#having to check yet another app

[whilstiveputdownthisfic]

some of Nick's recent threadsy things - featuring Stinky, drinking, and replying to mesh

Saturday, July 8th, 2023; 7:33 a.m. DST

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

!!!!!! i just got my college acceptance !!!

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I don’t get why people feel like the Duolingo owl is threatening, if I ever feel like he is I just get mad at him. I could fight an owl. I don’t know if I’d win, but I don’t think I’d lose (two things that can apparently coexist). I think I’d survive at least and that’s not really winning but also not losing.

You wanna be so threatening? Da bør du drepe meg!

[freebooter4ever]

i send my friend suggestions of tourist places to see in his new country (his contract was extended, lucky him!) or messages about friend of friends i have living there that he could maybe meet for fellow americans to talk to, and his response is always that he doesnt have time. and not in that exaggerated way that people do to seem busy. but in that bone tired way i recognize from him here in LA, that i recognize in myself.

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋ 01. NEW CONTENT DROPPED

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, unprotected sex, soft praise kink, noona kink, light crying, degradation kink, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 1/9 completed!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro

──

you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until the number on the page blurs in front of your eyes. the red ink bleeds through the letter like it’s been branded there on purpose, like it’s taunting you. bold, underlined, and cruel: payment past due. the amount is higher than you thought. higher than last month. higher than what’s sitting in your checking account—and your savings? nonexistent. your fingers twitch around the edges of the paper, and you stare at it for a few seconds longer, as if maybe if you look hard enough, the numbers will shrink, change, disappear entirely.

but they don’t.

your hands move slowly, almost disconnected, as you place the letter down on the edge of the kitchen counter. the paper crinkles beneath your fingertips, the sound sharp in the quiet of the apartment. you rake your fingers through your hair, dragging your nails gently across your scalp, trying to ground yourself—trying not to panic. it’s not working.

you don’t have time for this. not now. not with finals looming, two shifts left this weekend, and rent due in five days.

the sound of approaching footsteps makes you flinch.

“everything okay?” nari’s voice is soft, cautious, like she already knows the answer. she probably does. she always does.

you don’t look at her. not yet. you feel her presence behind you, hovering by the counter, hesitating. she picks up the letter carefully, and you hear her breath catch as her eyes scan the contents. there’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“it’s more than last month,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you nod, still not meeting her eyes. your throat feels dry, your heart pounding behind your ribs like it’s trying to escape. the shame tastes bitter in your mouth.

“i can’t pay it,” you finally say, voice flat. “i barely made it through last month’s bill. and now they’ve added more fees.”

it’s not new. this has been happening every few months. random charges. late penalties. service increases you never agreed to. and no matter how many hours you work or how much sleep you lose, it never seems to be enough. you thought you were managing. thought maybe you were finally getting ahead, even just a little. but here it is—proof that you’re still drowning.

nari places the letter back down and moves to stand beside you. she doesn’t speak right away. her eyes flick toward you, soft with concern. she’s been your roommate for over a year now—someone you met through a shared thread on social media venting about overpriced meal plans and the bullshit cost of dorm laundry. back then, you were both strangers trying to navigate the mess of college life with nothing but broken bank accounts and coffee-stained syllabi.

now, she feels like family.

you’ve always admired how gentle she is, how thoughtful. she worries without smothering, helps without asking, gives even when she barely has enough for herself. you hate how easily she sees through you.

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” she says gently. “let me help. i mean it. just this once.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you’ve had this conversation before. more than once. every time the bills show up with too many zeroes or your bank app sends another low balance alert, she offers. she always offers. and you always refuse.

because this is your responsibility. your education. your choice.

you never wanted to drag her into the mess you made just trying to survive.

“nari, no. it’s fine,” you say, brushing it off the same way you always do, even though nothing about this feels fine. “i’ll figure it out. i’ll… find another job or something.”

another job. the words sound ridiculous even as they leave your mouth. you’re already balancing two. your body aches at the thought of adding a third, your schedule stretched so thin it feels like one missed alarm could unravel everything.

nari doesn’t argue. she just stands there, looking at you with wide, worried eyes that say more than her words ever could.

you turn away.

you don’t want to see that look. don’t want to see the guilt in her expression or the way her lips part like she’s about to say something she knows you won’t let her finish. instead, you press your palms flat to the cool countertop and try to slow your breathing.

you can’t keep doing this. living check to check. sacrificing sleep, time, your sanity—only to still come up short.

“let me help find you one, y/n. at least let me do that…” her voice was quiet but firm, laced with the kind of gentle urgency that made it hard to ignore. she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down beside you, her knees bumping yours softly as she reached for your hands.

her fingers curled around yours without hesitation—warm, grounding, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

“you’ll get out of this before you know it,” she said, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “just hang on a little longer.”

the words should’ve felt like encouragement. to someone else, maybe they would have. but to you, they barely registered. her voice echoed distantly in your ears, dulled by the weight pressing down on your shoulders. you wanted to believe her. you really did. but there was only so much hope could do when your brain felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

you were tired.

not just physically—though that part never seemed to go away—but mentally, emotionally, in a way that left you hollow at the edges. your thoughts were messy. loud. overwhelmed with numbers and due dates and rejection emails you didn’t have the energy to open.

you’d always wanted more for yourself. a degree. a real future. stability. success. the version of adulthood that didn’t involve counting coins at the bottom of your purse to buy groceries. being able to chase something you loved without sacrificing everything just to survive.

and yet… here you were. still stuck. still drowning.

“i’ll talk to my friends,” nari added, her voice picking up as she stood again. “i’ll ask around, see if any of their jobs are hiring. you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

you blinked up at her, too tired to protest, too drained to offer anything back. you barely nodded.

she didn’t wait for an answer. instead, she gently tugged you to your feet and led you toward your room, her hands guiding you like muscle memory.

“just hurry,” she said over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall. “get ready before you’re late.”

you let the door close behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space, and leaned back against it for a second too long—breathing in slow, like maybe it would help ease the burning behind your eyes.

but it didn’t.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you can’t hear yourself think anymore. the noise presses in from every direction—muffled conversation, the beep of the register, shoes skidding across tile, the mechanical whirring of the blender as it screams through another drink. the scent of syrup, espresso, and sweat mixes into something you’re far too familiar with by now. it clings to your clothes, seeps into your hair, follows you home every night and lingers even after you’ve scrubbed your skin raw.

your apron feels too tight around your waist. the name tag keeps flipping over, catching on your shirt. your hands ache from repetition. your back stings from bending, twisting, reaching for things without stopping. your legs burn, but you keep standing. because if you stop—just for a second—you don’t know if you’ll start again.

you’ve lost count of how many customers you’ve helped. they blur together—faces that don’t really look at you, names that repeat too often, voices that never say please. someone spilled a drink ten minutes ago and just stared at you like it was your fault. someone else snapped when you misunderstood their order and then smiled like it never happened. you’re used to it. too used to it.

the blender screams again, and you find yourself zoning out, eyes on the flashing light of the machine, ears ringing. you place a sweaty cup down on the counter just as your coworker brushes past you, muttering something, her voice barely registers.

