twice, and died once.

They reach the dance floor, and as the first notes of their song begin to play, everything shifts. The noise drops off almost instantly, the crowd falling silent, while the lights dim just a little. The music fills the room with something much heavier than melody just as Lando places a hand on her waist, fingers brushing the fabric of her dress. Her back fits perfectly against his palm, and when she gazes up at him with those eyes that still make his heart skip more than one beat, lips curling into a smile that’s been haunting his thoughts ever since the day he’s met her, Lando is gone.

Her dress glimmers, hugging her curves like it was crafted for the sole purpose of undoing him. And truth is, it was.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, starting to guide her in the steps they’ve been practicing for months now. It became muscle memory, carved into quiet mornings before he left for work or rehearsed in his driver’s room between practice sessions; they’ve been stealing moments whenever they could, and now everything blends together effortlessly, like it was always meant to lead here.

She giggles, blushing a little but enjoying the way his voice drops when he’s being honest. Honest and absolutely in love with her.

“Don’t you have other lines, Mr. Norris?” she teases, eyes sparkling under her curled lashes.

He leans in, lips slightly brushing her ear. “Not unless you want to show everyone in here how you melt if I say something else,” he replies under his breath.

She looks at him again, emboldened by the intimacy in his words. “Like what?” she challenges him.

Lando’s jaw clenches. He spins her slowly, her dress fanning out, revealing just enough leg to make his vision blur. When she lands back in his arms, her chest presses against him, and he hisses softly.

“For starters, your boobs look insane in that corset,” he says, eyes flicking down for the briefest second.

She exhales a soft sigh, half scandalized, half thrilled, her fingers tightening around his shoulder.

“It’s torture,” adds Lando, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. “I was hard the second you walked down that aisle.”

The girl finally gasps, eyes darting to his. “Lando.”

“I’m so serious, baby,” he insists, laughing softly. “It hasn’t let up. I don’t know how I’m supposed to wait ‘til we get home,” he punctuates it with a look so intense that her knees nearly give out. She clutches his shoulder firmly, her pulse slowly rising, everything below her waist aching at the thought. “I just want to fuck my wife.”

Well, shit.

The word echoes in her head like church bells, giving her chills all over her body — wife, wife, wife! She loves the way he says it, like it’s something he’s earned. She melts further into his frame, their bodies brushing in a way far too suggestive for the room full of people watching them.

She lifts her chin, brushing her nose against his in the barest tease of affection. “You’re not the only one suffering, you know,” she whispers, her lips grazing his. “I’ve been a mess since I saw you in this tux,” she continues, smoothing the material with her palms sliding down his chest. “My husband looks like sex.”

Lando lets out a high-pitched chuckle. “Shoot me in the balls, it would hurt less.”

“I really appreciate the visuals,” she laughs in return.

He twirls her once more, slower this time, his eyes never leaving her. When she lands back in his arms, her back arches just slightly, pressing her breasts against his chest. It’s easy to feel the shift in him, and how his fingers tighten around every part of her body that he’s touching.

As the song is coming to an end, Lando’s hand slides up to her throat, holding her there. Her breath catches right away, but he doesn’t wait for permission. He already got it the moment she said yes to him in fornt of their families, friends, and the entire world. So he crashes his mouth to hers, putting up a show for everyone, without shame. It’s not the delicate kind of kiss people expect during a first dance. It’s months of tension and restraint, and the thrill of calling her his wife unleashed all at once. Her fingers curl into the lapels of his suit, so dizzy that she can barely hear the music anymore. But she feels it in the way their bodies sway together, the way the room goes still again, before the crowd erupts in wild applause.

Just as the final chord fades out, his lips leave hers, bringing her back to reality.

“Should we dip?” asks Lando, staring at her with a subtle look.

She arches a brow, grinning. “Dip?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs with a slight tilt of his head, completely serious despite the smirk. “Sneak out. Just for a bit.”

Her eyes widen. “We can’t leave our own wedding, Lando. We literally just got here.”

He smiles, leaning in closer, voice laced with enough honey to make her swoon. “Come on,” he insists. “Just a quickie in the bathroom,” his lips touch her cheek gently as he speaks, “We’ll be five minutes. No one’s gonna notice.”

She pulls back to shoot him a questionable look. “Five minutes?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “Alright. Seven, tops,” he says.

Her pulse is jumping wildly as she presses a hand to his chest, half to hold him back, half to steady herself. “Baby, our parents are here.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “As if we didn’t go at it in my childhood bedroom with my mum watching The Crown across the hall,” says Lando in a casual voice, studying her face. “What?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, fighting to hide a smile.

In response, Lando lifts his left hand to her eye level. “Your idiot,” he reminds her, pointing at the ring on his finger. “Forever.”

The girl shakes her head. “Your point?” she asks.

Lando grins. “I’ll make it fast, darling,” he assures her, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers pressing into the small of her back. “I’ll be in and out. Like, literally”

“So romantic,” she says sarcastically. “My husband, everybody!”

Just then, the voice of the wedding planner cuts in again, echoing through the mic like a divine intervention, “Now that the dance floor is officially heated up,” she calls cheerfully, “We’d love for all of you to join the lovely couple and let’s get this party started!”

She hesitates. For just a second, and that second is all he needs. He sees the flicker in her eyes, the war between logic and lust and, luckily, he knows her too well to know exactly which one’s winning this time.

With a playful wink, he intertwines his fingers with hers and gives her hand a gentle, insistent tug. “Come on, Mrs. Norris.”

As they weave through the crowd, hands still clasped tightly, guests stop them every few steps, offering hugs and heartfelt congratulations. They smile, nod, thank everyone politely, but there’s a quiet urgency in their movements, a shared look between them like they’re trying not to be swept up in the chaos. If they could melt into the walls unnoticed, they would, but right now, all they want is to be alone.

For just five minutes. Seven, tops.

The second they disappear around the corner, his hand is already on her waist, pressing her back into the wall beside the bathroom door. His mouth finds hers again as hot as earlier, pulling soft whimpers out of her.

The bathroom is nothing short of extravagant, like everything else at this wedding. Soft golden sconces glow against marble, casting a warm light that reflects off the tall mirrors lining on the walls. The sinks are sculpted from polished stone, ivory and veined with gold, with delicate faucets that look more like something made by Michelangelo than plumbing. Plush white hand towels are rolled perfectly beside trays of expensive perfumes and colognes. Everything sparkles, and it smells like luxury: jasmine, sweet vanilla, and a hint of champagne.

They stumble through the door like they’re drunk, her giggles breathless and lips kiss-bitten, while Lando spins her gently and backs her toward the counter. Her body presses to the edge, dress fanning out as she leans back whithout resistence. Then her leg slips out from the slit in her gown, forcing Lando to drop to his knees immediately, as if pulled by gravity.

He shoots her one look, with dark eyes and puffy lips from all the kissing. His hands trail slowly up her thighs, parting them delicately, then pulling her panties down. The white of her dress pools around his shoulders, brushing against his cheeks and collar, framing him in folds of pearlescent fabric.

Her mouth goes dry at the sight of him; he looks angelic between her legs, surrounded by pure white, but when his tongue touches her, there’s nothing holy about it.

Lando groans the second his mouth finds her folds, his hot tongue lapping confident strokes that make her head tip back against the mirror with a dull thud. He said quickie, but doesn’t rush. He tastes her like he’s savoring the first gulp of water after the Singapore Grand Prix, and hearing her silent moans only makes him thirstier.

“Lan…” she whines, fingers tangling in his curls.

He smiles against her skin, already pulling back, lips wet and glistening. “You are a fucking dream,” he tells her. “Such a mess f’me, you don’t even need prepping.”

He’s up in a blink of an eye, lips brushig her jaw so lightly that she’s sure she imagined it, until Lando cups her face gently, thumb brushing her cheek as he tilts her chin up, searching for her eyes. The warmth of his other hand slides back between her legs, fingers sliding through slick heat. All he gives her is just a couple of slow pumps, the kind meant to tease and announce their presence, not satisfy. His eyes stay locked on hers the whole time, reading every shift of her breath like it’s a private language only he understands.

“You like being sneaky so much that you’re dripping already, hm?”

She’s trembling, thighs closing around his wrist. “No,” the girl lies.

Lando hisses. “No?” he shakes his head, laughing softly. “I think you like knowing they’re all out there celebrating us, while you’re in here soaking my fingers.”

He’s well aware of the effect he has on her; always were. He knows all it takes is just a little look, and she’s done for. It’s a power he’s been taking advantage of countless times in the past, but this time, he uses it almost like a gentle reminder. While maintaing that look, he unbuckles his belt with the other hand, the soft clink echoing in her head like choir of angels. Then, he unzips with practiced urgency, pushing his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.

And she realizes that Lando was nothing but honest, as usual.

His cock is already hard and flushed, the head swollen, leaking slightly at the tip. He wraps his hand around the base with a quiet hiss through his teeth, dragging it once down his length. He keeps his other hand working between her legs in the meantime, coaxing her higher with every stroke.

“See what my wife does to me?” he asks rhetorically, then slows, easing his fingers out with maddening care, watching her with a knowing gaze.

She can barely breathe at this point.

Deftly, Lando’s hands land on her hips, hiking her dress up her waist, until white silk bunches around them, revealing the heated skin beneath. He hooks one of her legs up over his waist, angling her until her core presses right against him. He knows it was the perfect choice, because her back arches in an instant, and breath starts stuttering when she feels the head of his cock sliding through her folds, catching on her clit and dipping back down, spreading her wetness over both of them.

The skin-on-skin contact makes her whimper in anticipation.

“My pretty liar,” she says, making Lando puff out a sigh. She lets out a shaky breath, body already aching, but the longer he lingers, the more her frustration bubbles up. Her fingers grip his jaw, forcing him to look at her. “You said five minutes,” she whispers, eyes narrowed but glittering. “And now you’re playing games?”

His jaw clenches as he pushes forward, just enough for the head to catch against her entrance. Then, continuing to hold her gaze, he thrusts in. All the way.

Lando chokes on a breath. “I said seven, tops,” he defends himself.

He stills inside, eyes closing for a moment, brain gone entirely blank at the feeling of her, as if it’s the first time. Her pussy grips him tight, warm and slick and perfect and his, and for a second, all he can do is focus on his breathing. No coherent thoughts, no words, just the mind-shattering realization that he’s buried inside his wife.

Each breath is punctuated by the slow beginning of his hips rolling, starting to move, dragging his cock against her walls again and again, as if trying to relearn every inch of her from the inside out.

She’s maddening around him, her body molding to his like it was made for him to hold. In his selfishness, Lando actually believes she was. Because it’s not just the physical. It’s everything that bonded them over time. And now, it’s the weight of the ring on her hand as it clutches at his shoulder. The way she gasps his name like it’s the only word she knows. The look in her eyes that says, I’m only yours.

His breath gets shallow and unsteady in a way she’s never heard him before. Like Lando’s unraveling in real time, coming apart at the seams just from being inside her. And she moves with him, meeting every thrust with the same need. Her nails scrape gently down the back of his head, then dig in when he shifts just right, making her entire body shiver in response.

“Mine,” he chokes on the words, thrusts slowing for a heartbeat as if to savor it, while she hums in pleasure. “Feel how wet you are? That’s all me, yeah?”

She nods, but it’s not enough. She turns her head, mouth finding his jaw, his neck, trying to stay anchored in the moment while her body rocks with his. “Always you, my love,” she replies, sounding like she’s on the verge of despair.

His laugh is breathless, like she’s just broken something open inside him. “Fuck, I won’t last. Two minutes,” he informes her. “Dropped to two minutes.”

She laughs, too. But his next thrust is harder, less controlled, making her cry out instead, all needy and high-pitched. She gasps his name, fingers clawing at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket as his hips continue to move in earnest, thrusting into her with a delicious rhythm. She fumbles with the tie and buttons, trying to peel the fabric from his shoulders, craving more of his heat and skin and the way his muscles flex every time he slams forward. But Lando’s pace only increases, and it ruins her effort.

His jacket slips halfway off, one sleeve hanging limp from his arm, the other clinging stubbornly to his shoulder. He can’t stop. The sight of her like this, with her legs spread, dress hitched up, and soft body pulling him in with every thrust has obliterated every ounce of patience he had left.

“Fucking, fuck,” he growls, burying his face in her neck. His mouth presses a small kiss there, but his lips twitch with restraint, the need to mark her thrumming violently through him.

“Don’t,” she warns, knowing every filthy thought that’s ever crossed Lando’s mind.

“Please,” he whines. “Let them know I fucked you in the bathroom at our own wedding.”

Her voice trembles as she moans loudly, her arms locking around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Her back arches off the counter, hips meeting his, as her body folds to the rhythm.

“You’re already fucking up my wedding dress,” she gasps, breath hot in his ear. “Trust me, baby. They’ll know.”

Lando pulls back to look at her, sweat beading at his temple, a gremlin-like smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s the only time you’re wearing it anyway.”

After that, his hands clamp down on her waist, firm to fuck her harder, burying himself to the hilt with each movement. She cries out, head falling on his shoulder, completely unraveling for him as her slick walls tighten around his cock. Her body clings to him in every possible way, shaking with the promise of release, and all Lando can do is just hold on, driven by the feel of her, the sound of her, the truth of what they are now.

Husband and wife. And so completely owned by each other.

Her body is ready to give up under his force, every inch of her strung tight with need, already teetering on the edge. Her hair’s falling in messy waves around her flushed face, eyes glassy as she encourages him to take her harder.

Fueled by her demand, Lando does exactly as he’s told.

“My wife.”

Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust.

“Making me go crazy.”

Thrust-thrust-thrust.

His words slam into her as hard as his hips do, leaving her gasping, dazed, dizzy. And wanting more. She lets out a string of moans, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket still stubbornly clinging to his shoulder. Her entire world feels like it’s collapsing around the rhythm of his body and the ragged devotion in his voice.

“You have no idea,” he grunts, “How fucking excited I am to fuck you like this for the rest of our lives.”

“I might have a few ideas,” she replies. “Especially if this is you before our wedding night. What’re you gonna do when I’m wearing nothing but your last name and asking for more?” she asks, tilting her hips enough to make him feel the shift. “Think you can keep up with me, husband?”

A guttural noise tears from his throat as he slams into her faster, chasing the release like it’s his lifeline. Their bodies slap together with wet sounds, the soft rustle of her dress and the quiet creak of the counter drowned beneath their wild breathing.

“That answers your question, eh?”

“Shit. Yes. Fuck,” she replies. “Lando,” the girl pants, mouth brushing his.

And then she breaks. Her orgasm hits fast and hard, her thighs shaking, body trembling as she cries out, voice echoing off the walls of his skull. But before she can fully scream, Lando covers her mouth with his, swallowing the sound.

Their kiss is messy and soaked in panting breaths and wet lips, and with her convulsing in pleasure beneath him, is too much for Lando to hold back. He thrusts deep once, twice, then groans into her mouth as he spills all his love and lust inside her. The blinding sensation knocks the air from his lungs, their bodies shaking together as they fall apart and hold each other through it.

Trying to catch her breath, her cheek rests against his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his back, one of her legs still hooked around his waist. His hands stay firm on her hips, not wanting to let go, still inside her, connected, and in no rush to move, because time doesn’t exist in this little corner of their universe.

But a few moments later, Lando lifts his gaze, catching sight of them in one of the tall mirrors. The reflection hits him hard: his dark curls are pointing in every direction, his jacket hangs crooked from one shoulder, tie just halfway undone. Her dress is wrinkled and bunched around her thighs, and her lipstick is smudged everywhere on his face from all the kisses they never planned to stop. And what truly gets him is the look in his own eyes — he’s glowing. Like he’s just crossed a finish line, but this time it wasn’t just him in the car.

He sees her holding onto him like she always will.