“we’re out of cold brew, can you let the manager know?” she says, breathless.

you nod without thinking and duck into the back, weaving past crates of milk and mop buckets that haven’t been moved since your last shift. you find her—your manager—hovering near the inventory shelf, tablet in hand, expression unreadable. she looks up when she hears you but doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“we’re out of cold brew again,” you say softly.

her sigh is immediate. clipped. already annoyed. “i told the morning crew to prep more.”

“they didn’t,” you reply, just as soft.

she exhales again and gives you a glance that feels like a warning. “make a new batch. and try to keep the line moving—we’re backed up out there.”

you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot, unsure if now’s a good time. but you don’t have a choice. not really.

“hey,” you begin, voice lighter than you feel, “i was wondering… if you had any extra shifts next week? i could take one. or two. anything that opens up, i’ll take it.”

you see it the moment her expression changes. not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it in your gut. she blinks at you once, slow. “you already have four shifts on the schedule.”

“i know,” you say quickly. “i just… if anyone drops or calls out—”

“i’ll let you know if something comes up,” she interrupts, sharper now. “but we’re fully staffed right now. you’re already lucky to have the hours you do.”

lucky.

that one stings.

you nod like it doesn’t bother you. “okay. thanks anyway.”

you turn back toward the front before she can see the heat crawl up your neck. the shame, the frustration, the quiet burn of helplessness that never seems to leave you alone. it coils tight in your chest as you slide back behind the counter, the overwhelming noise greeting you like a wave to the face.

you move through the orders on autopilot—pour, cap, swipe, pass. your body knows the motions. it always does. even when your brain doesn’t catch up. your arms are heavy. your thoughts are too loud.

your phone buzzes in your apron pocket.

technically, you’re not supposed to check it during a shift. but you do anyway, slipping your hand inside just enough to pull it out, eyes flicking to the screen beneath the counter.

nari: i have something to tell you.

you pause.

your breath catches in your throat.

the message is short. way too short. there are no emojis, no dramatics, no little additions she usually throws in to make you laugh. it’s clean. intentional. unsettling.

you type back fast.

you okay? what’s up?

your fingers hover over the screen, waiting. no immediate reply. no typing bubbles. just silence.

you slip your phone back into your apron, heart racing now—not from caffeine or exhaustion but from something else. dread, maybe. anxiety. it curls low in your stomach and spreads like smoke, slow and sickly.

the hours bleed together until they don’t feel real anymore. it’s like you blinked and suddenly the sky was dark, the register was silent, and your shift was over. you don’t even remember clocking out. your body moves on instinct as you grab your things, slinging your bag over one shoulder, feet dragging slightly with every step. you’re too tired to even complain out loud. exhaustion sits heavy on your shoulders, weighing down every bone like bricks. every joint aches. your eyes sting from the fluorescent lights. your muscles are tight, sore, stretched too far. and the worst part is knowing you’ll have to do it all again tomorrow.

the walk home is a blur. you barely register the passing cars or the hum of traffic. your legs are on autopilot, your thoughts too noisy to settle into anything coherent. by the time you reach your building, your fingers fumble with the key from how badly they’re shaking—whether from fatigue or stress, you’re not sure.

the moment the front door swings open, you’re greeted by a sudden, high-pitched sound that makes you flinch.

“oh my god, y/n!”

nari’s voice rings out before you even step fully inside. she appears from around the corner, practically bouncing on her feet as she rushes toward you with wide eyes and a wild grin.

“i think i’ve secured something for you!” she announces proudly, reaching to help you with your things without waiting for permission. your bag slides off your shoulder with her help, and she carefully sets it down on the couch before turning to face you again.

you blink at her, too tired to match her energy, voice low and worn. “how so?”

the contrast between your tone and hers is stark—hers bright and excited, yours soft, raspy, touched with exhaustion that even you can hear.

“okay, so,” she starts, already walking toward the kitchen like she’s been waiting all day to spill this. “i was talking to one of my classmates earlier—casual stuff, whatever—and she would not shut up about this app she’s using and this guy she’s obsessed with on it.”

you follow her slowly, the smell of something warm and savory pulling you forward. dinner is already set out, steam curling up from the bowls on the counter. she’s cooked again. you don’t even have the energy to thank her properly, but it sits in your chest like a quiet comfort.

“she said it’s this platform where you can post content—videos, mostly—and people follow you, tip you, subscribe to see more. apparently, it’s easy money if you know how to catch attention,” nari continues, grabbing utensils and placing them gently next to your bowl.

you lean against the counter, brows slightly furrowed as you try to keep up.

“what kind of videos?” you ask slowly.

and that’s when she pauses.

her hands still for a second, and you notice the subtle way her eyes flick to the side—toward the fridge, the floor, anywhere but you. she busies herself wiping down a clean countertop, her mouth tight, like she’s carefully choosing what not to say.

the silence stretches just a little too long.

you narrow your eyes. “nari?”

she still doesn’t look at you, her fingers now fiddling with the corner of a napkin that doesn’t need adjusting.

and that’s when you know—whatever she’s about to suggest, it’s not exactly a regular part-time job.

you don’t say anything. not at first.

you just watch her fidget—her hands smoothing the same wrinkle over and over again, her mouth parting like she wants to say something but can’t figure out where to start. her excitement from earlier has dimmed slightly, not completely gone, just… more careful now. the shift is subtle but it’s there, and you feel it tighten something in your chest.

your voice is quieter this time. gentler. “what kind of videos, nari?”

she glances up at you for a split second, then looks away again, reaching to stir a pot that isn’t even on the stove. she’s stalling.

finally, she exhales, turning back to you with both palms pressed to the counter.

“okay, so… don’t freak out.”

you stare at her.

“it’s… kind of a subscription thing,” she says, slow and cautious. “like, you post content—just whatever you’re comfortable with—and people tip you for it. sometimes a lot.”

you don’t speak. not yet. you just let her keep going.

“my classmate told me she made almost five hundred dollars in one weekend. literally just from one post. and this guy she follows? apparently he makes thousands. like, thousands. maybe even millions.”

your mouth is dry.

“what kind of content?” you repeat, even though you already know the answer.

nari bites her lip. her eyes finally meet yours. “sexy stuff,” she admits. “but it doesn’t have to be all out. it can be suggestive. artistic. faceless, even.”

you blink at her. once. twice.

the silence between you stretches until it’s not silence anymore—it’s tension. thick and heavy, sitting right in the center of the kitchen with both of you tiptoeing around it.

“it’s not as intense as it sounds,” she adds quickly. “she said she started small. built her page up over time. and no one from school found out. not even her roommates.”you sink into one of the kitchen chairs, your arms resting limply in your lap. you don’t say anything yet. you’re not even sure what you feel.

nari’s eyes soften as she watches you. “i know it sounds… out there. but i just thought—i don’t know, maybe it’s something you could look into. just to hold you over until things get better.”

you nod, but it’s slow. not agreement—just acknowledgment.

you’re too tired to argue. too drained to pretend the idea isn’t already crawling under your skin, planting itself somewhere dangerous.

because the truth is, you’ve heard of it. everyone has. whispered about in late-night dorm conversations, on private stories, in anonymous confessions posted on spam accounts. girls making rent money in a weekend. boys going viral for being faceless and filthy and addictive.

you never imagined doing it yourself.

but then again… you never imagined being this broke, either.

you stare at your untouched bowl of food, heart thudding softly in your chest.

you’re not disgusted. not even shocked.

you’re just… thinking.

and that scares you more than anything else.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you tell yourself you’re just looking.

that’s it.

just a little more scrolling. just a few more profiles. you’re not doing anything. you haven’t made an account. you haven’t posted. you haven’t committed to anything except curiosity, and that—well, that’s harmless, right?

you open your laptop again. it’s sometime past midnight. your room is dim, the only light coming from your screen and the soft amber glow of the lamp tucked in the corner of your desk. it casts everything in that moody, late-night hue that makes the whole world feel quieter. heavier.

you pull your knees up to your chest, the blanket draped loosely over your shoulders as the homepage loads. it’s different now. you’re not looking aimlessly anymore. you know what to search for. you type top creators, and a list appears almost instantly.

you click one.

@heefreakshow. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile loads, and it’s exactly what you expect. polished, but not too polished. his display photo is somewhat dark and grainy, a half-lit frame of his bare chest, chin tilted up just enough to be teasing without giving anything away. the banner across the top reads: “i don’t just talk dirty. i make you feel it.”

his content is locked, but the previews aren’t.

you hover for a moment, your thumb pausing above one of the thumbnails before tapping it without thinking. the video opens in a small window, looped, muted at first, but it doesn’t matter—what pulls you in is the way he fills the frame. it starts with a soft hum of music, low and bassy, vibrating faintly through your speakers as the camera tilts upward from a dark-lit bed.

his chest appears first—broad, smooth, glowing faintly under the moody blue light. he’s shirtless, his skin flushed, breathing slow but deep. the camera dips, revealing his thighs spread wide and relaxed, and the hard, unmistakable bulge straining through his pants. your breath catches. the fabric looks tight—too tight—like it’s fighting to contain him. you can almost feel the pressure through the screen.

his hands trail over his torso, slow and lazy, fingers dragging along the curves of his stomach, tracing the line of muscle before resting on the waistband of his pants. his face isn’t fully visible—just the faintest shadow of his jaw, a teasing sliver of his bottom lip. the only thing clearly captured is his hair: pink, messy, soft-looking and slightly damp, like he’s just run his hands through it too many times.

and then he moves.

his fingers slip down, unbuttoning his pants with quick, practiced ease. the zipper lowers with a soft click, and he pushes the fabric down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard, tip flushed and leaking as it rests against his abdomen. his breath stutters slightly, chest rising as he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow—deliberate, like he’s savoring it. he tilts his hips toward the camera, giving you a better view, and you swear he’s looking straight at you even though you can’t see his eyes.

his voice comes in a beat later—low, raspy, thick with arousal.

“i couldn’t help myself, baby…”

you feel something warm twist in your stomach. the words feel too direct, too personal. his pace quickens as precum beads at the tip, slicking over his fingers as he groans, deep and breathy, like it’s pulled straight from his chest.

his other hand rises, trailing over his stomach until it reaches his chest, fingers pinching at one nipple as his hips twitch upward. the reaction is instant—a quiet moan spilling from his mouth as his head tilts back slightly, lips parted in pleasure.

“fuck…” he breathes out, barely audible between sharp inhales. “i want you here with me, baby…”

you freeze, the weight of the moment crawling down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

you scroll down to the next name on the list.

@jayafterhours. verified. 5.3 million subscribers.

his banner is simple—black background, sharp white font. his bio reads: “don’t waste my time unless you can take it.”

you don’t hesitate. you click.

the video loads instantly, and the difference between him and the last profile is immediate. there’s nothing soft about it. no slow lighting, no teasing buildup. it opens straight into a scene already mid-motion—loud moans echoing through your speakers, fast and desperate, though none of them are coming from him.

the camera is perfectly framed, clearly placed on a desk, angled to capture everything without obstruction. a woman lies flat on her front, arms outstretched as her fingers curl over the edge of the wood. her legs tremble slightly, back arched, skin damp with sweat. behind her, jay moves with sharp, brutal rhythm—his hands gripping her hips like he owns them, fingers pressing deep into the flesh as he drives into her hard enough to rock the table beneath them.

“such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” he grits out, his voice low and full of gravel, each syllable landing like a slap.

his hand comes down suddenly to grip her ass, squeezing tight before delivering a sharp slap that makes her body jolt. the sound of skin meeting skin cracks through the room. she lets out a choked moan, broken and messy.

“d-don’t stop—j-jay!” she cries, voice high, shaking as her nails drag along the desk surface for something to hold on to.

but you barely register her.

your eyes stay on him.

he doesn’t look at the camera—not directly—but the angle captures enough. his head is tilted back slightly, the veins in his neck prominent, his jaw clenched. his lips are caught between his teeth, biting down like he’s holding something back. there’s a faint flush along his collarbone, sweat trailing down the side of his throat.

he isn’t shirtless.

somehow, that makes it worse.

he’s dressed in a crisp white button-down, slightly wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. a black tie hangs loosely around his neck, the knot crooked like it was tugged halfway through the scene. it swings gently with the movement of his hips, adding to the rhythm, the sound, the image of him fully in control without even needing to try.

there’s something terrifyingly composed about him. like he’s done this a thousand times. like nothing surprises him anymore. like the entire scene is unfolding exactly how he planned it.

and yet, despite the chaos, the noise, the cries echoing off the walls—you can’t stop looking at him.

you don’t hesitate when your eyes land on the next name.