He sees himself holding her like she’s the only safe place he’s ever known.

Suddenly, he realizes he’s a husband now. Her husband. And he’s going to wake up to this woman for the rest of his life. Through every challenge, every joy, and every storm, he has a partner that’s here to stay. Even when life throws everything it can at him, she will be his constant. His only source of peace. His home.

Lando’s throat tightens, emotion rising so violently it nearly drowns him. Gently, he leans in, pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, breathing her in as he closes his eyes.

“I promise to always be yours,” he starts whispering his vows again. “To protect your heart like it’s my own.”

Her breath hitches, her brain just coming out of the haze of pleasure caused by her husband.

“To love you when things are easy,” he continues, “And love you even harder when they’re not.”

With teary eyes, her arms squeeze him tighter. Even if she finds it hard to hold him like that, because her body melts under the weight of his words, she does it because she knows how important it is for Lando to remind her that, at the end of the day, it’s about this: them.

She’s just about to whisper something back after Lando stops talking, but he’s always managed to leave her speechles, one way or another. This time, he reduces her to a soft moan when he slowly pulls out of her. At that, her body clenches involuntarily as the absence of him leaves her sensitive and throbbing. The warm aftermath of their pleasure slips slowly out of her, making her thighs twitch around the sensation.

Lando sighs as he watches it happen, forehead dropping to her shoulder.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, voice raspy as if he just woke up. “Didn’t mean to ruin the moment, but fucking hell. It kills me every time I pull out,” he explains, drawing back to look at her, his hand trailing over her thigh, possessive and adoring all at once.

She exhales a breathy laugh despite herself, her chest still rising and falling from the intensity, cheeks all flushed. “You’re such a boy,” she scolds playfully, giving his shoulder a half-hearted push, still giggling.

“I’m grieving,” he says, faking innocence.

“You’re done,” she cuts him off, the affection in her voice making it sound more like a vow than a complaint.

Still perched on the counter, she leans forward, trying to tame the wild curls now clinging to his forehead. Her fingers thread through his hair with the kind of tender frustration only a woman in love can pull off, pushing it back, smoothing it, even if it’s completely in vain.

Lando closes his eyes and hums like a man being worshipped. “That’s your mess, by the way,” he says satisfied.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a smile. “My beautiful mess.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

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nadacarcan · 3 days ago

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my drafts keep growing…

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kelisewrites · 19 hours ago

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cuddlebuddy!bakugou who will take any and every opportunity to be near you??

it started off slow, innocent really.

bakugou has always been observant, so it’s not even worth pretending like you’re not freezing.

he notices immediately how you began shivering a little.

“shits annoying.”

“huh?” you turn to him.

“pretendin’ like you ain’t cold,” he mutters. “just c’mere already”

you were hesitant, but then you sat yourself next to him as you felt his arm around you, pulling you into his side.

from then on, it became a habit. routine, almost. whenever katsuki was even a foot away from you it became natural for you to be in his arms.

you’re in bakugou’s dorm, trying to study. your legs are hung over the edge of his bed and he’s sat behind you on the bed, his back to the wall.

it was already pretty late, and you were sure you had read the same paragraph over a thousand times and you swear you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“you’re gonna fuck your back up if ya keep sittin’ like that,”

“im fine,” you tell him simply, not even turning to look at him as you try to refocus on your work.

you feel his weight shift behind you, and you look over your shoulder to see that bakugou has slightly parted his legs and now has his arms rested along his thighs.

you bite back a smile, knowing what he wanted without saying it directly. he didn’t have to.

he watches as you scoot back towards him, sitting yourself right down your spot. your back was pressed against his chest, and instinctively, his arms were already firm around your waist.

you could feel bakugou rubbing little circles into your skip up underneath your shirt, trying to get you to relax a little.

you glance down at your notes again in your lap, trying to pick up where you left off.

heat crawled up your neck as you could literally feel bakugou’s breathing near your ear, as he was looking at what you had been working on for so long.

“these are the wrong notes, dumbass.” he leans in closer, his chin brushing your shoulder.

you blink. “what?”

“look,” he points— “this is the wrong page. no wonder you’ve been staring at the same thing for so long.”

“ohhhh! ugh!” you huff, feeling a little dumb and still frustrated.

you feel his smirk grow on your shoulder. you shove him slightly and smile, giving him a playful glare. “and you didn’t wanna tell me before?”

“could’ve just asked for help, idiot. here, i’ll walk you through this next part.”

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syrecjh · 3 days ago

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He was not the type to scroll.

Katsuki Bakugo don't do social media. Not really. He didn’t have the patience for filters or captions, for curated glimpses of lives polished into perfection. He found the whole thing a little cheesy — pointless even. “Chronically online” was a diagnosis he reserved for the extras in life, the ones who needed validation like they needed air.

And yet here he was.

Scrolling through your Instagram feed at 1:36 AM.

He’d told himself he was just checking. That he’d seen your name pop up somewhere — an old class photo from U.A., maybe a tagged post on Kaminari’s story — and his fingers had moved faster than his brain could stop them.

But “checking” didn’t explain why he had now liked every single post you had ever made.

All of them.

From your first blurry freshman-day selfie to the candid sunset shots to the quiet coffee shop photos with books he swore he’d seen in your hands at school. Posts from years ago, tucked between summer vacations and sleepy cat pics. Your smile in golden light. Your face half-buried in a scarf. A photo of a rainy window with the caption “the sky misses someone too.” He liked that one twice before realizing Instagram wouldn’t let him.

You two had been classmates back at U.A., semi-friends in the way that mattered — partners during rescue drills, shared nods in the hallway, late-night training sessions that ended in breathless laughs. But life scattered people like stars, and time had folded in on itself. He hadn’t seen you in years.

But he hadn’t forgotten.

And now… your posts felt like postcards from a timeline where he hadn’t been so damn proud. Where he’d said something more than “good job” after your final match, something softer than a nod before you left the dorms for good.

He didn’t know what pulled him to your page tonight. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was the way he never quite unlearned the rhythm of your laugh.

Whatever it was, it had led him here — to liking every photo like a man possessed.

And the internet noticed.

Because Katsuki Bakugo — pro hero Dynamight, number two on the charts, grump incarnate — had social media?

It was shocking. No, it was suspicious.

His Instagram? One photo. A blurry explosion in the sky captioned, “work.”

His Twitter? A bio that read: “Don’t talk to me.” He followed six people.

His Facebook? People didn’t even know he had one. But he did. No profile pic, no cover photo, just one “About Me” that said: “Still not talking to you.”

And yet, on every platform, your name appeared.

And fans, being the detective agency they always were, noticed. The way he liked all your posts in under an hour. The way he was now following you. The way his most recent “activity” was just… you.

They started shipping. Hard. #DynaReader (sorry for this one hahaha) #DYANMIGHTGOTACRUSH #GirlUCanChangeHim. Edits appeared overnight, videos of you two from U.A. stitched with slow songs and captions like “childhood friends to lovers?”

You didn’t notice it right away — you weren’t one to check notifications obsessively. But when you opened your phone and saw that Katsuki Bakugo liked your entire feed, your heart stuttered so hard it hurt.

And then — as if that wasn’t enough — a message.

Short. Blunt. Typical Bakugo.

\[k.bakugo] 10:44 PM:

Free tomorrow? There’s a new café near the station. You like coffee, right?

No emojis. No fluff. Just an invitation that felt like thunder behind glass.

You stared at your phone for a long time. Wondering what it meant. Wondering if he meant it.

And across the city, Bakugo was staring at his screen too — regretting how abrupt it sounded, how dumb this all was, how he didn’t even like cafés.

But you did.

And that was enough.

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whimsicalwritersstuff · 2 days ago

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── Pampering.

Pairing: softdom!joel x fem!Reader

No outbreak.

Summary: You decide that Joel also needs some skin care once in awhile but Joel's not too happy about it.

Content warnings: a bunch of flufff, big age gap(20s/50s), established relationship, married joel, softdom!joel, self care, sweet girl pet name used.

After finishing your skincare routine, you step out of the bathroom with a fresh-faced glow and wearing your fluffy robe. You walk into the living room, hair still slightly damp from the shower,

Joel is already lounging on the couch who also just got out of the shower, wearing a pair of well-worn boxer shorts, his graying curly hair damp from the shower. He looks up at you as you enter, a lazy smile spreading across his handsome face. He pats his lap wordlessly, gesturing for you to come join him.

You saunter over to Joel as you perch yourself on his lap, straddling him and holding out a small bottle of face mask with a smile. "It's your turn now."

Joel raises an eyebrow at you, He eyes the bottle of face mask in your hand skeptically, clearly not used to such pampering.

Joel squints at the face mask in your hand, his voice rough with a lazy Southern drawl as he complains,

"I don't need that girly stuff. I ain't got time for no pampering."

He leans back on the couch, one arm coming up to rest behind his head, You give Joel a mock disapproving frown, shaking your head playfully.

"Oh, please. You're just being stubborn. Everybody needs a little self-care now and then, even you, Mr. Tough Guy."

You hold the bottle of face mask up, waving it in front of his face teasingly.

"Come on, just give it a try. It won't hurt, I promise. And who knows, you might end up actually liking it."

"Fine, fine. I'll give it a try. But I'm only doin' it because I don't want to hear you naggin' me about it all day."

He reaches out and takes the bottle of face mask from your hand, eyeing it skeptically. He looks at you with a faux-annoyed expression.

"How do I even put this on?"

You can't help but laugh at Joel's clueless expression, and you reassure him, saying, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

You take the bottle from his hand and open it up, dipping your fingers into the cool cream. You start gently applying it to his face, starting at his forehead and moving down over his cheeks and chin.

As you apply the face mask to his nose area, you notice how his nose twitches involuntarily. It's an almost boyish reaction, and you stifle a giggle at the sight. Joel shoots you a sidelong glance, aware of your stifled laughter.

He tries to keep a gruff expression, but the corners of his mouth give away a hint of a smile. He can't deny that the cool cream feels nice on his face, even if he's not willing to admit it out loud just yet.

You say with a playful tone, "It's tickling you?"

"A little.." he mumbled as you playfully poke his nose, saying, He swats your hand away, pretending to be annoyed, but there's a small smile at the corners of his mouth.

As you focus on gently applying the face mask to his face, you can feel Joel's gaze on you, his eyes fixated on your every move, lovingly staring at you. At the same time, his thumb begins to trace lazy circles on the soft skin of your thigh.

You finally finish applying the face mask, closing the bottle with a satisfying click. You look at Joel with a satisfied smile, admiring your handiwork. He actually looks quite handsome with the mask on, his rugged features softened by the cream.

"All done! Now comes the hard part - waiting for it to dry."

Joel smirks a little, amused by your enthusiasm. He shifts slightly on the couch,

Joel then purses his lips, silently asking for a kiss. For your affection that he so dearly craves.

Joel had always been a man of few words and even fewer emotions. He kept his feelings hidden behind a wall of gruff exterior, but ever since you came into his life, something changed. It started with little things, like the way he would unconsciously soften his eyes when you were around or how he would unconsciously reach out and touch you in subtle ways.

But over time, the walls around his heart began to crumble. He found himself craving your touch and your affection in ways he never thought possible.He began to show his affection in small, subtle ways. A gentle touch on your hand, a protective grip around your waist.

It took time, and there were some moments of resistance, but you eventually broke through his tough exterior and reached the soft, vulnerable heart underneath.

Now, with you sitting on his lap, he's comfortable enough to ask for affection without even having to say a word, silently asking for a kiss that he would have never dared to ask for before.

An adorable blush spreads across your cheeks as you find Joel's request for affection endearing, almost too sweet to resist.

You let out a soft giggle before leaning down, your face close to his. You gently press four fleeting kisses on his lips. When you pull back, Joel's eyes are closed, a small smile on his lips as he savors the feeling of your kissea before he opens his eyes again.

His voice is low and gruff as he speaks, "You're spoilin' me, you know that?"

You can't help but laugh, finding his reaction endearing. You playfully retort, "Awwn poor baby... well someone has to spoil you. You're not very good at spoiling yourself."

Joel shoots you a half-hearted glare, feigning annoyance at your comment. But he secretly likes the way you spoil him, even if he would never admit it out loud.

"Nah, I don't think I deserve you. You're too damn good to me, ya know that?"

You shake your head at his self-deprecating words, refusing to accept them and you correct him, "Don't say that. You deserve just as much affection and care as anyone else. And I'm going to keep spoiling you and showing you just how much you are worth, whether you like it or not."

You carefully lift yourself off Joel's lap and settle down next to him on the couch, instinctively curling up against his side. His arm automatically wraps around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You fit perfectly against his chest, your body tucked against his like two puzzle pieces slotting together.

As you curl up against his side, joel grabs a nearby blanket, pulling it over you both, You nestle closer to him, finding comfort in his warm embrace and the cozy blanket draped over you. His thumb unconsciously begins tracing lazy circles on your arm, a soothing gesture.

You let out a content sigh, feeling safe and happy in Joel's arms. You look up at his face, taking in his rugged features softened by the warm lighting. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips,

"You're like a big, warm marshmallow. Soft and grumpy on the outside but mushy and sweet on the inside."

Joel lets out a soft chuckle at your marshmallow comparison, his eyes softening a little more. He gives you a sidelong glance before replying, "A marshmallow, huh? I'm supposed to be all tough and gruff, and you're comparing me to a damn marshmallow. Seems like you're the sweet one here, sugar."

Joel then leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. His hand cups your chin, tilting your head back as he presses his lips against yours.

You gasp softly at the sudden kiss but you quickly melt into the kiss, your body molding itself against his strong frame.

When Joel finally pulls back, you find yourself breathless and slightly dazed. You look up at him, your eyes half lidded and with a smile you say, "I love you..." You say sleepily,

Joel smirks at your breathless reaction, satisfied with the effect he has on you. He takes a moment to admire your flushed face and slightly dazed expression before replying with a low, gruff voice. "Love you too, my sweet girl." He leans down and gently kisses your forehead, before pulling you against his chest.

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beaureveries · 2 days ago

Note

Paige reaction to Azzi in her jersey after the game today

ONE SHOT : PUT MY NAME ON IT

paige x azzi

trigger : cuteness and fluff overload

also additional prompt from here

congrats pazzi on the hard launch 🚀 (we been knew.)

P.S if y’all are one of those who thinks P doesn’t love Az as much just cause she “hardly shows her off” can leave. That’s the dumbest shit i’ve ever heard, they don’t owe y’all nothing.

-1.5 k words

——————————————————————————

The bedroom was still quiet, the kind of quiet that only happens early in the morning before the world wakes up. Sunlight was just starting to peek in through the blinds, stripes of gold cutting across the mess of blankets tangled around them.

Paige was awake first, barely. Just enough to feel Azzi’s weight against her, head tucked into the crook of her shoulder, warm breath brushing against her collarbone.

For once, Paige wasn’t thinking about the game yet.

Not about film, not about matchups, not about anything except the weight of Azzi’s leg slung lazily over her thigh and the way Azzi’s hand twitched every so often in her sleep, like she was dreaming about shooting 3’s even in her sleep.

She hasn’t seen Azzi for three weeks.

And by hasn’t, she means in real life. Cause of course they have been video calling each other every day since they got separated by distance.

Even yesterday they face-timed each other knowing they were gonna see each other by night.

As soon as the plane landed in Connenicut, Paige was out that door and zooming to wherever her girlfriend was.

The reunion felt like they both exhaled at the same time, like neither of them realized they’d been holding their breath for weeks until right now, in each other’s arms again. The weight of distance, of calls and texts that weren’t enough, all fell away in that second.

And now, having Azzi sleep and tucked away in her arms again, after all the lonely nights with the empty sheets and longing misses.

This felt so good. This felt like she was home.

Cause she was. Azzi was and will always will be her home.