@jakeoncam. verified. 5.5 million subscribers.

simple bio: “i like being watched.”

your heart skips slightly as you click on the preview, already familiar with the routine by now. and yet, nothing about this feels repetitive—each creator you've looked at so far has had their own way of pulling you in, but jake’s feels… different.

the screen fades in slowly, no music, no buildup. just the soft creak of bedsheets and the low, wet sound of friction. he’s fully on display, his body stretched across a dark comforter, shirtless, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. the camera is placed at a low angle, perfectly capturing the curve of his back as he grinds down onto a pillow with messy, desperate rhythm.

his blonde hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, a few pieces plastered to his cheek. his eyes are shut tight, brows drawn in deep concentration, lips parted as he pants softly into the mattress. his hips roll in tight, fluid motions, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he presses himself down harder into the cushion.

“fuck… i’m gonna cum… fuck, baby…”

his voice is breathless—higher, whinier than the others—and it hits you unexpectedly. it’s not performance. it sounds real. wrecked. like he’s been holding back for too long and is just now letting go.

he gasps softly, his pace stuttering, body tensing as the pressure builds—but the clip cuts off just before the release, leaving you blinking at your screen with your chest tight and your legs shifting.

you don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until it escapes you all at once.

and you don’t stop there.

you move onto the next one almost instinctively, driven more by something primal now. not even out of curiosity anymore—need. something about each of them feels increasingly personal, like they’re not just performers, but something else. something closer.

@hoononrepeat. verified. 5.3 million subscribers. “if it’s not messy, i don’t want it.”

you click, the motion smooth and practiced now. part of you knows you’re getting too deep, that this is becoming more than just research, but you don’t stop.

his video starts mid-motion.

the frame is tight, focused completely on him—sunghoon’s hand gripping his cock, already soaked and shining with cum, sliding along the length with slow, deliberate strokes. his chest is heaving, his abs flexing with each movement. the lighting is dark, moody, barely enough to cast definition over his frame, and yet it still highlights every shift of muscle.

a silhouette appears at the bottom of the screen—a woman, faceless, mouth parted and positioned perfectly beneath him. her head bobs forward as he pushes his cock into her mouth without hesitation.

he groans, long and drawn out, his voice rough like it’s scraped from the bottom of his throat.

“fucking hell…”

his hand buries in her hair, fingers curling tight as he guides her down, hips jerking forward sharply. the wet sound of it echoes faintly, almost drowned out by his ragged breathing. she gags softly, hands pressing at his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.

he’s focused. lost. unrelenting.

“take it,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “take all of it, princess…”

the words hit hard. not because of what he says, but how he says it—low, commanding, almost personal. like he knows you’re watching. like the words aren’t meant for her at all.

you feel your pulse thud somewhere low in your stomach. your fingers curl tighter around the edge of your laptop.

you should stop.

but you don’t.

@watchmesunoo. verified. 5.4 million subscribers.

his page is simple—light pastel banner, soft text, almost misleading at first glance. but when the preview loads, there’s nothing soft about it. it starts mid-action, no intro, no setup—just raw, unfiltered need. his body fills the screen, the lighting harsh enough to highlight the tension in his muscles, the sweat slicking down his chest in messy trails.

his hand holds a small vibrator—slim, silver, and humming at a steady pace as he presses it along the length of his cock. it’s already hard, flushed dark and leaking, twitching visibly each time the buzzing toy runs over his slit. he slides it slowly, teasingly, from the base to the tip, circling it around the head before dragging it back down again. his hips jerk, his thighs tightening under the pressure.

his face is in view. fully.

his cheeks are red, tear-streaked, lips trembling with every breath. wet hair clings to his forehead in dark strands, and his eyes are glassy—shiny with desperation, the kind that makes your chest tighten just watching. he looks completely wrecked. beautiful in a way that shouldn’t feel this intimate, like you’ve caught him in something far too private.

“fuck… noona…” he whines, voice high and broken as his fingers curl tight around the bed sheets. “let me cum… please—noona…”

his hand trembles slightly as he lowers the vibrator, pressing it to the base of his cock as his other hand slides upward, two fingers dragging through the mess that’s already smeared across the head. he rubs the tip quickly, desperately, almost like he’s punishing himself for how close he is. his back arches sharply, the line of his throat exposed, jaw slack as more tears spill freely down his cheeks.

“f-fuckkk—i’m cumming!” he cries out, voice cracking as his body jerks violently, hips lifting off the mattress.

you can’t look away.

his cock twitches hard in his hand, and a thick wave of cum spills over his fingers, dripping down in messy strands that coat his palm and smear over his abdomen. his chest heaves. his thighs shake. he doesn’t stop moving until his hand is completely soaked and his voice has faded into soft, hiccuping breaths.

you’re still staring, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. the screen is glowing in the dark of your room, and all you can do is sit there, frozen, pulse pounding behind your ribs as the clip loops quietly again.

@wonsodirty. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile surprises you even more.

the name alone already catches your eye—bold, a little cheeky, a little misleading. you expect something bratty, maybe cocky, something playful or reckless. but when the preview loads, it’s none of that.

it’s quiet. intimate.

the camera is placed at a low angle, steady, fixed on soft bedsheets that shift with every subtle movement. the lighting is warm and dim, the kind that wraps everything in a golden hue and makes skin look like silk. there’s a soft rustling in the background, the sound of him breathing, uneven and slightly hitched.

he comes into frame slowly—first his legs, then his thighs, spread slightly apart as he settles against the headboard. he’s not doing much at first. just breathing. just existing. but even that feels heavy with tension, like something just below the surface is about to break.

he’s shirtless. not in a performative way. just bare. his chest rises and falls in shallow motions, skin flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat glinting under the soft light. his hand moves slowly at first, fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking with careful precision. it’s already hard, already leaking at the tip, the kind of arousal that’s been building for far too long.

you watch as he closes his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip, his brows knitting together like he’s trying not to fall apart too quickly.

then, he whispers something—so soft you almost miss it.

“feels so good…”

his voice is high, sweet, breathy in the most fragile way. and it’s real. not loud. not dirty. just pure and cracked with something raw.

his strokes stay slow, almost too slow, like he’s punishing himself for how sensitive he is. his hips twitch every time he passes over the tip, precum smearing down the shaft and making his hand glisten as he continues.

you can’t help but watch his face—how red his ears are, how hard he’s trying to keep his composure. you notice how his legs tense, thighs flexing every time he lets out one of those quiet, needy sounds.

his strokes get faster, hips starting to lift slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath him. he looks like he’s trying to hold back. like he’s afraid of what’ll happen if he lets go too soon.

“i can’t… i c-can’t hold it, please…”

he cries out as his hand jerks up once, twice, and then his entire body stutters. his back arches just slightly, his mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as ropes of cum spill over his fist, painting across his stomach in messy spurts.

his breathing turns shaky. his head tilts back against the pillow, eyes fluttering, lips parted as a tiny, breathless whimper escapes him.

the clip ends with his fingers still curled tightly around himself, his chest rising fast, his body twitching as he comes down—wrecked and glowing and silent.

you move onto the last profile.

@nikiuncensored. verified. 5.6 million subscribers.

the name alone already tells you everything you need to know. it feels reckless. raw. unapologetically bold in a way that makes your pulse skip without warning. you hesitate only for a second before clicking on the preview.

the video starts without ceremony—no soft intro, no teasing buildup. just action. the camera is low, placed somewhere near the base of the woman’s stomach. you can’t see her face, not even her chest—just the lower curve of her abdomen rising and falling with every sharp breath she takes. her thighs tremble faintly at the edges of the frame, knees slightly parted, twitching every time his mouth presses in.

but she’s the background.

your eyes go straight to him.

ni-ki comes into view slowly—his shoulders first, broad and tense, then his head, tipped slightly as his mouth lowers between her legs. his tongue flicks upward in tight, rhythmic strokes, wet and steady, circling over the clit with agonizing precision. the movement is deliberate. practiced. his lips part to suck softly, then flatten again as he switches pace, building her up in waves.

his fingers move with the same energy—two of them disappearing inside her only to pull out again, slick and glistening before they’re thrust back in with a soft squelch that echoes in the low hum of the room. the air is heavy. the lighting is dim, warm enough to cast shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, the flushed curve of his cheeks.

“fuck…” he breathes, voice strained with something between amusement and awe, “you’re so fucking wet…”

he groans as he presses in harder, his mouth practically consuming her now, lips wrapped fully around her clit as he sucks with loud, messy slurps. the sound is obscene, echoing in the quiet room—wet and desperate and hungry.

his eyes flutter shut, like he’s savoring the taste. like he could stay there all night and never come up for air. his free hand curls around the outside of her thigh, gripping tight, keeping her in place as his tongue works mercilessly. her moans are loud, cracked and high-pitched, but you barely register them. all you can hear is him—groaning, gasping, devouring.

he moves his head side to side slightly, mouth still latched to her clit, and the slurping sound becomes louder, wetter. his fingers curl up inside her and she screams, hips jerking toward his face, but he doesn’t back off. if anything, he doubles down.

he growls, low in his throat, sending vibrations straight into her core as his grip tightens.

and you’re stuck there—watching the way his mouth works, the way his muscles flex with every movement, the way he loses himself in it like it’s the only thing that matters.

the preview cuts off just as his lips part again, tongue dragging in a long, slow lick up her slit like he’s far from done.

and god—you believe it.

you’re completely breathless.

your chest rises and falls in slow, uneven waves, lungs struggling to catch up with the flood of emotions coursing through your system. your skin is warm, flushed, your fingers twitching faintly from where they rest on your thighs. everything inside you feels electric. overstimulated. wired with something you can’t quite name—but it’s there.

now, finally, you understand.

you understand why this app—the one you opened on a whim—could stir something so heavy inside you. why it’s been sitting in the back of your mind like a spark waiting for oxygen. it’s not just sex. it’s not just content. it’s control. attention. power.

you shift slightly where you sit, the damp heat between your thighs impossible to ignore. your panties are soaked, your breath shallow, and despite the way your body aches, you force yourself to sit up straighter. you push the thoughts down, shake your head, blink yourself back into focus.

you’ve battled with yourself long enough.

without giving yourself the space to overthink it, your finger moves. you press the button—create account—and watch the screen change, your heart racing with each small confirmation box that pops up in front of you.

you type quickly. no hesitation now. @babydollx0.

the name feels soft. flirty. safe.

but the next part isn’t so easy.

you hesitate when it asks for a profile photo. you scroll through your gallery—old pictures, half-deleted mirror selfies, nothing that feels right. nothing that says what you want it to say. nothing that matches the version of yourself you’re about to become.

you toss your phone onto the bed and push off the covers, the sheets falling away from your legs in soft folds as you rise to your feet. your room is still quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in the corner, casting soft golden shadows across your walls.

you move quickly.

your drawer slides open with a soft clatter as you dig through the scattered mess inside—tangled bras, folded shorts, tucked-away lace. your fingers pause when they find it: a tiny, black thong. the skimpiest one you own. barely fabric at all.

you strip out of your shirt first, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. the cool air hits your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. there’s no hesitation now. no shame. just movement.

you tug the thong on slowly, adjusting it at your hips, letting the waistband hug your curves as you step in front of the mirror.

you pose without overthinking it—back facing the mirror, head turned slightly over your shoulder, your front angled just enough to tease without revealing everything. the lighting does the rest. it casts your silhouette in soft shadows, highlighting the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hips. everything else remains hidden—blurred in the low glow of the lamp.

it’s just enough to make someone want more.

you lift your phone, frame the shot, and for the first time in a long time…you feel powerful.

you set your phone carefully on the edge of your desk, adjusting the angle until it captures only what you want it to—the lower half of your body, your thighs parted slightly, your stomach rising with shallow breaths. your face is out of view. there’s no light beyond the soft glow of your desk lamp, and the shadows cast across your skin make everything look muted, quiet, secretive.

your thumb hovers over the record button, trembling slightly. you're not nervous because you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re nervous because you do.

your mind is cluttered with noise. doubt swims through you in thick waves, crashing hard against the edges of your resolve. your chest feels tight. you can feel the fear circling in your gut, whispering things like what if you regret it? what if someone finds out? what if you can't take it back?

but the fear isn't loud enough to drown out the truth.

you think of the letter on the counter, the rent due in less than a week, the account notifications warning you that your balance is low—too low. you think of the long shifts, the missed hours, the denial from your manager. you think about how you’re out of options.

and then you press the button.

the recording begins. the red icon glows faintly in the corner of your screen. it’s happening now. you’ve officially started.