Azzi shifted, nose brushing against Paige’s neck, voice low and rough. “Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not” Paige whispered, smiling to herself.

Azzi opened one eye, suspicious. “You are.”

“Not my fault I missed my pretty girlfriend” Paige murmured, brushing a curl away from Azzi’s cheek.

“I missed you too.” Azzi muttered softly, now fully awake with her big doe-eyes full on view.

Paige felt the words hit deeper than they ever used to.

Back when they were on the same team, the same campus, seeing each other every day—it was easy to brush off a missed lunch or a late-night film session, knowing they’d still crawl into the same bed at the end of the day.

But now? Now that they were in two different places, two different schedules, nothing felt guaranteed anymore. Every second together felt heavier, sweeter, more earned.

Paige didn’t want to waste a single moment with her. Not anymore. Not when distance taught her how rare it was to have everything you wanted right in front of you.

They laid like that for a while, before Paige had to go pre-train for game night. Easy, soft, soaking all the miss cuddles and post-poned kisses while they were away. this was until Azzi stirred again, this time glancing toward her phone on the nightstand.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, voice a little brighter. “Forgot to tell you, me and KK were talking about matching today.”

Paige’s brow furrowed, confused. “Matching what?”

“Your jersey.”

That got Paige’s attention fast. “Really?” She suddenly grinned as hints of pink overlaps her cheeks.

Azzi rolled her eyes in a non—serious way, finally moving to start the day, muscles flexing as she stretched her limbs. “KK said she was gonna buy your jersey at the merch stand before the game, and I was like, bet, I’ll wear one too.”

Paige sat up slightly, pushing her hair out of her face. “Azzi, be for real.” She suddenly deadpanned as her voice dropped an octave lower, clearly unamused.

“What?” Azzi genuinely expressed her confusion, tho still looking so adorable in her girlfriend’s eyes.

“The merch stand?”

Azzi frowned. “Yeah? Trying to be a supportive girlfriend? What’s your problem?”

Paige sighed and stood up, walking across the room to her suitcase that was by Azzi’s closet, rummaging through the stack of stuff she brought while grumbling underneath her breath something like—“she wears my clothes all the time but then she does something like this” not loud enough for Azzi to hear tho… until she found it, her jersey, not from the store, not printed for fans, but one of hers.

“Baby, what’s the point of buying a replica of my jersey when you can clearly just wear mine.” Paige walked back to bed, stating the obvious.

“Don’t you need this for later?” Azzi raised an eyebrow as she took the jersey that Paige handed out for her.

Paige stood a little too—quiet before replying “Nah it’s okay. Don’t worry about it” clearly trying to act nonchalant, like she hadn’t just presented her literal game jersey like it was nothing.

“I’ve got backups” Paige mumbled, eyes flicking away. “It’s fine.”

Azzi’s lips curved slowly, clearly realizing her girlfriend’s behavior. “Paige.”

“You packed this for me.”

“No, I didn’t…” Paige lied terribly.

“Yes, you did.”

“Shut up.”

“You were gonna give me this anyway.”

“I said shut up.” Paige groaned.

Azzi was full-on grinning now, leaning back on her elbows, smug, pretty, entirely too pleased with herself. “Aww... P, you were gonna give me your real jersey before I even said anything. That’s cute.”

Paige rolled her eyes, cheeks pinking. “I’m literally never nice to you again.”

“You’re so soft for me.”

“I’m actually mean.”

Azzi pulled the jersey into her lap, running her hands over the stitching. “You’re the softest.”

Paige fought the smile threatening to break across her face. Lost. Completely.

“Just wear it” she muttered.

Azzi’s voice dropped softer, playful turning into something closer to fond. “I will.”

And God, Paige knew she was done for.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

Paige was locked in and having fun during practice, feeling the air where she was already comfortable with.

And then she saw her.

Azzi.

Right by the corner of the court, standing casually, one hand in her pocket, curls bouncing softly as she shifts, added with the perfect touch of her hoops.

And she was wearing it.

Her jersey.

Not a replica.

Not a fan-store version.

Paige’s actual jersey.

The one she’d packed for her. The one she gave her this morning, acting casual, pretending it was nothing, pretending she didn’t care if Azzi wore it or not.

It fit perfectly. Tight in the shoulders, hugging her arms over her white long sleeve shirt, molding across her back like it was meant to be there. Her name—Bueckers stretching clean across Azzi’s shoulders like it belonged there.

And Azzi?

Standing there like she knew she looked perfect in it.

Which she was.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing to Paige by just existing in that jersey.

KK was standing next to her, wearing the merch version, laughing at something on her phone, totally unaware that Paige was currently fighting for her life just trying to stay upright.

Azzi caught Paige’s eyes from across the arena and smiled. Small and smug. Like it was just the two of them in the entire arena.

Paige swallowed hard, and tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, dragging her gaze down and back up Azzi’s body. It felt unfair—how right she looked in it.

When Paige finally walked over, slow, controlled, pretending she wasn’t completely losing it, Azzi tilted her head, curls brushing her cheek, eyes bright with the kind of trouble that Paige secretly loved.

“Nice jersey,” Paige said under her breath, fighting the smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

Azzi bit back her own grin. “Matches my girlfriend.”

Paige stared at her and raised her eyebrows fully amused by her cheeky girlfriend.

“Can’t help it you like when I wear your stuff.” Azzi added, deciding to be a bit of a menace today.

“You have no idea.”

“Hmm… I think I do.” Azzi purposely acted like she was thinking, before showing off a full on dimpled smile.

KK chose that exact moment to look up, eyes flicking between them, and immediately started grinning like she knew everything.

Azzi didn’t look away. Not for a second. “Good luck later”

Paige murmured. “Thanks baby”

Paige was already gone for her. Had been. Would be.

Forever.

⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆

The arena was clearing out, postgame noise buzzing around them, Paige just finished taking pictures with fans and the UConn team who came to watch, she can finally pay full attention towards her cute girlfriend who waited patiently but clearly was in a hurry to go.

Paige already knew what was coming. They’d talked about it, planned around it, understood it.

But it still never get’s easy.

“I gotta head to New York,” Azzi said gently, eyes watching Paige’s face like she could already sense the shift. “Fanatics thing.”

Paige nodded, letting out a soft breath. “Yeah. I know.”

She wasn’t mad. Not really. Just that low, familiar ache curling in her chest, the part of her that hated goodbyes, even temporary ones. She understood, but it didn’t mean she liked it.

Azzi tilted her head, searching her girlfriend’s blue eyes. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Paige murmured. “I just… I wish I could come with you. Or drive you. Or Something.”

Azzi smiled, small and knowing. “I know you do. But you’ve got your own stuff.”

“Yeah.” Paige’s jaw clenched lightly. “I know.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some meltdown. Just that quiet, frustrating feeling of wanting to be in two places at once and not being able to.

But Paige had been here before. They had been here before.

Azzi reached out, fingers curling softly around Paige’s wrist, grounding her. “I’ll meet you in DC. I promise.”

“That’s like a whole week away.”

“It’s in two days P.”

“Feels like a week.” Paige grumbled.

Azzi pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Paige’s mouth. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You love that I’m dramatic.”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah, I do.”

Paige pulled Azzi in for a hug. breathed her in, holding her tight, not wanting to let go but knowing she had to. “Text me when you arrive.”

“Obviously.”

“And facetime me before you go to sleep.”

“Mhm.”

Paige nodded again, slower this time, letting her thumb run across Azzi’s knuckles. “Okay… you can go now baby, good luck on your fanatics event”

Azzi nodded slowly, pulling away. “See you P.”

“See you baby.”

#paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi #azzi fudd #uconn huskies #wbb #paige azzi fan fic #uconn wbb #wnba #fluff #pazzi fics

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beabadoobee-lober · 1 day ago

Text

──── ୨୧ ────

1-10

You ask the Jjk men to pick a number 1-10 and depending on which number they pick is how many nudes you’re sending them

Warning- very suggestive

Includes- Choso,Nanami,Geto,Gojo,Shiu,Sukuna, and Toji

469 notes · View notes

sweetromanova · 2 days ago

Text

Matching Napkins & Mixed Feelings🕊️

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: A story of a fake date with real chemistry and absolutely zero self control.

Word Count: 11k

Weddings were supposed to be happy.

Natasha Romanoff scowled at the cream-and-gold envelope like it had insulted her personally. Which, in a way, it had.

Natasha wasn’t sure what annoyed her more: the fact that everyone was going, or the fact that they were all excited about it.

The invitation had been couriered in a velvet-lined box, a typically extra touch from Tony, who had apparently gone full sentimental since his wedding to Pepper. Stark had insisted on hosting Wanda and Vision’s nuptials himself, at some sprawling manor house he owned in the Hamptons. Big enough to fit the entire SHIELD team, plus family, plus plus-ones.

That was the part Natasha kept getting stuck on.

‘You are warmly invited to join us for the weekend- rehearsal dinner Friday, ceremony Saturday, brunch Sunday. Formal attire. Plus-ones welcome!’

The words stared back at her from the heavy cardstock like a dare.

Everyone was talking about it. Clint was coming with Laura and their kids. Steve had RSVP’d “maybe” because apparently he was still awkward about parties and modern social norms. Sam had mentioned bringing a woman he’d been seeing, serious, apparently. Even Carol had raised an eyebrow and said, “Think I’ll ask Maria. She’s better at tuxes anyway.” And true to her word, the next time Natasha saw them they were planning on matching suits.

And Natasha? She had… no one. Which wasn’t tragic, just a little inconvenient. Because for all her sharp edges and hard-earned detachment, even she knew what it would look like when she showed up alone to a house full of love and champagne flutes. She didn’t need the stares or the nudges or the pity disguised as small talk.

Not to mention: if she had to listen to one more person ask. “So… who are you bringing?” She might snap.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The next morning, she was more in her head than she liked to admit. Her boots echoed through the sleek hallways of Stark Tower, a bitter coffee gripped loosely in one hand, the other tucking her hair back absently. She hadn’t slept. Her thoughts spun circles, rehearsing excuses, brushing off questions, imagining herself at the rehearsal dinner with an empty chair beside her and a glass of vodka she didn’t want.

Which is probably why she didn’t see you coming.

You stepped out of a side hallway with a tablet in one hand, reading something intently, just as Natasha rounded the corner.

The collision was minor. The spill was not.

Splash.

Dark liquid sloshed across your blouse, splattering your chest and neck in one fast, shocking second.

“Shit-“

You froze, flinching at the sudden heat.

Natasha swore under her breath and reached instinctively for a napkin tucked into her jacket. “Damn it. I didn’t see you. I’m sorry.”

You blinked, not out of fear, just processing the impact. Your shirt was soaked and your tablet was now dripping and beeping sadly.

“Well...” You said after a pause, “I guess I’m awake now.”

Natasha looked you over quickly, assessing but not in a threat analysis way. You were younger than her, dressed in business casual with a lanyard tucked into your jacket. She didn’t recognize your face and she always recognized people in this building.

“Do you work for Stark?” She asked, brows drawing together slightly.

You nodded, still dabbing at your shirt. “Marketing. Technically Pepper’s team. I do a lot of the external communications stuff. Press kits, campaigns, corporate fluff.”

“Figured.” Natasha said. “I know every face in this tower. Yours isn’t one of them.”

You raised a brow. “I’m new. Just finished onboarding last week. I guess you really do know everyone.”

“I make a point of it.”

The way she said it wasn’t bragging, just fact. You tilted your head slightly, as if seeing her with fresh eyes. “That’s… a little intense.”

“I’m a little intense.”

You laughed, not mocking but genuinely surprised. “Good to know.”

For a second, neither of you moved.

You were standing in a puddle of cooling coffee, your blouse stained and your morning derailed. But you didn’t look angry. If anything, you looked curious like she had just disrupted your day in a way you hadn’t been expecting and maybe didn’t mind.

“I should sort this-“ You excused. “New shirt, coffee bath, and my calendar’s erased itself. Great day.”

“I can call down for dry cleaning.” Natasha offered, already pulling out her phone. “Or get someone from facilities to grab you a spare shirt from the merch room.”

You shook your head, still smiling faintly. “It’s fine. I was overdue for chaos today anyway. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

Natasha wasn’t used to this. Casual ease. Civilians who didn’t flinch. You didn’t try to make conversation or ask for a selfie, you just were. Steady, warm, smart-mouthed. A weird comfort she hadn’t expected on a Monday.

“No, please. The dry cleaning downstairs can have it washed and dried in 30 minutes.”

“That’s impressive.”

“And needed.” Natasha eyed your blouse, the brown stain almost bleeding further across the stark-white material. “And I’ll buy you a coffee for the trouble?”

“Aslong as I don’t have to wear it this time.”

You laughed softly, trying not to fidget too much in your damp shirt and followed the redhead as she turned and led you toward the elevator. You tried not to stare at the way she moved, efficient, confident, like she was wired tighter than everyone else in the building. There was no wasted motion. No small talk, either. She held silence like armour.

“Stark really has his own laundry service in the building?” You asked after a moment of silence, trying to fill the quiet.

Natasha glanced sideways, a trace of amusement in her voice. “This building has a quantum-powered smoothie bar. Laundry’s not the weirdest part.”

“Right. Forgot I work in sci-fi now.”

She actually smirked at that.

The laundry room was pristine, tucked down a narrow hallway you were sure wasn’t on any public floor plan. Matte steel machines lined the walls, humming softly, nothing clunky or coin-operated about them.

Natasha tapped in a short code at the touchscreen console and one of the machines slid open like a bank vault.

“Drop it in.” She said, nodding toward the opening.

You hesitated, eyeing your blouse. “Right. Should probably take it off.”

Natasha, already crouched by the control panel, paused. “Yeah.”

You started to unbutton it slowly, aware of her presence, but doing your best to play it cool. The fabric peeled away sticky and cold from your skin. You folded the shirt and passed it to her, now left standing in your bra. lacy, a soft lavender and probably not entirely office-appropriate.

You could feel her glance before she looked back at the machine, slipping your shirt inside like it hadn’t just gotten a little awkward.

“Timer’s set for twenty-eight minutes.” She smiled, her voice steady. “You’ll get it back warm.”

“Great.” You said lightly. Then added: “Just one problem.”

Natasha turned. You were hugging your arms over your chest now. “I didn’t exactly plan on stripping in front of the whole of SHIELD today, so I don’t have anything else to wear.”

For a beat, she didn’t say anything.

Then without ceremony, she reached for the hem of her long-sleeve black shirt and pulled it off in one motion.

You blinked. She was already holding it out to you. “Here.”

“Are you-“

“I’ve got a sports bra on. You don’t.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.

You took the shirt, trying not to stare at her bare shoulders, the faint glint of a scar along one collarbone. Her sports bra was simple and sleek. Functional.

Natasha Romanoff was all sharp lines and quiet edges. And yet, somehow, she was handing you a piece of herself like it didn’t matter at all.

You pulled it over your head. It was loose, warm, smelled faintly like cedar and something darker like wind after a storm. It covered you down past your hips.

She looked at you, nodded once then leaned against the counter, arms folded.

“So.” You smirked, not quite sure what to do with yourself. “How many coffee related injuries do you cause per week?”

Natasha’s mouth quirked. “You’re the first.”

“Well.” You gestured at your borrowed outfit. “Glad I could make an impression.”

That pulled the smallest smile from her, a ghost of something wry and curious.

And just like that, the silence between you didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“I still owe you a coffee.”

“Lead the way.”

Ten minutes later, you were seated across from her in the sleek Stark Tower café, far less flashy than expected, tucked into a glass alcove overlooking Midtown. It was quiet this time of day and your coffee order had come out faster than it should’ve. You suspected Natasha had something to do with that.

“You know…” You said, cupping your hands around the mug. “I expected you to be way scarier.”

Natasha leaned back slightly, one brow raised. “Disappointed?”