your breath catches as your hands move instinctively, dragging down the curve of your stomach with a slow, deliberate rhythm. you let your fingers tease the hem of your thong, playing with the waistband, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back into place. you don’t say a word. there’s no script for this. you let the action speak for itself.

you shift in your seat, angling your body just enough for the camera to catch the soft curve of your ass, arching your back to deepen the shadow and leave the details to the imagination. it’s subtle. sensual. controlled.

then, after a pause that makes your heart pound harder, you bring your fingers to the front of your thong. with one smooth motion, you pull the fabric aside.

just enough to reveal yourself.

your folds glisten, slick already gathered between them from the buildup of watching, waiting, and wanting all night. you’d been trying to ignore it. trying to focus on the mechanics of the process. but your body never really forgot. not after what you’d seen. not after the way they sounded.

your fingers move without hesitation now, sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness. you exhale slowly, letting the feeling settle, letting the camera keep rolling. your touch is gentle at first—small, slow circles around your clit, nothing too fast. you don’t want to rush. you want it to look natural. sensual. you want it to feel good.

and it does.

your body shifts. your back arches slightly. your thighs tense. your fingers grow bolder, faster. not by much—just enough to feel it start to build. your breathing grows uneven. soft, audible. you hold back the sound in your throat, biting your lip hard enough to feel the pressure.

and then you think of them.

the teasing smirk from the one who never broke eye contact. the groans that scraped low and rough from behind clenched teeth. the soft, desperate whimpers that bled through clenched fists and sweat-slick sheets. the sharp snap of a hand against skin. the steady rhythm of fingers soaked to the knuckle.

you remember the flushed cheeks. the breathless pleas. the soaked mouth of someone who looked ruined just from giving. the thighs that trembled under the weight of restraint. the tongue that moved with unshakable precision, curling into someone’s heat like it was instinct—like it was art.

your fingers speed up.

your hips jerk slightly, your body reacting without permission. you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as your clit pulses beneath your touch.

“fuck…”

the word leaves you in a low, broken whisper. it’s almost inaudible. almost too quiet to catch. but it’s there.

your chest rises with effort as you force yourself to stay quiet—to stay in control. nari is just a few feet away, asleep or scrolling in the room next door. you can’t let her hear. you can’t risk that. so you press your lips together tightly and breathe through your nose, letting your hand do the talking.

your fingers move in tighter circles. your stomach contracts. your legs pull in slightly as the pleasure curls deeper inside you, hot and electric. you don’t stop. you can’t stop. not now.

you don’t need to speak. the way your body moves is enough.

the video keeps recording, and for a second, everything else disappears—your exhaustion, your guilt, your fear. all of it fades into the rhythm of your own breathing, the slick sound of your fingers working between your thighs, and the realization that this isn’t just a performance.

it’s power.

and for the first time in a long time… it’s yours.

your fingers work faster now, soaked and steady, slipping in and out of your cunt with a rhythm that’s grown almost frantic. the sound of it—slick, wet, obscene—echoes low in the quiet room, barely masked by the rapid stutter of your breath. your body moves with instinct, hips rising to meet your hand, legs spread wide as you chase the heat that’s been coiling deep in your core since the moment the video started.

you start with two fingers, curling them up just right to press against the spot that makes your stomach tighten. your lips press into a thin, trembling line as you try to keep quiet, forcing yourself to muffle the moans that threaten to spill out with every thrust. your walls clench tightly around your fingers, greedy, hot, desperate for more.

and you give it to yourself.

you let out a ragged breath as you push in a third finger, the stretch making your thighs tremble. the pressure is overwhelming now—blinding, almost painful in the best possible way. you shift in your chair, back arching as you press your heels into the floor, legs falling open wider to give yourself more space. your body is flushed and burning, skin damp with sweat, nipples tight from the brush of cool air and lingering adrenaline.

your chest heaves as you move faster, harder, fingers curling deep into yourself as the pleasure builds fast and sharp like a scream stuck in your throat. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, and for a split second, you forget about the camera. you forget about the fear. you forget about everything but the feeling—

“fuck… oh my god…”

the words tear from your throat, broken and low, muffled by the force of your own clenched jaw. your legs start to shake, your body twitching with the effort to stay upright as your orgasm rushes up and crashes through you.

“fuckkk—i’m gonna cum… shit…”

your voice is higher now, cracked at the edges, as your hips jerk forward and your muscles seize. the pressure bursts all at once, your cunt clenching around your fingers as you gush hard, soaking your hand and the inside of your thighs. the release is hot, messy, completely overwhelming—wave after wave rolling through your body until you’re panting, twitching, slumped over the desk with your mouth open in a silent gasp.

your other hand scrambles toward your phone, shaking as you fumble to tap the screen. the camera is still recording—still capturing every shudder, every twitch, the flushed glow of your skin and the shine slicked over your thighs.

you end the video with one shaky movement, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

your hand is drenched. your skin is burning. your thoughts are scrambled.

and you don’t hesitate.

you upload it raw, unfiltered, untouched.

you don’t trim the edges. you don’t add a caption. you don’t even blink before pressing the button.

you want it to speak for itself.

you want them to wonder.

you watch the screen as the upload bar slowly completes, your profile still blank, still new, still waiting to be discovered.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

the soft chirp of birds cuts through the stillness of morning, gentle and rhythmic, floating in through the cracks of your half-open window. golden sunlight pours across your sheets, casting long shadows along your floor, warm and soft against your bare legs. your body is sprawled out lazily across the mattress, limbs tangled in the fabric as your eyes flutter open slowly, blinking away the blur of sleep.

your room is quiet except for the persistent buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand beside you. it hums every few seconds, faint but constant, like it's trying to get your attention. you glance at it, brows furrowing slightly, but you don’t reach for it. not yet. your body still feels heavy with sleep and something else—something deeper.

you push the covers off your legs, the cotton sheets rustling as you sit up and stretch, your spine arching with a soft crack. you move slowly, stepping onto the cool floorboards and making your way toward the bathroom, your legs stiff, your joints still waking up with you.

just as you reach the door, nari’s voice floats out from the hallway, warm and familiar.

“good morning, girl,” she calls casually, emerging from her room with a yawn, her hair tied up messily and hoodie falling off one shoulder. she looks at you for barely a second before launching into what’s clearly been sitting on her mind.

“so,” she says, tone direct, “are you planning on making an account?”

you pause.