You tilted your head, teasing. “Not sure yet.”

She let out a low laugh, barely audible but real. “You’ve got guts.”

“And caffeine.”

“Same thing.”

There was a comfortable beat of silence as you sipped. You weren’t sure how this had happened, being here, sitting across from her but you weren’t about to question it. Not when the tension had softened into something almost easy. Almost fun.

Natasha was watching you. Not obviously, not unkindly but carefully. Like she was trying to figure out what box to put you in. You weren’t sure she’d found one yet.

“So.” She said finally. “What were you doing in that hallway anyway? Not just wandering around looking to catch flying coffee cups, right?”

You smiled. “Helping Pepper with some last-minute wedding planning.”

That earned a groan. You couldn’t tell if it was dramatic or genuine.

You grinned. “What?”

“She’s been in a spreadsheet induced spiral for three days.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen the color-coded seating charts.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Of course she color-coded.”

“She color-coded by personality type.” You added, with a smirk.

She stared at you, deadpan. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

You both laughed and for a moment it felt like you’d known her longer than thirty minutes.

“Why the face?” You asked, stirring your coffee idly. “You groaned at the word ‘wedding’ like someone was threatening you.”

She hesitated, just long enough for you to notice.

“It’s not really my thing.” She shrugged. “Big groups. Matching napkins. PDA. Plus-ones.”

You raised your brows. “Don’t like a good open bar?”

“I like vodka.” She countered. “I don’t like pity small talk from married people asking me why I’m alone.”

“Wow.” You said, deadpan. “Whoever asked you that must have a death wish.”

“They were brave. And drunk. Didn’t last long.”

You laughed, fully this time, a rich, bright sound that made her glance up again, this time without the usual walls behind her eyes.

“Well…” You said lightly. “I also hate matching napkins and PDA. I’m also being a loner this weekend and every other weekend.”

Natasha tilted her head, amused. “Are you offering to be my plus-one?”

You shrugged with a grin. “I mean, I wasn’t but I’d be happy to be of service. Besides don’t I owe you for the courageous offer of your shirt so I wouldn’t flash government officials.”

“Pretty sure I owe you.”

You sipped your coffee. “Exactly. I’m repaying a debt. Like some kind of marketing department damsel in distress.”

Natasha considered you for a long moment then set her cup down.

“…Alright.”

You blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“You basically offered.”

“Yeah but-“

“And I accepted.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “Wow. I didn’t think that would actually work.”

Her lips twitched. “You said it yourself, you’re free this weekend.”

You tried to look nonchalant and failed completely. “Guess I am.”

Natasha picked up her cup again. “Good. Then pack something formal. Stark weddings are never subtle.”

“Noted.”

Another beat passed. This time, the silence felt like static, charged, not quite flirty, not quite serious. You broke it with a grin.

“So… is there a dress code or expectations for being an Avenger’s fake date?”

Natasha didn’t blink. “Don’t die.”

You raised your cup in a toast. “I’ll do my best.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Your phone buzzed while you were packing.

Unknown Number:

Send a pic of the dress.

You blinked then stared at the text for a second too long.

Well, that wasn’t ominous.

You texted back immediately.

You:

Bold of you to assume I’d be into anonymous dress kinks.

But sure, what are you wearing?

It only took a second before a reply came through.

Unknown Number:

It’s Natasha.

Shut up.

You grinned, already halfway laughing.

You:

Ohhhh well in that case? Still no.

You’ll see it at the wedding. I like the dramatic reveal.

Three dots appeared… then vanished. Then again.

Natasha:

Why are you being weird?

You:

You asked for a picture of my outfit like a sugar daddy? What’s the protocol here?

Do I send you feet pics too?

Across the city, in her apartment, Natasha stared at her phone with the dead-eyed expression of someone questioning every decision that had led her here.

Then, finally.

Natasha:

Just tell me the colour.

You chewed your lip, fighting a smirk, then typed.

You:

Technically? It’s ‘shadowed evergreen with cool ash undertones and a satin twilight finish’

Ten seconds of silence.

Natasha:

What the hell does that mean?!

You:

It means it’s a very sexy forest🫶

Natasha:

That’s all you had to say at the beginning.

Also that’s not a colour.

You:

You asked.

Don’t get snippy just because you don’t understand fashion.

Another pause.

Natasha:

...Is it short?

You felt your heart skip once, just once then smiled as you typed back.

You:

Wouldn’t you like to know?

It’s fitted. High slit. Low back.

You’ll manage.

Natasha:

You’re enjoying this.

You:

You asked.

Natasha:

I regret it.

You:

You’ll regret it more when you see me.

Try not to let it become a problem.

Natasha:

What I regret not leaving you soaked in coffee.

You:

Two more days and you can have a do-over with champagne…

Three dots. No reply.

You pictured her somewhere in her minimalistic apartment, tossing her phone onto the couch and muttering something Russian under her breath.

It made you grin harder than you wanted to admit.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The trees were thinning out ahead of them, tall pines giving way to the manicured gravel drive that wound toward Stark’s Hamptons estate. But the car ride still had time to stretch, twenty more minutes of shared space and too much quiet.

You shifted in your seat and glanced over at Natasha, arms on the wheel, eyes fixed on the blur outside the window. She looked like a statue someone had wrapped in black silk.

“We should probably get our story straight.” You commented, putting your phone down and turning towards her.

She blinked, just once then looked at you. “What story?”

“How we met.” You gave her a shrug and a crooked smile. “We’re supposed to be dating, remember? People are going to ask.”

Natasha made a face like she’d just remembered she agreed to something ridiculous. “Can’t we just say we matched on some app, I spilled coffee on you, which I did and kept it vague?”

“That’s your fantasy origin story?” You teased. “You spill coffee on my shirt and you’re like Better take this one to a wedding.’”

“I’ve done dumber things.”

You laughed. “Okay, fine. Let’s workshop it.”

She sighed and leaned back into the leather. “Alright. Shoot.”

You held up an imaginary notepad. “Option one: You saved my life during a corporate hostage situation. You fell for me literally, as crawled through the air vents.”

She looked at you flatly. “Pass. Also you work for Stark, I think he’d know if there was a hostage situation with his employees.”

“I work with Pepper and can say Stark doesn’t even know what time to shower unless Pepper tells him. Anyway, no problem.” You grin. “Option two. We were seated next to each other on a red-eye. You stole my pretzels. We fought. Then we made out somewhere over Nebraska.”

Her expression didn’t change but her lip twitched. “That one’s better.”

“Thought so.”

“But I don’t take red eyes. I have a quinjet.”

“Ok, show off.”

“What else have you got?”

“The boring kind. Meet cute in the supermarket? Friend of a friend set us up on a blind date? I stalked you like a weirdo fan.”

“The last one!”

“Of course you’d say that.”

“It’s realistic.”

“Not quite, I’m more of a Wanda fan.”

“She’s getting married, tough.”

“Only because she hasn’t met me yet.”

“You’re so-“

“I know.” Natasha went quiet, not in anger but admiration, she’d met her match.

She was quiet for a moment, then said. “So what’s your real type? Since we’re lying to each other.”

You looked out the window. “Hopeless romantic. The usual.”

“Fairy tales. Flowers. Making eye contact during sex?”

“Exactly.”

She snorted. “You don’t strike me as the hearts and roses type.”

You smiled, a little softer now. “I don’t believe in love. I just like pretending it’s real.”

That made her glance at you again, properly this time.

You added. “It’s like horoscopes. Bullshit but comforting.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then: “I hate love.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hate’s a strong word.”

“So’s ‘forever.’”

“Touché.”

“I like what love pretends to be.” She shrugged. “But love itself? Messy. Manipulative. Weak.”

You didn’t push. Just nodded. “So what do you believe in?”

Natasha stared out the window again.

“Control.” She deadpanned. “Chemistry. Sex.”

“Ah.” You said, biting back a grin. “The holy trinity.”

She finally smiled, crooked, deliberate. “At least I’m honest about it.”

You shrugged, settling into your seat. “Alright then. New origin story? We met at a bar. You said something cold. I said something stupid. Then we slept together. And just… kept doing it.”

“That…” Natasha said, eyes still forward, “…is the most believable thing you’ve said all day.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The car pulled up to the Stark estate, all towering stone archways and elegant glass, an estate that looked like it had been custom-built to host emotionally complicated billionaires and superhero weddings.

Natasha stepped out first, looking entirely unbothered. She wore a smart-casual line shirt tucked neatly into lightweight black dress pants, sleeves pushed just enough to show her forearms. Her sunglasses sat low on her nose, her expression unreadable.

Effortless. Controlled. Of course she looked good.

You followed her out of the car, brushing your palms over the fabric of your summer dress, a soft floral number, simple and light. It was the least daring of the dresses you’d packed for the weekend. You weren’t easing into things. You were pacing yourself.

Her eyes flicked over you, unreadable.But her fingers brushed your lower back as you stepped up beside her.

Instinct? Acting? You weren’t sure. Neither was she.

Inside, the front room was alive with voices, laughter, clinking glass and the full roster of Avengers in various states of casual travel attire. Sam, Carol, Maria, Clint, Tony, Steve and Bucky, all circling round the reception.

All eyes went to you and Natasha the moment the door closed behind you.

“Romanoff brought a date.” Sam said, mock-scandalised.

Carol blinked. “Wait, seriously? You weren’t kidding?”

Maria nudged her. “Let her get a drink first, damn!"

Natasha just raised an eyebrow like this was nothing new.

You smiled, stepped closer, and casually slid your hand into hers. She didn’t flinch or pull away. Just laced her fingers with yours like she’d done it a thousand times.

Pepper spotted you across the room and froze. “Wait- What?!”

You grinned. “Hi, boss.”

“I- I- How did I not know about this?”

Natasha answered smoothly. “We’re very discreet.”

“I work with both of you.”

“Exactly.” Natasha added, stepping in close to your side, her hand still warm in yours. “She only visits me after hours.”

“Please stop.” Pepper muttered.

“We met after work.” You explained. “At a bar… we didn’t know at first. A few drinks and Natasha was all charming but just so so broody-“

“Then we slept together.” She finished flatly, cutting you off.

Sam snorted into his drink. “Okay. I like this story. Let’s go back, don’t spare any details.”

“We’ve been inseparable ever since.” You smile, cuddling up against her side like it was second nature.

Natasha’s arm instinctively wrapped around your waist.

She gave you a sideways glance, low and amused. “That’s funny. Because someone didn’t text me back for three days.”

“I was playing hard to get.” You said, nudging her. “You liked it.”

“You were ghosting me.”

“I was thinking!” You turned to Pepper. “She’s so clingy.”

“I left for a mission.” Natasha said, deadpan.

“Exactly. Clingy and mysterious.”

“Please. You begged me to take you home.”

“Well maybe because your flirting was so bad, someone had to do something about it!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so unemotionally available to talk to!”

“I was not!”

“No, she’s right. She wasn’t…” Natasha’s hand slid a little lower on your back. “She cried after sex.”

“I did not-“

Maria burst out laughing. Sam actually gasped. Pepper covered her mouth.

You gasped, indignant. “You said I was the best you ever had!”

“I say that to everyone.”

You slapped her arm lightly but enough to earn a subtle smirk in return.

“Can we get our keys before I commit a public murder?” You asked sweetly.

Pepper, still recovering, handed over a sleek black envelope. “Second floor. Shared suite. Far end of the east wing.”

“I hope the bed’s big, we need a big enough one to fit her ego.” Natasha said, locking eyes with you.

You didn’t blink. “So do I, you snore like a pig.”

Natasha just smiled. “You’ll be too busy crying after sex again to notice.”

The whole room groaned.

As you tugged Natasha toward the stairs, hand still in hers, you leaned in and whispered. “Bet you’re not used to being out-charmed in your own games.”

Natasha just squeezed your hand and muttered under her breath, low and amused. “Game’s still on.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The suite was exactly what you’d expect from a Stark estate, bigger than most apartments, with sleek wood floors, modern furniture and a full glass wall that overlooked the trees outside. One kingsized bed sat against the far wall, all clean lines and crisp sheets, like every other part of the estate, nothing out of place.

Natasha walked in first, tossing her jacket on a chair, already scanning the place like she was expecting it to self destruct.

You followed behind her and dropped your bag on the bed closest to the window.

“So.” You said, eyeing the space. “Do you want the side near the door so you can make a quick escape or shall I take that one and make things interesting?”

She glanced at you with that unreadable look. “You were projecting down there, you're the one who snores. I can tell.”

“Wow. Judgy.”

“You talk in your sleep too.”

“Oh so now you’re just fantasising.”

She let out a short breath, maybe a laugh, maybe a sigh. Hard to tell. Then she said: “Rehearsal dinner starts in thirty. Don’t be late.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying you want to match outfits or?”

But she’d already disappeared into the bathroom, and the door shut behind her with a soft click.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You changed into one of the nicer dresses you’d brought not the showstopper, that was for the ceremony but the second-best one. Fitted, with a complicated strappy back, a deep neckline and a stunning shade of red that didn’t just draw the eye, it demanded attention and held it hostage.

You were just putting in earrings when Natasha emerged.

She’d traded the linen for something sharper. Dark, tailored, open collar. A suit jacket this time, no tie. Hair in loose waves, something nobody saw often with a few braids scattered.

She stopped when she saw you. Just for a second.

And then she said. “That’s the second least daring dress you packed?”

You smirked. “I told you I was pacing myself.”

She tilted her head, eyes dragging over the length of you. “You pace like you’re trying to kill someone slowly.”

“And you look like someone who doesn’t believe in foreplay.”

“Only with people who’ve earned it.”

You stuttered out a laugh, caught off guard but you’d never give her the pleasure of knowing that. “Let’s go, there’s a champagne glass with my name on it.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The rehearsal dinner was already in full swing by the time you reached the main hall, tall ceilings, string lights overhead and a long banquet table running the length of the room. Waitstaff circled with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Soft jazz floated in from a live trio in the corner.

Wanda spotted you immediately and lit up. She hugged Natasha first, quick and surprisingly warm then turned to you.

“And you must be…” Wanda’s eyes sparkled.

“Trouble.” You finished, smiling.

Wanda laughed. “I like her.”

"How are you feeling?"

"Nervous, excited. The wedding is this easy part, it's keeping up wit this spectacle Stark forced on us."

You mingled easily. More easily than Natasha expected, judging by the way her gaze kept flicking toward you from across the room.

You weren’t loud. You weren’t fake. But you were good.

Polite. Political. Smart. The kind of person who answered nosy questions with grace and just enough mischief to keep them guessing.

“I work in marketing for Stark Industries.” Natasha overheard you say once, hand resting lightly on someone’s arm. “Which means I lie for a living but only beautifully.”

You handled Clint with charm, Bruce with kindness, and Carol with so much wit that Maria had to hide her grin behind a champagne glass.

You even made Tony pause.

“Who is she?” He asked Natasha at one point, halfway through a glass of scotch. “She works for me?!”

Natasha didn’t answer, just watched you from across the room.

You caught her eye once and held it. And smiled like you knew something she didn’t.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Wanda stood near the fireplace, her glass of wine barely touched. She watched Natasha across the room, now alone, swirling a drink slowly in her hand. The corner of her mouth twitched.

She walked over.

“I like her.” She said softly, without preamble.

“She’s good at pretending.” Natasha didn’t look up. There was no point in lying to a literal mind reader.

Wanda smiled. “That wasn’t pretend.”

“She’s charming. It’s a skill.”

“Maybe. But she wasn’t the one pretending tonight.”

Natasha glanced at her then, sharp, neutral. “You reading me now Maximoff?”

“I don’t have to.” Wanda said, swirling her wine. “You wear it like perfume."

“Wear what?”

“The way you look at her.” Wanda said, her voice velvety smooth. “Like she’s a loaded weapon you’re hoping never gets aimed at you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “She’s not a threat."

Wanda tilted her head. “Exactly.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Wanda added, low and knowing, “She wants you. And you’re trying so hard not to want her back, it’s practically screaming.”

Natasha’s jaw flexed.

“I can help you lie to everyone else.” Wanda said gently, stepping back. “But not yourself.”

And with that, she slipped away, leaving Natasha standing in the amber-lit room, silent, glass still in hand.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The rehearsal dinner had finally wound down, the last glasses of champagne drained and someone, probably Clint, caught trying to sneak dessert into a napkin for later.

The suite was dim when you returned. You kicked off your shoes, sighing like you’d just survived a battlefield. In a way, you had.

Natasha followed you in, quiet as ever, closing the door behind her.

“So?” You asked as you started to undo the copious amount of jewellery that adorned your body. “How did I do?”

There was a pause.

“You’re terrifyingly good at this.”

You grinned, stepping towards her and turning, gesturing towards the zip. “Told you I lie beautifully.”

Her hands shook as she pulled down the zip, watching more and more skin appear, the curve of a shoulder, the dip of her spine, each inch undoing her composure like thread unraveling in slow motion.

“Done.” She croaked out, immediately clearing her throat after.

“Thanks.” You smiled, holding up the dress with your left hand, disappearing into the bathroom, hearing a sigh of relief behind you.

When you came back out, you were in an oversized tee, bare legs, no makeup and smelling of a mix of vanilla and coconut. You looked casual but soft. Natasha had already stripped down to a tank top and loose joggers, sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on her phone like she wasn’t hyper-aware of you.

You walked over and flopped down beside her.

And the second your weight hit the mattress, her eyes flicked to yours. “I can take the sofa.”

“I think we’re a little past pretending we’re that polite,” You told her, pulling your legs up and stretching out beside her. “Besides, I don’t bite.”

Her lips curled slightly. “That’s disappointing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t if provoked.”

She didn’t look away. “Noted.”

And just like that, neither of you moved, the bed suddenly feeling too big and way too small at the same time.

You turned off the bedside light.

And in the dark, your voices felt quieter. Closer.

You rolled onto your side, your arm brushing hers. “Don’t worry. I don’t kick or snore or talk in my sleep. No matter how much you insist I do.”

“Great.”

“But I do cuddle.”

“Immediately no.”

“I can’t help it. I’m like a koala bear.”

“Yeah well I’m like a polar bear so don’t try it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You mumbled tiredly. “Big, scary, dangerous assassin. I could do some damage too, you know?”

“Oh yes, I’m so scared of the biting, cuddle threatening koala that knows all things marketing, how will I ever escape colour coded files and manipulative email- OW.”

“I told you I bite.” You simply murmured, watching through lidded eyes as she rubbed her arm where your teeth sank.

“You are insane.”

“I must be to be here right now.”

“Go to sleep.”

“You really do have a thing about control.”

“And you really like pretending that doesn’t interest you.”

You smiled into the dark. “Just trying to understand the rules of the game.”

“There aren’t any.”

You let that hang between you for a moment, the silence heavier than it should be.

“Sweet dreams Natasha.”

She didn’t respond but she didn’t roll away, either.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You felt her move before you heard her, the shift of weight on the mattress, the whisper of sheets, the near-silent sound of feet hitting the floor.

Natasha never really slept, not the way most people did. It was more like she paused… reset. Eyes still closed, you heard her zip something up, then the faint creak of the door opening.

Of course she would run more miles than you could count on both hands before a wedding like it was any other day.

You didn’t move. Just let the door click shut behind her and sank a little deeper into the pillow, the scent of her shampoo still clinging to the sheets beside you.

By the time she returned, you were out of bed, hair half-styled, robe cinched loosely at your waist, mascara in hand and one earring in.She stepped inside, sweat-slick and infuriatingly calm, like her pulse had never spiked.

Her eyes flicked over you, bare legs, flushed cheeks, one slipper on.

“Morning.” You grinned, like it wasn’t completely unfair how good she looked post-run.

She nodded once. “You start getting ready without me?”

“I figured you wouldn’t need help getting dressed.”

Her gaze lingered a second longer than necessary.

“You’d be surprised.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Is that a request?”

“Not yet.”

And just like that, she disappeared into the bathroom — leaving you there, smiling into your second earring like this wasn’t building toward something inevitable.

The sound of running water humming to life seconds later. You stared at yourself in the mirror, hair nearly finished, makeup done, skin still warm from the hair appliance and nerves.

Then you turned to the dress. That dress.

That deep shade of green, open back, structured yet slinky all at once. You’d worn it in theory before when you described it to her via text and she acted unimpressed.

But now it was real.

You stepped into it slowly, carefully adjusting the fabric where it hugged your hips, smoothing it over your thighs. The straps fell into place across your shoulders, fabric twisting at the bottom of your back in delicate, purposeful chaos.

The zipper was halfway up when the bathroom door opened

You didn’t turn around.

“Romanoff?” You called over your shoulder, playing it casual.

A pause, a few footsteps. She didn’t answer, not right away.

You reached behind you, fingers fumbling at the zipper.

“Can you help?”

A moment of silence followed before a few footsteps again. Slower this time.

She came up behind you, close enough that you could feel her body heat before she even touched you. You caught her reflection in the mirror, damp hair swept back, skin still flushed from the shower, eyes locked on the open expanse of skin down your spine.

Her fingers brushed the small of your back, just once. Then found the zipper.

She pulled it up slowly, carefully, dragging the fabric into place with the kind of precision that felt practiced. Mechanical. Except her touch lingered a second too long at the top, fingertips brushing your skin before dropping away.

You exhaled. “Thanks.”

Natasha’s voice came quiet behind you. “You were right.”

You blinked. “About what?”

She met your eyes in the mirror.

“That dress is a problem.”

“I could take it off if it’s going to cause problems.”

She didn’t flinch, just tilted her head, lips curving slightly. “You’ll have to behave yourself at dinner. We’re with the team.”

“Oh, I won’t.” You said, brushing past her on the way to the bathroom. “But it’ll look polite.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The ceremony was beautiful. Wanda glowed. Vision looked like he’d downloaded five separate wedding manuals and still managed to look overwhelmed.

You and Natasha sat close, too close in the front row. Her knee bumped yours once. You didn’t move. When the bride walked down the aisle, you leaned in just enough, your voice low, words almost too casual.

“Is it wildly inappropriate to admit I’ve been undressing the officiant with my eyes for the last ten minutes?”

Natasha choked on her breath and tried to cover it with a quiet cough.

“Unbelievable.” She muttered. “She’s at least double your age, if not triple.”

"She’s giving such divorced professor who teaches ethics but definitely doesn’t follow them energy.”

Natasha blinked. “What is wrong with you?”

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a type. Emotionally distant women with sharp tongues and commitment issues.”

Her jaw ticked. “Charming.”

You glanced at her. “Takes one to know one.”

You’d never seen her look more alive than when she was trying not to smirk in public.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Later, at the reception, the two of you drifted between conversations, hands brushing, fingers ghosting over the backs of chairs, subtle glances exchanged across champagne flutes. Your act was flawless. But something was cracking at the edges.

Natasha watched you laugh at something Sam said and looked away too fast.

You caught her watching and smiled like you’d caught her red-handed.

At one point, Tony stood up, scotch in hand, eyes already a little too glassy and tapped his fork against his glass like he was hosting an awards show.

“Alright, alright.” He grinned. “I’m invoking a sacred wedding tradition.”

Groans went up across the long room.

“Oh, shut up. I’m being romantic.” Tony insisted. “To celebrate love, passion, mutual tax benefits, all the lovers in the room, grab your partner and kiss ‘em.”

You and Natasha exchanged a look across your wine glasses, a perfect mix of horror and absolutely not.

Then, in unison, you both made a very quiet, very dry fake gagging sound. It was subtle. Synchronized. Discreet enough for dignity.

Until you looked up and realised everyone else was actually doing it. Lips meeting. Hands on cheeks. Some modest, some… very much not from those who had indulged in a glass of champagne too many.

You froze. Natasha went unnaturally still beside you.

And then, of course. “Don’t be shy, Romanoff!”

Sam called across the table, raising his glass with a grin. “We know it ain’t your first time.”

The whole table turned.

Carol looked way too amused. Bucky raised an eyebrow. Even Pepper was watching with the kind of polite curiosity that made it worse.

You turned slowly toward Natasha.

She didn’t say anything, just arched a single brow.

You cleared your throat, leaned in slightly. “Well…” You murmured. “…you did say we were committed to the bit.”

“I said I was committed, not an exhibitionist.” She gave you a once over, slow and unreadable. “Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

And then, with every eye on you, she leaned forward.

One hand rested on your thigh beneath the table, grounding. The other found the edge of your jaw, fingers light.

She kissed you.

Not quick. Not hesitant. Not entirely performative.

Just long enough to hush the room. Just slow enough to register.

And then she pulled back, face impassive like she hadn’t just lit your entire nervous system on fire.

“Better?” She said quietly, looking around the table.

Sam raised both eyebrows. “Well damn.”

You reached for your wine without a word, mostly to hide your smile.

Natasha’s thumb brushed your knee before she let go.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

After dinner, music picked up. Lights dimmed. Someone tried to drag Natasha to the dance floor. She muttered something about bruised toes and melted into the shadows, only to appear beside you five minutes later with two glasses of wine.

You took yours and clinked gently against hers.

“To fake love.” You said.

“To real chemistry.” She replied. You didn’t break eye contact.

And for a moment, nothing existed beyond the space between your knees brushing under the table, her gaze flicking to your mouth and that magnetic pull that had stopped being part of the performance sometime around… yesterday.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You didn’t drag her to the dance floor. Not really.

You just walked up behind her during some slow jazz instrumental and held out a hand without looking like she’d already agreed.

Natasha gave you a flat look then sighed like it pained her and followed you out anyway.

She didn’t dance, not properly. She shifted her weight, let you twirl lazily in front of her, arms loose around your waist like she was making sure you didn’t trip. You teased her about her rhythm. She muttered something about ‘former assassins not being trained for ballroom etiquette’.

“Yeah but you’re holding me like you’ve done this before.” You said under your breath.

She didn’t deny it.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You ended up back at the table after a few too many wedding cocktails. Natasha stretched out beside you, one ankle crossed over the other, wine glass spinning slowly between her fingers.

Bucky was mid story when you casually dropped. “Oh, Nat? She told me when we first met that she’d have left if I’d ordered a mojito.”

“She did what?” Clint asked.

“Swear to God.” You said. “It was the mint. Apparently it’s weak.”

Natasha didn’t blink. “You told the bartender you wanted a cocktail that ‘tastes like a vacation and a bad decision.’”

You nodded proudly. “And you stayed.”

“I was bored.” She drawled. “And you were wearing that backless thing. I was curious how it came off.”

Carol spit her drink.

You just raised your glass and said. “So I won.”

“I meant to ask earlier…” Sam trailed off. “How hard were the new agents coming at you? Your arm is a mess.”

Natasha frowned, looking at where Sam had pointed and saw exactly what he meant. The smirk immediately appeared, her voice teasing. “That's not from the agents."

“Oh.” The fake couple saw the realisation set in. “OH!”

“Sorry.” You shrugged, brushing your knuckles against the blossoming bruise.

“You two are something else. Remind me to thank Pepper for putting my room the hell away from yours!”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You volunteered to get the tequila. Seemed fair since Natasha had endured dancing, your relentless one-upping and two rounds of you using her as a human shield to avoid sentimental speeches. A round of shots felt like a peace offering.

The bar was busy. You leaned against the counter, waiting for the bartender, when someone slid up beside you.

Tall. Confident. Overconfident. Drunk.

You clocked the energy before he opened his mouth.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” He sneered, eyes flicking down your dress in a way that made your skin crawl. “You here with someone?”

You gave him a polite smile. “Yeah. My girlfriend.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “Where is she?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Somewhere very close.”

He laughed like that meant something else entirely. “You sure she wouldn’t want to share?”

You blinked. “I’m gay.”

He leaned in a little. “That’s because you’ve never tried me…”

You opened your mouth, not entirely sure what you were going to say when a voice slid in behind you, smooth and cold.

“She has.”

You turned slightly, and there was Natasha. Calm, unreadable, dangerous in that effortless way she carried herself. Her arm slid around your waist, her other hand casually taking the shot tray from the bar like this was all completely ordinary.

“She’s not interested.” She said, her voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.

The guy didn’t take the hint.

He gave her a slow once over, cocky grin in full force. “What, you speak for her now?”

Natasha’s smile turned razor edged. “When you stop listening? Yeah.”

He laughed, short and loud like he thought he was still in control. “You got attitude. Bet you’re a real bitch in bed.”

You felt Natasha’s body shift beside you. The hand on your waist tightened, just slightly, not for show this time but restraint.

She stepped in, slow and deliberate, her mouth right near his ear. “I’ve killed men for less than what just came out of your mouth.”

He pulled back, startled, blinked like he’d just realized he was speaking to the Natasha Romanoff.

“Now baby…” Natasha said, her voice smooth as silk but still humming with the edge that made your heart pound. “Are you ready to go back to the table?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve grabbed the tray of tequila and made a joke, rolled your eyes, kept the game going like nothing happened.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stared at her, flushed, breath tight, stomach doing somersaults and before you could second guess it, you stepped in.

And kissed her. Not for show. Not for the team. Not to out-do anyone. Just because she was so hot it physically hurt.

Because her voice in your ear, her hand on your waist, the look on her face when she threatened that man like it was just another Tuesday, it short circuited your good sense. The kiss was firm, deliberate, a little reckless. You felt her inhale sharply through her nose, like you’d surprised her and maybe you had.

But she didn’t pull away or laugh or joke or make it part of the bit.

Her hand came up, thumb brushing your cheek as her mouth moved with yours, just once. And the team lost their minds somewhere in the distance.

“Holy shit.”

“Okay, damn.”

“YES, NATASHA!”

You barely heard them. You were too busy clinging to the edge of breath.

Then she pulled back, barely, her eyes somehow darker than before.

“Now I’m ready.” You breathed, pupils blown.

“Good girl.” She murmured quietly, taking your hand in her spare one and pulling you back to the table.

And just like that, you knew you were in trouble.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

By the time the last round of drinks hit the table, you were both quieter. Not tired but full of whatever this was now. Charged. Loosened. Buzzing.

The kisses, plural now, had come and gone. One from Tony’s toast. One you initiated because she’d said baby like that.

But neither of you had really recovered.

Natasha was sitting too close, thigh pressed to yours under the table, hand resting dangerously high on your knee. Her arm wrapped around the back of your chair and her fingers running up and down the skin of your arm. At one point, you leaned in to say something and didn’t pull back. Her lips brushed your jaw like it was an accident. It wasn’t.

You fed her a lime slice with your fingers. She licked the juice off and smirked when you stared.

You said goodnight to the team, barely got the words out between half-laughs and flustered smiles.

Natasha didn’t say anything. She just stood when you did and followed. Her hand landed on your lower back like it had every right to be there.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The hallway was quiet, carpet soft beneath your heels and her presence behind you was heat.

You were laughing about something stupid, something she said in your ear that made you snort and nearly trip out of your heels. She caught your elbow automatically, steadying you, her fingers lingering. You didn’t step away.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You said without turning, your eyes a little glassy.

“I’m not looking at you.” She replied.

You could feel her looking at you.

“You’re bad at lying when you’ve had tequila.”

“I’m bad at pretending you’re not beautiful when you laugh like that.”

You stopped walking and turned to her.

She nearly ran into you, didn’t bother stepping back. Just stared down at you with that half smile, half dare playing on her mouth.

Your voice came out a little breathless. “This isn’t part of the bit anymore, is it?”

Natasha’s gaze flicked between your eyes, her voice low. Honest.