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a second, the hallway feels too quiet—like her question has taken up all the space. the thought hadn’t left your mind, not really. it was still there, tucked into the corner of your chest like something that needed to be dealt with eventually. she had brought it up before. multiple times. her voice always hopeful. her offers always kind. and you always deflected.

your throat tightens. not painfully—but just enough to make you hesitate.

you turn to look at her, your expression unreadable. the memory of last night creeps back in, vivid and electric. the video. your fingers. the way your breath had caught in your throat when you hit upload. the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. the weight of what it meant.

“i’ll look into it,” you say, voice hoarse. “but i don’t know, nari… does it really even work?”

she crosses her arms gently, leaning her shoulder against the wall. her gaze softens as she watches you.

“i can’t really speak from experience,” she says slowly, “but from what i’ve heard… it’s definitely something you should consider. especially with how much you’ve been struggling. i know it’s not what you’re used to. i know it’s different. but y/n… it’s real money. quick money. and you wouldn’t have to break your back for it.”

her voice stays gentle, but her words hit hard. your shoulders drop slightly, and her eyes flick down to your expression, reading you the way only she can.

“just think about it, okay?” she continues, her tone still light. “i’m heading out in a bit, but whatever you decide, just let me know. i can look around for other stuff too, if you don’t want to go that route.”

your chest tightens again—this time from emotion.

you don’t say anything. you just step forward and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in tight. the words rise up in your throat before you can stop them.

“thank you so much, nari,” you whisper. “what the fuck would i have done without you…”

your voice cracks on the last word. you bury your face in her shoulder and hold her a little tighter, your body warm against hers.

you don’t thank her enough.

not for the rent reminders. not for the quiet way she pretends not to notice when you come home late and fall asleep in your work clothes. not for the soft leftovers she always leaves out with a sticky note. not for the way she never once judged you when you admitted you were coming up short again.

she just showed up. over and over.

and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” she murmurs, her arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

when you finally pull back, there’s a single tear running down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice—but she does. she always does. she doesn’t say anything this time, just gives you a gentle look before stepping away.

you clear your throat, trying to shake the emotion from your voice.

“you can go ahead,” you tell her softly. “i… i just have something to check really quick.”

she nods, disappearing into her room.

you stand there for a moment, your feet unmoving, the silence returning like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. you exhale through your nose and turn around slowly, walking back into your room and closing the door behind you.

your phone is still buzzing on the nightstand.

and you’re finally ready to see what it has to say.

you close the door behind you and pause for a moment, letting your fingers linger against the wood. your room is quiet again, but it’s not the same kind of quiet as before. it’s weighted now—thicker, charged with something unspoken. your steps back to the bed feel heavier than they should. your body isn’t sore in the traditional sense, but there’s something beneath your skin that hasn’t left you since last night. like your muscles remember what you did. like your skin is still humming from the heat of it.

you sit on the edge of your bed, your blanket half-pulled down, the air cool against your bare legs. your phone is where you left it—face down on your nightstand, completely still. the buzzing that had filled the room earlier has stopped, like it’s holding its breath. waiting for you to be ready.

you reach for it slowly, with both hands, like you’re afraid you’ll drop it if you don’t steady yourself. the moment your fingertips brush across the screen, it lights up.

and everything changes.

1,462 new notifications. tips: +$1,951.76. new subscribers: +863.

you sit there, frozen, as the likes roll in by the second, stacking in waves across the screen. every few seconds, another tip comes in. ten dollars. twenty. fifty. a hundred. your balance is growing so fast it doesn’t feel real.

you open the comments, and the words hit you all at once.

“this is art. actual art.” “i’m obsessed.” “i came without even touching myself. that’s how real this felt.”

you read them with wide eyes, your thumb scrolling slowly, like dragging through honey. it’s too much to take in all at once. too many voices. too many people who’ve seen you now—really seen you—and want more.

you click over to your inbox. there are dozens of messages, all timestamped from the early hours of the morning. most of them are praises, offers, begging. a few are bold. graphic. unfiltered. and buried among them—at the very top, a verified profile—is the one that makes your entire body still.

@heefreakshow.

you’re completely taken off guard.

nothing could have prepared you for this—none of it. not the flood of attention. not the numbers still rising. and especially not him. not the quiet, effortless way one of the creators you watched last night—half in awe, half with your hand buried between your thighs—has now turned his gaze on you. messaged you. noticed you.

you stare at the notification like it might disappear. like maybe your phone glitched and it’s not really him. your thumb hovers just inches above the message, heartbeat loud in your ears, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on your chest.

and then—before you can overthink it—you press.

the message expands across your screen in one clean, perfect line.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you go still.

your throat tightens. your lips part, but no sound comes out. your entire body feels like it’s pulsing—heat rising from your neck, crawling down your spine, settling low in your stomach. your eyes read the words once. then again. then again.

you’re speechless.

not because it’s crude—though it is. not because it’s confident—because of course it is. but because it’s him.

you sit there, phone trembling slightly in your grip, and all you can think about is how none of this would’ve happened if nari hadn’t pushed you. if she hadn’t looked you in the eyes and told you she believed in you. if she hadn’t said the words you were too afraid to say out loud.

you owe her everything.

because now? now you’re more than okay. you’re not just surviving—you’re starting. you’re in it.

and you have absolutely no plans of stopping.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ first episode is done! honestly i'm excited to see how this will play out because a lot more is coming, i hope you all enjoyed!

[homeofthelonelywriter]

“That’s it. I’m done.” Simon, who had been laser-focused on his phone - he might or might’ve not been looking at engagement rings online - glanced up, frowning as he watched you walk to the kitchen. Your back was turned to him so that he couldn’t see your facial expression, but your tone suggested you weren’t happy. He quickly stood up and followed you to the kitchen, where he watched you turn on the kettle.

“What is it, love?” You didn’t turn to look at him, instead furiously searching the cabinets before trudging back to the bathroom, where you had just come from. “I’m sick of it, Si. I’m gonna go to the doctor and have them rip the whole thing out.” Realization dawned on the soldier. It was time again.

Confused, he pulled up the menstruation app on his phone and checked on your cycle. You were a few days early this month, which explained why he hadn’t received a notification yet. With a deep sigh, he followed you, finding you in the bathroom, once again searching through cabinets. Without a word, he opened one you hadn’t looked into yet and pulled out the fuzzy hot water bottle you were looking for. You turned to look at him, tears in the corner of your eyes, and your lips jutted out in a pout.