“It hasn’t been for hours.” And then she kissed you. Not careful or playful or performative for the others.

It started soft, mouths brushing, testing but there was nothing uncertain about it. Her hand found your waist, pulled you flush and your breath hitched as you reached for her shirt like it might ground you. She broke the kiss for half a second. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at you.

Then her body pressed forward, backing you into the hallway wall with a clumsy, desperate kind of precision. Her mouth found yours again, messier this time, deeper and needier.

One hand slid to the side of your neck, her thumb under your jaw, holding you there like she needed the contact. The other braced flat beside your head, trapping you in like she wasn’t giving you the option to think, let alone run.

You moaned into her mouth, surprised, maybe by how badly you wanted this. Somewhere between kisses, your hand fumbled for the key card. It slipped once. She cursed softly against your lips, took it from you and shoved it into the lock like she could break it open with willpower alone.

The door swung open. She guided you inside without looking. The room was dark, quiet, unfamiliar and none of it mattered.

You kissed her again, harder now. A laugh caught in her throat as you tugged at her blazer, fingers sliding beneath the hem. She turned you, walked you backwards blindly until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

Somewhere in the dark, her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I do.” Your answer was instant. “I want you.”

And then her mouth was on your throat, your hands under her shirt, her laugh low against your skin as you gasped. All heat and grip and tension finally snapping.

Fingers tangled in hair, knees shifting on sheets, hands gripping thighs. You felt her everywhere, her hands skimming under your dress before she near enough ripped it off, her mouth dragging across your collarbone, her breath at your ear like a promise and a warning all at once.

You gasped something, maybe her name, maybe just a sound and she answered with a shiver, a press of lips against your throat, a whispered “I know.”

And everything you hadn’t said, written across skin instead.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You woke first. Kind of.

Your eyes opened slowly, sunlight spilling across the room in quiet gold. The sheets were twisted around your waist. The air smelled like hotel linen and skin. Warmth bloomed behind you, a body, close, breathing even.

Natasha.

She was still asleep or doing a very convincing impression of it. One arm slung low across your stomach, her legs tangled with yours, her nose tucked into the back of your shoulder like she’d meant to keep her distance and just… hadn’t.

You stared at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot.

When she finally stirred, a soft sound in her throat, a stretch, a slow blink, her hand flexed where it rested on your ribs.

“Morning.” You said, voice scratchy.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, heavy-lidded and sleep-mussed and hummed like you were a warm secret she hadn’t meant to keep.

Then she flopped onto her back and muttered. “You snore.”

You gasped. “I do not.”

“You do.” She said flatly. “I knew it. Cute but loud. Like a small, overconfident animal.”

You rolled over and hit her with a pillow.

She caught it mid swing, smirking.

The sheets fell to her waist. You stared for a second too long.

She noticed but did nothing about it.

“You hungry?” She asked, casual.

“Starving.”

“I saw the menu for the brunch downstairs last night. It looks incredible, we should sneak down early to get the best stuff.”

You grinned. “Why sneak? We’re practically newlyweds now.”

She snorted. “Right. Mission complete.”

You blinked.

“Huh.”

“Mission complete.” She repeated. “One more day of fake hand holding and pretend kisses and you can go back to emails and tinder.”

Just like that, it shifted. She didn’t mean it cruelly. It wasn’t harsh. Just a throwaway comment. A reminder. That it was fake. That it was supposed to end.

“Right. Of course.” You nodded, quiet. "Mission complete."

She didn’t notice the change in your voice. Or she did, and ignored it. You sat up, reaching for your robe, trying not to show the sting.

Her eyes flicked to you. Opened her mouth. Closed it.

But she didn’t say anything.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Brunch was already in full swing when you and Natasha arrived. She should have known the team would think the same as her and beat her to the good stuff. The sun was too bright, everyone a little hungover and louder than they should’ve been. Mimosas clinked. Chairs scraped. Someone cheered when you stepped onto the terrace.

“Look who finally emerged!”

“Hey, lovebirds! Rough night?”

“Hope the hotel charged double for damage.”

You smiled, barely but just enough to be polite.

While Natasha gave them a look. “You’re all disgusting.”

Clint wiggled his eyebrows. “You’re glowing, Romanoff. I’m just saying.”

You laughed, quiet and short, and reached for a glass of juice instead of champagne. Natasha followed you to the table, sliding into the seat beside you. Her hand found your thigh under the table, thumb brushing slow circles, familiar, casual.

You stiffened. Not entirely dramatically but just enough. Then, without a word, you crossed your legs and gently dislodged her touch.

Natasha stilled. Her eyes flicked to you, studying your face like a puzzle she hadn’t realised she needed to solve.

You didn’t look at her.

You were busy stirring sugar into your coffee, listening politely to Pepper talk about the speeches later, nodding along like you hadn’t been wrapped around Natasha Romanoff eight hours ago whispering her name against her skin.

She leaned in, voice low near your ear. “You okay?”

You didn’t look up. “Fine.”

Something inside her curled. Wrong. Tight. Had she said something? Had some done something? You were happy this morning, right? Even happier last night.

This was different. You were different.

Still warm on the outside, still smiling, still engage but that spark, that electricity she’d gotten addicted to overnight? Gone. Like you’d pulled it back behind your ribs where she couldn’t reach it.

And Natasha didn’t understand why it felt like a loss.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Natasha didn’t push it.

She let you be, all through brunch, all the way to the car. No comments, no teasing. Just silence, stretched thin between you in the back seat.

She glanced at you as the engine started. “Want to talk?” She asked, voice low.

You didn’t look up from the window. “I’m just tired.”

And true to your word, you were asleep within minutes. Head tipped against the glass, arms folded across your stomach. The kind of sleep that only happens after emotional exhaustion, not rest.

Natasha watched you for a long moment before settling back, quiet. When the road curved, she took it slower than necessary. At one point, you shivered, even in the sun. She peeled off her hoodie at a stop light and carefully laid it across your lap, tucking it under your arm so it wouldn’t fall.

No one spoke the entire ride home.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

When they pulled up to the tower, she turned in her seat and touched your shoulder gently. You stirred, eyes slow to open, still soft from sleep.

“We’re here.” She said.

You blinked, sat up, then slowly started gathering your things. No words yet. No smile.

Just quiet.

And then at the curb, you turned to her, expression calm but something unreadable behind your eyes.

“This weekend was nice. Really.” Natasha opened her mouth but you kept going. “Thanks for inviting me. And… I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She blinked. “Wait- Can we just-“

But you were already stepping out, already walking toward the elevators with that same gentle poise that had undone her all weekend. Not angry. Not cruel. Just done.

The doors slid closed before she could follow.

Natasha sat in the car a while longer, hoodie still warm from where it had rested against your skin and didn’t move.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

It was late afternoon when Natasha found herself standing in the common room, fingers curled loosely around a mug she hadn’t touched. She hadn’t meant to linger in the tower like a lost puppy but her legs didn’t take her anywhere else.

The doors hissed open behind her, soft heels and familiar energy.

“Hey.” Wanda said, breezing in with a duffel bag over her shoulder. Her hair was braided loose, the way she always wore it when she traveled. “I’m grabbing some things before we disappear. Don’t tell Tony or he’ll throw another brunch.”

Natasha gave a faint huff. “The last thing I need is to be sat on another table with all of them again.”

Wanda paused, looked at her properly and could sense the turmoil. “You okay?”

Natasha hesitated.

Then, finally and for once, honestly. “No.”

Wanda said nothing, just walked to the kitchen, poured herself a coffee and leaned against the counter, waiting.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’m right where I need to be right now.”

Natasha didn’t look at her when she started. “You know I invited someone to the wedding. And I know you know it was supposed to be a fake date. But it wasn’t fake. Not really.”

Wanda tilted her head, quiet.

“There was always something there.” Natasha continued. “We kissed, more than once. We-“ She stopped, swallowed. “Saturday night, we- It wasn’t pretend anymore. But I said something this morning about the whole thing being a bit, about it being over. And she-"

Her voice cracked, just slightly. “She just… shut off. And left.”

Wanda was quiet for a moment, sipping slowly. Then, gently. “So let me get this straight. You took a girl you really like to a romantic weekend with your entire found family, made her feel wanted, kissed her like she was yours, slept with her and then reminded her it was all pretend?”

Natasha winced. “It wasn’t like that.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?”

“She knew the deal. We were joking about it from the start.”

“And did you tell her when it stopped being an actual joke for you?”

Silence.

Wanda softened. “Nat… that girl looked at you like you hung the moon. I saw it. Everyone saw it.”

“She brushed me off.” Natasha said, quietly. “Didn’t even want to talk about it.”

“Because she was probably humiliated.” Wanda said, still kind but honest. “She gave you more than she meant to. And she probably thought you didn’t even notice.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. “I did.”

Wanda set her mug down. “Then maybe it’s time to tell her.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You weren’t supposed to see her.

That was the whole point, sneak in, drop off the hoodie, grab Pepper’s flash drive and her backup files and get the hell out. You were already late, already unraveling.

Your bag felt like it weighed thirty pounds. You’d dropped your phone directly in some stupid water feature at the office and somewhere between your apartment and the security desk, your lanyard had vanished.

“Ma’am.” The guard said, definitively. “I can’t let you in without ID.”

“I work here.” You snapped, trying to keep your voice polite. “Well not here but for Pepper Potts so I kind of do! I’ve been in and out of this building for months.”

“And today…” He said, unmoved. “…you don’t have ID.”

“I just need to go up and drop something off. I’m not trying to hack the Pentagon for god sake-"

“I need you to calm down.” He interrupted, like it was a reflex.

You bit down hard. “I am calm.”

“Ma’am.” The lead guard said, clearly already bored. “We’ve been over this. No ID, no entry.”

“I’m literally on the list-“

“There is no list.”

“I’ve been here dozens of time-“

“And today?” The younger guard cut in, smug. “You’re not cleared. So either step aside or-“

“I don’t have time to step aside! Do you not understand I’m trying to do my job?”

The younger one moved. “And so am I-“

“No, you’re being unreasonable! Just call Tony Stark.”

“We will not be bothering Mr Stark!”

“Call any of them, they know me!” You almost begged now.

"Yeah, yeah, they always do." He laughed. "Why don't you call him?"

"I can't because my phone isn't working-"

"Convenient. If you continue to harass the Avengers or any SHIELD agents, I'm gonna have to take you into custody."

"Custody? I WORK HERE!"

“Look ma’am, I need you to calm down and come with us.”

“No.” You snapped, chest tight now. “I am not being manhandled because I can’t find my damn badge when I WORK here!”

Before it could escalate further, he moved again, grabbed your arm, too hard.

You yanked back instinctively. “Get off me-“

That was it. He spun you, fast, one hand in the middle of your back, the other twisting your arm behind you. The cuffs were on before you could catch your breath. Too tight. Metal biting into skin. The hoodie you had clenched in your fingers, her hoodie, that had been dry cleaned and ironed was down crumpled on the dirty tiles.

“I said stand down!” He barked, like you were some kind of threat. “Do you know how many stupid people I deal with a day? Pretending The Avengers know them?!”

“I do know them!”

The pressure on your wrist made your knees buckle. “Yes and I know Barack Obama.”

“No, wait- You’re hurting me!” You gasped, trying to squirm free, tears springing hot and sharp at the corners of your eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you-“

⋆⋆⋆⋆

“Security breach in the Lobby, Zone A.”

Friday's voice came through the tower’s comms, flat and automatic. Most people ignored it.

But Sam, glancing at the monitor, frowned. “What now?”

He tapped into the security feed, projecting it on the flat screen that hung on the wall in the common room and just as the camera came into focus. “Wait, is that-"

Natasha was already gone.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

You were still protesting when the elevator doors opened, his voice echoing in your ear, loud enough for Natasha to hear and to almost sprint over.

“Little girls like you need putting in their place, it’s all women’s rights these days and you think you can do what you want.” He sneered, tightening the cuffs. “You just need a firm hand like me to put you in your place.”

You didn’t see her at first. You were too busy trying to breathe, wrists burning, arm throbbing from where it had been twisted up too far. Your voice had broken halfway through yelling.

And then. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Everything stopped. Natasha’s voice cut across the lobby like a gunshot. The guards froze.

You turned, dazed. She was stalking toward you, red-faced, furious, lethal. She didn’t care who was watching.

“Take those off her. Now.”

The younger guard stammered. “Ma’am, she- she was uncooperative-“

“She works here. She’s cleared under Pepper Potts’ access and under mine.

He quickly worked to undo the handcuffs and it took one look at your face for Natasha to crumble. You knew you probably looked a mess, tear streaked cheeks, pouting with your arm held by your other, rubbing softly over where the pain was currently throbbing, drops of blood running down your arm from where he had inappropriately tightened the handcuffs.

Natasha was in his face now, pure venom in her voice. “She’s bleeding. She was detained over what? A lanyard and a bad attitude? You think that justifies twisting her arm? Do I look like I tolerate that kind of shit?”

No one answered.

“Did she ask for clearance?”

“She said to call you but- Ma’am- Agent Romanoff, a lot of people ask to see you. Fans and-“

“I’ve heard enough.” She silenced him, turning to you, hands already at your wrists.

Her fingers were feather-light as she ran her fingers over the marks the cuffs left, like even touching them hurt her more than you.

Your breath shuddered.

“Come on.” She said softly, eyes locked on yours now. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Natasha didn’t say a word as she led you through the tower. No more guards. No apologies. Just her hand hovering close to your back, not touching but there if you needed it.

Her room was dark and quiet when she opened the door for you. Unfamiliar but predictably minimalist. The hoodie you’d meant to return was still clutched in your good hand, wrinkled and useless now.

She flicked the bathroom light on, rummaged silently through the cabinet and returned with a small kit.

“Sit.” She said, gently, nodding toward the bed.

You sat, too tired to argue, too raw to speak.

She knelt between your legs without hesitation, ignoring the squeeze in her chest. She didn’t say much, just moved with quiet purpose, opening the first aid kit, switching on a soft lamp. Her touch was gentle as she cleaned your wrists, one hand steadying you, the other dabbing antiseptic with controlled care. Almost too gentle. Like she was scared you might flinch away.

Her eyes kept flicking up to your face, trying to read you, trying to make sense of what she’d done, what she hadn’t said.

You flinched slightly when her fingers grazed a nasty spot on the inside of your wrist. “Sorry.” She murmured.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“I had this dry cleaned and ironed but now-“ Your voice cracked as you placed the hoodie on the bed, the day weighing heavily. “Now it’s creased and he made me drop it.”

“Shhh.” She soothed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. They shouldn’t have hurt you.”

You didn’t speak, just looking down at her to finally meet her eyes.

“I hate that you got hurt.” She murmured, voice low. “I hate that it happened here, where you were supposed to be safe.”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s not the point.” And then she reached out, slow, careful and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. Her hand lingered. Your breath caught. The look between you shifted, it was too warm, too familiar.

You didn’t know who leaned in first.

But suddenly, her mouth was on yours.

A kiss that meant too many things. And for a moment, just a moment, you self indulged and let you let it happen.

Until the weight came crashing back. You pulled away with a sharp inhale, standing too fast. “I can’t.”

“Wait-“

“I shouldn’t have come. I just- I need to go. Pepper is waiting and I-“

You turned, heading for the door but her hand caught your arm, not tight, just grounding. “Please.” Her voice was almost a beg. “Don’t go. Just… talk to me.”

You stopped. What did you have to lose anyway?

“The weekend wasn’t fake to me.”

She didn’t speak.

You turned back around, heart pounding. “I know it started out as just some fun but I didn’t pretend. I wasn’t acting. And you were- God, you were so there. And then the second it was over, it was like none of it mattered.”

Natasha opened her mouth but you kept going, hurt spilling out like a slow unraveling.

“You kissed me like you meant it. You held me like it mattered. And then you went back to pretending. You shut me out. You made me feel stupid for believing any of it meant something. And I shouldn’t be blaming you because I knew this was fake and I’m a big girl. It’s my fault if I felt something and you didn’t but I-“

Her eyes flickered. “I did.”

“What?”

“I did feel something- I do feel something.”

You hesitated. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t know how.”

She stepped closer, carefully, like she was afraid of breaking whatever was left between you.

“You’re not stupid. You’re not overreacting. I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I should’ve said it then, I should’ve stopped pretending sooner. But it was real for me, too.”

You stared at her, trembling, still a little breathless.

“You’re not just saying it?” Your voice came out so small, it shattered Natasha’s heart just a little.

“I’ve pretended to be a lot of things but this? I never pretended to want you.”

And when she kissed you this time, it wasn’t desperate.

It was an apology and a new beginning all in one.

You let her guide you backwards, falling slow into the sheets, her mouth never leaving yours. Her hands moved with confidence now, familiar, dragging your jacket down your arms, fingers ghosting under the hem of your shirt like a promise.

You arched up into her, breath hitching when her mouth trailed along your jaw. She was just starting to slide over you fully, knee between your thighs, when-

Bzzz. Bzzz.

You groaned. “You have got to be kidding!”

Natasha reached over without looking, snatched the phone from the nightstand, glanced at the screen, and smiled. wicked, unhurried.

“It’s Pepper.”

You sat up halfway, flushed and disoriented. “Oh god- Just ignore it!"

But she’d already answered. “Potts, now’s really not a good time.”

A pause.

Then Natasha glanced at you, smile deepening as she looked you over, shirt half-off, lips kiss-bitten. She’s… extremely unavailable.”

You couldn’t hear Pepper’s reply but Natasha eye-rolled fondly. “Pepper, I will do anything you want me to do if you just give us 30 minutes-“ She smirked. “Make it an hour and then I’ll come over and help you myself.”

She hung up before Pepper could reply, tossed the phone somewhere behind her and leaned back down with a smirk.

“Now.” She murmured against your throat. “Where were we?” You laughed, breathless and buzzing.

And then you stopped thinking altogether.

415 notes · View notes

syrecjh · 2 days ago

Text

The alarm splits the silence like a knife—sharp, jarring, and criminally bold for a Saturday morning.

Outside, the sky is still soft with dawn, barely brushing light against the curtains. Inside, your limbs are tangled with his—legs laced together under the blankets, his arm heavy across your waist, the warmth between you stitched into the very air like a lullaby not yet ready to end.

You squirm just slightly, trying to reach toward the nightstand.

And then—

A gravel-dragged groan slips from behind you. Rough, sleep-heavy, and unmistakably him.

“The hell d’you think you’re doin’,” Bakugo mutters, voice cracked with sleep and just a touch of that quiet morning vulnerability he saves only for you. His grip tightens, one arm hooking around your middle like a vice. “Alarm’s a liar. Stay.”

You blink against the early light, smile curving without permission. “It’s Saturday.”

“Exactly,” he grumbles into the crook of your neck, breath warm and stubborn. “S’posed to sleep in. Dumbass alarm doesn’t know what day it is.”

You chuckle softly, wriggling again. “I have yoga.”

He growls. Actually growls. A low, lazy rumble that makes your stomach flip even though you’ve heard it a hundred times. “You have me.”

“Not the same.”

“It is now.”

You try to turn, but he’s already shifting, pulling you flush against him, chest to your back, chin buried near your shoulder. His legs wrap tighter around yours, foot nudging between your ankles like he’s planting roots. There’s something almost childish in the way he holds on—unapologetic, completely at ease in his possessiveness.

“This is clingy,” you murmur, grinning.

“Tch. You’re clingy.”

“You’re literally holding me hostage in bed.”

“Damn right I am.”

There’s a long pause. The kind that only happens in mornings like this—where time bends and blurs and the world feels far away.

Then, quieter this time, his lips brush your hair.

“Stay.”

One word. Soft. Almost shy. As if the armor falls off with the sunrise.

You sigh, pretend to hesitate. But your body’s already relaxing back into him, the yoga mat already a distant thought. His heartbeat is slow against your spine. Steady. Safe.

“Just for a little while.”

He exhales, something like victory and relief stitched into the sound, and buries his face deeper into your neck. You feel the smile he refuses to show pressing into your skin.

Saturday morning wins.

And in his arms, so do you.

308 notes · View notes

writtenbylandaur · 3 days ago

Text

------☆ sunday streams ☆------

no lando stream can do without chaos

Lando's perched up streaming for the second time this year, Y/n was working in the living room but could hear Connor and Lando bantering every now and then.

She went in there to check a few times or just turned his stream on to tease in the chat. She was watching when she saw Lando take his shirt off, and hid behind the camera a little, his head peeking out.

She stood up and walked in immediately, Lando and Connor turned around as she walked up to Lando's seat, "Put your shirt back on." Y/n narrows her eyes at him. Connor laughs, while Lando just smirks, "Are you jealous?" He asks.

"I am not, it's just inappropriate." She whispers.

"Sure baby," He teases, not moving to put the shirt back on, "It got too hot in here." He adds.

"Put the shirt back on." She repeats, "Chat, it's not that hot, by the way." She bends down to peek at the camera.

"Aren't you the same girl who told me not to wear a shirt when cooking yesterday?" He asks,

"You have never cooked, you liar." Y/n snorts.

"She is lying, I cooked her dinner yesterday, dinner I couldn't eat it, but I still cooked." Lando muses, then he places his shirt on the table, "She loved it, if the reward aft-

"Lando shut the fuck up!" Connor and Y/n screech, making Lando giggle.

He wraps an arm around Y/n's waist, "Tell them you loved it."

"Put your shirt back on."

He tickles her waist, "Tell them you loved the chicken parma."

Y/n picks the shirt up, "Put it oooon Lando,"

Lando giggles, kissing her cheek, "Fine, because you look pretty."

He puts the shirt on, and rolls his eyes, "Happy?"

"Very." Y/n kisses his cheek but then stops, "Did you stain the shirt?"

"Yeah... it was an accident, that's why I took it off..."

"You took it off on the stream because you spilled something on it." She questions

"I am not wearing a dirty tshirt."

"So no shirt is the way to go?"

"Weren't you the one who told me you like me without the shirt?" Lando asks, making Connor groan,

"Weren't you the one who was shy to take your shirt off when we went to the beach last time?"

Lando gasps, not expecting Y/n to fight back, "Weren't you the one who came into my stream and told me to put my shirt back on?" He asks

"Aren't you the guy that cheated on Wizard Liz?"

Connor laughs, when Lando groans, "I didn't cheat on anyone, I don't even know who that is."

"Sure, thats not what the comments say buddy." Connor says, making Y/n turn around to face him and laugh.

Lando pulls Y/n closer, pulling her down to his lap, "This is my girlfriend, only girlfriend, and I would NEVER cheat on her." Y/n giggles when Lando kisses her cheek. "So fuck off with those comments on my Monaco win."

"That was kinda attractive." Y/n whispers,

"Brother.... get a rooom!" Connor groans, rolling his eyes.

"Technically this is my house so we already got a room." Lando responds, he leans on Y/n's shoulder as he checks his inventory before a raid.

"When does that logic get old?" A voice comes from Lan's headset,

"I forgot you were playing with Max for a second there." Y/n giggles.

"I think he just came back from afk." Lando explains.

"Yes I am back so can we start a raid already?" He asks.

"Can we ditch them?" Y/n teases

"Sure what do you want to do?" Lando asks immediately

"Hello?" Max and Connor echo, making Y/n chuckle.

"I'm joking." Y/n smiles, Lando pouts, "I would leave if you told me to."

"I know." Y/n pats his shoulder as she stands up, "I have work to do anyway, so I don't need you distracting me."

"She is so hot, booked and busy chat, my breadmaker." Lando exaggerates.

"Shut up you knob." Y/n slaps the back of his head and makes to leave, "If you guys need anything let me know."

She recieves a nod and hum as response and she leaves.

Lando looks dead into the chat after reading their messages, "Chat stop flirting with my girlfriend, she is taken."

-----

It had been thirty minutes, Y/n was trying to figure out how to fix the shelf she accidentally broke because of excess weight, she forgot she was stood on a stool so she tries to move but slips, and falls loudly, the shelf she was holding falling next to her, making a banging sound.

Lando never puts his headset fully on when Y/n's home so he jumps when he hears that sound, immediately standing up, Connor engrossed in the game didn't hear the sound but looked at Lando when he stood up. "Y/n? Babe?" Lando yells as he runs out of his stream room to check on her.

He walks into the kitchen to see Y/n slowly sitting up, he runs up to her, kneeling as he stops her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "What happened? Are you okay?" He asks,

Y/n just groans, hiding her face in his neck, "I am fine, just embarrassed."

"I'll give you space." Connor reads the room and walks back to the room.

"Where are you hurt?"

"Lando, stop fussing."

"Where does it hurt Y/n." He asks again, helping her up. She tries to hide it but groans in pain.

"Okay it hurts alot." She whispers, sniffling.

"Baby, where?" He asks, cupping her cheek.

"My back and neck hurt pretty bad, my ankles just hurt a little."

Lando nods, kissing her cheek, as he guides her to the couch, "What were you doing anyway?" He asks as he goes back to find the first aid things Y/n stocks for him.

Y/n doesn't answer, a little embarrassed as she notices Lando look at the discarded shelf near where she fell.

Lando put two and two together, as he walked up to the couch, "You have a very capable boyfriend, you know that right?" He asks, checking her ankle for her.

Years of racing has made him good at knowing when injuries are serious or just ice worthy, "It's not a sprain." He mumbles.

He inspects her back and neck too, "Nothing a massage from LN4 can't fix," Lando tries, hoping Y/n would crack a smile. He presses an ice pack on her ankle, making her wince, "Take it off it's cold." Lando doesn't listen, just kisses her cheek.

He used both his hands to press ice on her ankle and back, gently rubbing at times too.

"Aren't you supposed to be streaming?" Y/n asked, when Lando takes the ice pack away from her back, "Aren't you supposed to be letting your boyfriend fix shelves?" Lando quips, in a teasing manner.

Y/n rolls her eyes, "Shut up."

"Feeling better?" He asks, tracing her ankle with his thumb, Y/n nods, "I am sorry."

"For what?" Lando confusedly asks,

"For interrupting you stream and embarrassing you infront of steam and Con."

Lando sighs, kissing her lips, hard. "Don't ever talk about my girlfriend like that again."

-----

"Hi chat, sorry for ending the stream early, I need to look after my beautiful girlfriend, if that's okay." Lando pauses, exiting off Tarkov, "Thank you so much for joining, I really appreciate it, also waiting for me while I was afk. Thank you for your support team, I will now go partake in boyfriend activities. Love you-

"You can't end stream on that note!" A voice interrupts him, "Connor and Max are still playing, and I am fine."

"Too bad I already switched off the game," Lando leans back to smirk at his girlfriend.

"I am sorry stream," Y/n apologizes placing her palms on Lando's chair and looking down at his lean backed figure, "He is a bit overdramatic, this one."

"See you next time," Lando smiles as he sits up, switching stream off.

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

like and comment or reblog <3.

im just starting my writing grind so i reallly hope you enjoy this!!!!!!! please let me know what you think :)

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httpsxarien · 1 day ago

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imagine being the eldest daughter of king bruce wayne of sparta.

your birth was a celebration—born in the capital of sparta, gotham. a celestial event marked by meteors streaking across the night sky, the temple oracles claiming aphrodite herself had kissed your forehead. the people of gotham called you the beauty of sparta, the jewel of the kingdom, beloved and adored. wherever you walked, petals followed. your voice could calm storms, your laughter brought crops to bloom.

they said you were the most beautiful woman in all the known world. not just for your face, but for your soul.

you were crowned young—not queen, but heir. gifted silks from the east, bathed in oils from the west, your flower crown delicate, hand-woven, adorned daily eventually turned into the very crest of your line: golden, regal, with wings shaped like a bat’s.

your father, bruce, once the mightiest of warriors, was no longer just a king, he was a member of the justice league, a sacred order of the greatest kings and queens from far-flung kingdoms: queen diana of themyscira, king arthur of the seas, king clark of krypton.

and so, when war threatened the world of men, your father left.

his duty, he said.

his vow, he whispered to you, with hands rough from battle gently cupping your face.

he kissed your forehead and left his crown in your hands.

you were eighteen. and alone.

your brothers were far from home. dick, your eldest, married off to queen koriand’r of tamaran, ruling beside her as prince consort, his heart gentle, his strength unmatched. tim, off to claim the lands his mother’s bloodline had left behind, sharp as steel and silent as shadow.

and then there was damian.

your baby brother. your sun. only three, then. a prince born from war, too young to know pain, too precious to be left behind. his mother talia, led another kingdom far from sparta, closest to the underworld with her father, the catalyst of it all, a diplomatic mission ended in an affair creating your little brother.

so you became his world. mother. sister. queen. all in one breath. raising him to become a good man, to be a warrior of the mind, to become a future king that would lead this kingdom, so that when there’s a problem, he’d know the answer.

you ruled. you taught. you smiled when the suitors came knocking, their hands heavy with gold and promises.

but your heart was never theirs to take.

because it already belonged to a boy named jason.

jason todd. born of nothing. son of no name.

he was a street thief when your father first saw him. no older than seven, wrenching iron from the king’s own carriage. and instead of condemning him, your father knelt and offered him bread.

a few days turned into years.

and suddenly jason was training beside your brothers.

a commoner raised among royalty.

he was rough-edged, wild-eyed. but with you? he was quiet. soft.

you shared your books with him. your secret garden. your laughter.

and slowly, without ever saying it aloud, he became yours.

your sworn knight. your protector. your secret love.

when war came calling, jason answered it, like your father. like your brothers.

he left you with a ring. his mother’s. a simple iron band tied to a chain.

“i’ll come back to you,” he said. “as soon as the war’s won.”

and so, you ruled the kingdom alone.

with alfred by your side—loyal, aged, kind and damian growing stronger by the day, sparta stood firm under your hand.

you were a just queen. a fair ruler. your people loved you.

but love… love brought danger, too.

adonis. a name that once meant nothing, a boy you and jason once called friend.

he came from foreign lands, noble-born, clever, charming… at first. he arrived in your nation in hopes that your father would take him under his wing & was deeply upset when he favored jason over him. and so, resentment grew as he is stuck in a nation he wasn’t familiar with.

and obsession wears many masks.

you noticed it slowly. the way he watched you. the way he lingered. the way he hated jason, though he never said it aloud.

and when you rejected every suitor, when your hand remained untouched by any other… he snapped.

as the years have gone by, you grew older, and so whispers started..

so you issued a challenge.

if any man wished to marry the queen, he would first have to survive your father’s training.

the very same trials he put his sons through. brutal. legendary.

they all tried.

and they all failed.

and still, they whispered. schemed. turned bitter.

until one night.. under cover of darkness, they took you.

adonis and his men.

your guards slaughtered. your room desecrated.

your crown stolen. your song silenced.

you vanished. like helen took paris. taken from your homeland.

you were stolen.

your brother, damian, who went on a diplomatic to his mother, returned to find the palace desecrated, sacked like troy. the throne room bloodstained and cold.

your crown lay shattered at the foot of the dais.

alfred trembled.

the wind itself seemed to scream your name.

your family came home.

imagine the way the skies darken the moment they return, like the gods themselves turn their eyes toward the house of Wayne.

lightning cracks across the heavens as bruce wayne, king of sparta, steps foot onto the marble steps of his palace—no longer pristine white, but blackened with soot, dusted with blood. his eyes are hollower than they were ten years ago, but something sparks behind them once he sees the flowers on your windowsill wilted and untouched. your crown missing from its shrine. your song no longer sung.

his hands curl into fists. the silence is deafening.

and then alfred speaks. voice brittle, spine bowed, like a pillar finally cracking under the weight of guilt.

“they took her, sire.”

imagine damian, only thirteen, but already with fury in his blood and shadows in his step. they call him the prince of blades, forged by grief, raised by a sister he called mother, queen, home. he stares at the blood trail left on the throne room floor, jaw clenched, sword unsheathed.

“i will kill them,” he says, not for the first time.

tim looks at him, older now, calm but coiled like a storm. the quietest of the brothers, always watching. but it’s always tim who pieces together the web, who finds the threads and tightens the noose.

dick says nothing. not at first. not until he places a hand on damian’s shoulder and kneels beside the throne. the place where you sat. the place where you ruled in his absence. his little sister — now the memory of silk gowns and flower crowns, gone.

“we will bring her home.”

imagine jason.

he does not speak when he returns. not until he sees your favorite garden torn apart. not until he finds the necklace he gave you, your engagement ring, abandoned, cracked, lying atop a shattered vase.

he picks it up with shaking hands.

and then the fire returns. the same fire he had when he was a street boy, teeth bared to the world. the same fire you soothed with soft words and pressed palms.

but you’re not here to calm him now.

“give me a name,” he says.

“adonis,” alfred tells him. “adonis of corinth.”

a prince-turned-madman. jason remembers him. remembers the way he lingered too long near your presence. the way you always brushed off his stares, turning instead to jason with that smile of yours.

and now—

he sharpens his blades. dons his armor. not the polished steel of royalty, but the blood-red of vengeance. every inch of him screams wrath. he was born in fire. raised in battle. and now the world will burn for you.

imagine the house of wayne. scorned, grief-stricken, angry.

bruce, summoning the remnants of the justice league, now fractured and tired but still loyal to him. old gods rising from the ashes of old wars.

dick and tim, uniting their kingdoms. tamaran’s fire and the drake family’s might, standing behind the black banners of gotham.

damian, leading the war scouts, sending ravens to the underworld if he must.

and jason, who doesn’t speak of what you were to him, only acts. only kills. only carves his promise into the battlefield, etched with every enemy slain.

while you, the queen in chains, sat on a throne not yours, in a palace that did not know your name as they try to break you. you do not break. you did not scream. you did not weep. you waited.

because you knew that your family will come back for you with fire & blood.

history is laid out right in front of us to never repeat, we have seen this tale before. a beauty taken. a kingdom defiled. a thousand ships launched. a city, burning. but we, humans, remain blind - our pride louder than our memory.

we forget. or worse—believe we can rewrite fate.

and the gods flip a coin to see how this tale will end this time.

(inspired by the iliad, greek mythology & epic the musical so i bought the song of achilles & it brought me back to my greek myth/epic the musical hyperfixation. aaa this has been in my mind for months now & only got to finalize it this time after multiple drafts 😭 anywayss i’m gonna sleep now school’s back tomorrow, hope u enjoyed <3)

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l4wsrule · 2 days ago

Text

⟢ ・⸝⸝ why are you crying ?

ׂ╰┈➤ how different one piece men would react to you crying over something stupid ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ

t͟a͟g͟s͟: ace, law, kidd, sanji .ᐟ , fluff, romance, sfw, comedy(?) in some parts.

n͟o͟t͟e͟: established relationship for everyone except kidd (depending how you perceive it, up to you.) i also wanted to include sabo but i currently ran out of ideas, so lmk if i should do more!!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

𓇼 ⋆.˚ : The sun hangs high in a cloudless sky, its golden warmth spilling over the polished warmth of the wooden deck. Gentle waves lapping rhythmically against the hull of the Thousand sunny.

A mild breeze stirs the sails, fluttering them lazily as the ship sailed on forward, the rigging creaks occasionally. Seagulls squawking and birds chirping from a comfortable distance in the vast horizon. But otherwise, silence reigned the vessel as everyone else was sleeping in their cabins during this peaceful morning. It was quiet, too quiet.

And then, there was you. Pacing back and forth around the kitchen, a panicked mess. You were basically a walking storm, trapped in skin. The scent of burnt food from a plate placed on the counter hitting your nose with an acrid, bitter edge.

The smell, of course, didn't go unnoticed. From a particular cook in the ship who quickly rose from his sleep and made his way towards the kitchen in quick strides. Pushing the door open in panic. His mind rushed with thoughts like : "Is it an intruder, a possible enemy attack?"

But those thoughts were soon completely erased as he was met by the sight of you standing there in the middle of the kitchen, a guilty expression on your face, like a child who just broke their mother's sacred living room vase. Taking a glance behind you, he finally identified the source of the smell, a black vapor of smoke emiting from the plate. His gaze soon shifting to yours again. His worried expression immediately softened upon seeing tears streaming down your face.

"Mon amour— What's wrong, what happened ?" He implored in a soft tone, walking towards you. His hands hovering over you as if he was scared you'd break the moment he touched you.

"Food.. it..- I cooked, and it burned, and — " You muttered out incoherently between sobs. You knew he hated wasting food more than anything else.

The cook wasted no time in pulling you in his arms, into a tight, comforting embrace. He had no idea what you were saying, but, despite whatever you thought, your tears were his biggest weakness.

" Shh.. M'lady, calm down, I'm not mad at you, please stop crying. " He cooed, deseperately trying to stop your endless stream of tears soaking through his shirt.

He didn't say anything for a while, and neither did you. Simply holding you in a comforting enfold, until you quieted down and gathered your thoughts.

You were the one ending the hush.

"I wanted to cook something for everyone before you woke up, since you always work so hard, and I burned it..." Your voice trembled slightly, as though you were confessing a sin.

Sanji simply stared down at you for a moment, then let out a small laugh, like he was holding himself back just a bit more than he was letting on. He then tightened his hold on you, always ensuring and prioritizing your safety, before swiftly lifting you off the ground slightly, with ease. J enough to twirl you around in his arms.

"My love !! You're so cute I could die !!"

"Wh- Sanji !!" Your hands hung in the air, unsure of where to face them. Eyes widening. You couldn't help but laugh along at the sudden gesture. Your face an odd mix of tears and joy.

He eventually placed you down on the ground again.

"So.. you're not mad..?"

"Y/N, darling, if you told me you burned a man to ashes, I would blame him for standing in your way."

You chuckled at the reassurance, a faint blush dusting your already red, post-crying cheeks. He always had a certain way with words that boosted your mood in no time.

The blonde reached closer and wiped the remaining tears off your complexion with his thumbs, ever so gently. Treating it like fragile glass. His hands slightly cold, contrasting against your warm, roughed up face. Before placing a soft kiss to your nose.

"It's okay to make mistakes, let's remake it together before the others wake up, hm?" He reassured you, patting your back here and there.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ And so, the entire hassle was over, you eventually cooked the meals again with Sanji's help, he instructed you, carefully watching you, making sure you don't spill, burn yourself, anything of the sort. A proud, loving warm smile plastered on his face the entire time. It was both a means of bonding and teaching you more of his secret cooking tips he wouldn't tell a soul about.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

༯ ࣪ ﹏𓊝 ⋆. The moon hangs full above the idle mast, casting a spell on the currently anchored ship of the Whitebeard Pirates, lanterns swing from ropes, their golden glow flickering across their faces. The sound of crickets trilling in the grassy field ahead was loud, never loud enough to overcome their cheerful singing and laughters erupting like cannon, as they partied, for whatever reason.

Their excuse? "There is no celebration, we simply celebrate living through another day !" With half empty barrels of rum, sake.. you name it, beside them.

And you were there in the middle of them, on god knows how many bottles of rum. Probably not much, considering your tolerance. You couldn't afford to drink that much. Though you were already a tad bit tipsy, losing count of the previous ones.

Beside you, was your significant lover, none other than Ace.

"Cheers again!"

"Cheers ! To the charming lady who stole my heart ~ " He said with a cheerful smile on his face, the one he'd always wear. The one that always caused a flutter in your heart. His voice dropping down an octave at the last sentence.

You simply enjoyed eachother's presence, a bit too much. The sound of the crowd almost vanishing, that of boots stomping as the others danced with wild abandon, some arm in arm, some spinning solo.

Just as you were about to grab yourself another bottle, he did it. again. His signature move.

Ace's freckled face suddenly fell on your lap, his previous laughter soon replaced with a faint snore. Your eyes widened as you looked down at him. Hands suspended above your head, unsure of what to do.

You blinked a few times, processing it, and before you knew it, you unwillingly burst into tears. Probably due to the alcohol, but that was a conversation for another day.

"Ace !! Are you dead ?! " You whined, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. Tears helplessly falling along your tinted cheeks.

Noticing your fussy state amidst the chaos, Marco walked up to you, arms crossed, he let out an amused laughter at the two of you.

"Haha ! Y/N !! You really crying? Give him a minute or two, you should get used to it by now."

That didn't go through your head. Not the slightest bit. You continued shaking him like you're trying to reach a coin from an empty penny bank.

He soon rose from his— rather short slumber, looking at you with a dead, plain expression. Like you had just insulted his entire bloodline, accessing the situation in his half drowsy, half drunken head.

He raised an eyebrow as he saw the tears on your face. Upon noticing that, you promptly averted your gaze away from him, wiping them off using the back of your sleeve.

"..Were you crying?? " Portgas asked, a mix of worry and amusement stirring in his voice, each of the two fighting for dominance.

"Absolutely not." You affirmed, your response quick and sharp.

"Pehahaha ! You wereeee ~ " He insisted in a tune-ish tone. A laugh eventually booming out of him. A laughter that always brought warmth to your chest, no matter what. Even now, when you were pretending to be mad.

Scooting closer to you, he draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you against his side. His free hand curling into a fist and ruffling your hair playfully. "You thought I died or somethin' ?" The brunette teased, low chuckles escaping the back of his throat despite him. Holding himself back.

"..Could you stop doing that out of the blue? Atleast warn me beforehand!! What if you actually died?? What would I do with myself, Ace!" You dramatized, perhaps way too much. It's the alcohol, again.

He didn't exactly try to ridicule you or make fun of you, knowing how emotional you'd get in your light headed form. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head, patting your shoulder reassuringly.

"You're such a crybaby. I won't die, not anytime soon, and especially not because of this. Alright?"

How ironic.

"..'Better not, you fool.." You mumbled under your breath.

༯ ࣪ ﹏𓊝 ⋆. When you thought he hadn't heard you, well, he had. His earlier amused smile shifting into a warm, content one. Finding your tipsy, worried self oddly endearing. But brushing off this funny interaction aside, not wanting to bring down the mood, both of you soon placed your focus back to enjoying your quality time alongside eachother before the end of the night.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

˙✧˖🔧 ⋆｡˚ A gruesome fight had just ended between the Kid Pirates and another rookie crew, who foolishly thought they were good enough and actually stood a chance to match against your captain.

Your crew, of course, left the attack victorious. Albeit, the ship, Victoria, was left in a tremendously bad shape. And you were so kind to offer fixing up a few loose wooden boards.

Spoiler: You had no shipwrighting experience whatsoever.

And so you struggled, for hours. Deseperately attempting to fix the mess.. and you just may have made it worse. Though your pride didn't allow you to admit you couldn't do it.. or maybe the fear of telling Kidd. So, you simply chose to drown in silence.

You sat down, leaning against the railing. Smoothing your hair back and sighing, a few tears falling from your face with your forehead in yours hands, elbows propped on your knees.

This was dumb. Why were you crying?

You thought: everyone is so strong and reliable, You thought you could at least help with some measly ship fixing.

Zoning out, your mind eventually turned off, but your tears never ceased raining down your face. Until he passed by.

A deep, aggressive voice pierced through your earlier silence.

"Oi — You done fixing that up or what ?!"

You immediately flinched, standing up abruptly, with a hammer still in your hand. Face slightly reddened and puffy from your quiet sobs.

Kidd wasn't born yesterday, he certainely wasn't the smartest one in the bunch, either. But when something was wrong, he could definitely sense it.

" What the hell. Y/N. Crying, on my ship ? In my sight?? " He scolded roughly. A growl emitting beneath his words.

"I'm not crying, I just couldn't figure out how t —" You gave him a half-assed excuse, gripping the hammer tighter around your hand.

Eustass looked back and forth between you, the hammer, and the still unfixed mess behind you. It wasn't hard to put two and two together.

"Tch— You're pathetic, give me that." He commanded firmly, his tone as gruff as ever as he took the hammer from your hand by force in one swift motion. Kneeling down where the touching up needed to be done, and getting to work without another word.

"Captain, you didn't have to, I can—" You protested quietly, walking behind him.

"Shut up and actually make yourself useful— Bring more screws. Now."

Not another word was spoken from you. You quickly hurried off to grab more supplies, sighing in relief on your way.

˙✧˖🔧 ⋆｡˚ Why, relief? Because you knew. You knew he wasn't actually mad. That's just how he is. A tough exteriour, hiding a much more caring and reliable facade, especially towards you and the rest of his crewmates. You could tell he felt just a tad bit bad for your pathetic, sorry self. Though he would never admit it out loud. And he didn't necessarily have to, since you could read him like a book anyway.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

⊱ 🧊 ׅ ✧ ⋮ Onboard the famous Polar Tang submarine, where everyone else was busy managing whatever important stuff going on. You, on the other hand, were.. well, definitely busy, with something else.

Curled up in a ball on the couch of Law's office, wrapped around yourself like a cocoon, face buried in your knees. You weeped, uncontrollably. Like you just witnessed the sky shattering and falling above you. Your form shaking slightly with each sob errupting out of you.

And there he was, sitting on his desk, his multiple attempts at focusing on his work were futile.

He'd already tried comforting you, but those attempts were just as pointless.

He wiped a hand roughly over his face, as if he was giving up on life itself entirely.

"Will you stop crying over that already ? " He grumbled gruffly, his gaze shifting to you again.

"No !! I feel so, terribly bad, I wish the ground opened and swallowed me whole ! "

"So dramatic." Trafalgar sneered, rolling his eyes.

"You just don't get it!" You whined.

"Oh, I do get it." He affirmed amidst standing up, making his way towards you again. He sat beside you, awkwardly.

You were unconsollable.

"..Listen, I really don't think Bepo's the type to hold a grudge over you accidentally stepping on him— Hell, he doesn't hold grudges at all. He's just Bepo." Law assured you, placing an awkward hand on your back, patting it a few times.

You eventually pulled your face out of your knees, sniffling, dabbing at your tears with the back of your hand.

"But— He looked so pained, and sad, and the way HE apologized because of MY mistake —"

"He's not sad, I was with him just a moment ago, he's playing cards with Penguin and the others like nothing happened. I bet he already forgot about it."

You paused. It was a long, dramatic pause. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole once again, but this time, for different circumstances. You just embarassed yourself, crying senseless over nothing. Though your tears finally stopped their ceaseless falling.

He blinked a few times, confused by your sudden silence, and the way you stared at him.

"..Really? He's not sad? Or mad at me?" You asked again, making sure, again, and again.

"I never lied to you." Law reassured you, times over, and over. As much as you needed.

With a now relieved smile, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close for a hug. He stiffened and stilled for a moment, a small, barely there blush brushing against his cheeks. But he didn't hesitate to hug you back.

"Idiot. You should really save your tears for more important matters next time." The surgeon mumbled against your hair as he plopped his chin ontop of your head. More of an advice than a scold, he didn't exactly like seeing you crying, and it showed, in his own special way.

⊱ 🧊 ׅ ✧ ⋮ He wasn't exactly the emotional type of guy. When it came to situations like this, or any situation, really. He was always more logical, rational, and critical. He acted on finding a solution rather than giving out comfort, but he learned to know how to balance between the two when it came to you, he deeply cared, despite not showing much through his cold and distant facade. Which only seemed to collapse around you.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

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