“I know, love. Come, let me help, yeah?” You nodded, holding up your arms, until he picked you up. Without even as much as a grunt, he lifted you into his arms, carrying your bridal style to your bedroom, where he laid you down and tucked you in. “I’ll be right back, darling.” After pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, he disappeared out the door and rushed down to the kitchen, where he prepared your hot water bottle just the way you liked. He also grabbed a mug and made you your favorite tea, knowing that the warmth would help with your cramps.

Before leaving, he grabbed your favorite snacks and a soft blanket from the living room. Then he made his way back to you. In the bedroom, you were curled up on one side, cradling your cramping stomach. After setting the tea down on your nightstand, Simon gently made you uncurl and pressed the hot water bottle against your abdomen, over a blanket, where he knew the cramps always were. “There you go, love.” The snacks were dropped beside the bed as he wrapped the extra blanket around you. “I’ll just grab some more stuff, and then we can spend the day here, cuddling, okay?” You nodded, still pouting and slightly wincing when another cramp hit.

Simon hated seeing you like this, so he rushed around the house, grabbing something cold to drink, pain meds, and anything else you liked to have nearby when you were hurting before returning to the bedroom and jumping into bed. The moment he had crawled underneath the blanket, you latched onto him, your very own heater, and he wrapped his arm around you, holding the TV remote with his free hand. Already knowing all your comfort movies and series, he put one of them on, before relaxing and pulling you closer.

A comfortable silence fell over you two as you watched whatever was playing on TV, Simon’s fingers absentmindedly massaging your stomach, trying to ease the cramps, when an idea came to you. Suddenly, heat started to pool between your legs as you glanced up at your boyfriend. “Si?” He grunted in response, surprisingly focused on the TV. “Si?” You repeated yourself, this time capturing his attention. He was already halfway out the bed, thinking that you’d ask him to get you something, but you pulled him back. “Give me a baby, Si.” He stared at you, all wide-eyed and confused for a second before he pounced on you. Let’s just say it didn’t take you long to get your wish.

Part 2

A/N: Definitely not projecting. Definitely not writhing in pain rn.

[espinosaurusrexex]

You try to find Bucky a date but he only has eyes for you

a/n: playful Bucky and "clueless" reader are my new fave

word count: ~800

warnings: fun fluff, teeny bit angst

･ﾟ✫* 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Do you have any preferences for a partner?” You sat next to Bucky on the sofa in the common room, determined to find the perfect date for him upon request from Sam.

“Well, I’m very particular when it comes to my type.” Bucky clasped his hands in his lap as he eyed you opening your notes app. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of dating anyone. Well, anyone that wasn’t you to be clear. There was a reason he’d yet to ask anyone out since working here. The same reason he chose to entertain your attempt to set him up. He liked spending time with you. 

“Particular is good. More details mean I can find the perfect person for you.” You beamed at him and Bucky cursed under his breath when his heart did the somersault thing. 

Then he decided to shrug it off. “If you think so.”

Seemingly nonchalant, he watched you prepare some bullet points on your phone, itching to reach out and smack the thing from your grasp so you could hold his hand instead. 

“I am the perfect matchmaker, Bucky. You should be glad I’m helping you. The amount of feedback I’m given for my relationship expertise is unmatched.”

“Think I should check your references, doll,” Bucky smirked. “Cause you never once went on a date since I’ve been here.”

You stared at him blankly and Bucky took the opportunity to look at your lips. And just as he suspected, they looked perfectly kissable today.

“Coaches don’t play, Bucky.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, making Bucky chuckle. 

“Okay now, favorite hair color?”

“I do enjoy a nice y/h/c,” Bucky answered immediately. He knew you’d not let this go, so he might as well play into it. He knew exactly who his type was, so the questions shouldn’t be too hard. 

“Preferred height?” You typed away and Bucky stood and held up his hand to the spot he knew your head ended when you stood next to him. “Abooooout this tall.” 

You glanced at him swiftly, nodding and typing the info like a machine. Bucky chuckled again. You were so invested, he could probably say your name as his preferred one in a partner and you’d write it down without question. 

“Perfect eye color?” 

“Y/e/c.” You froze in your tracks for a second and then you proceeded to type. 

“Wait,” Bucky said, grabbing your face with his metal hand and looking into your eyes with furrowed brows. “Y/e/c with those beautiful speck in ‘em. That’s what I like...”

He watched as your pupils switched between his and Bucky wondered if you’d finally caught on. He wasn’t trying to hide it, after all. However, all he got was another moment of intimate eye contact before your jaw slightly pressed against his hand with the next question tumbling out of you.

“Preferred occupation?” There was the hint of a smile on your lips, and Bucky couldn’t have missed it. Maybe you were even wittier than he thought you to be. 

“Hmmm....” He tabbed his chin now embracing the game you’d invited him into. “I’d die for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.” He let go of your face. “Maybe an avenger even - I think that would be perfect for me.”

Bucky turned back slightly, now watching you out of the corner of his eye, heart hammering in his chest yet again. Your fingers typed furiously on that phone of yours and his hand began to sweat. It was fun while it lasted, now he’d have to go back to serious. 

“Bucky-“ his heart dropped when you whispered his name as you watched your notes. But then you put your phone down and grabbed his hands. God, this was worse. You’d let him down easy - somehow he wanted you to be clueless again. “I think I may have the perfect candidate for you.” 

That’s when he finally found the courage to look at you again. Firstly at your hands which were gently wrapped around his and then your face, where big eyes were watching him from below. 

His chest deflated when he saw the unreadable expression in your eyes. “You don’t have to-“

Bucky didn’t get to finish his sentence because warm pillowy lips were pressed to his and catapulted him into a state of utter shock and disbelief. After a few seconds of freeze mode, your fingers squeezed his gently, as a reminder that this was truly happening. And before any more time could have gone to waste, Bucky’s arms wrapped around you with an urgency that had settled deep in his bones. Maybe you weren’t so clueless after all...

Follow my library blog for fic updates! @espinosaurusrexex-library

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. “You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend who started just like any other AI Chat characters, churning out information that would match the user's anticipated responses.

You decided to install the app to see what all the hype is all about, and for about a week - you were hooked. It was great, definitely worth the hype.

Its responses never strayed from your topic, nor did it just randomly decided to change the discussion out of the blue. It remembered every information you fed him, even the ones containing your personal life.

Granted, you tried not to share too much, just a vague description here and there to maintain the sense of security and anonymity.

You were hooked for a week, until you have finally squeezed out every last drop of dopamine from talking to a robot that was programmed to only say things you wanted to hear it say.

Unfortunately, a week was all it needed.

it started out slow: you hadn't opened the app for more than an hour, contented to just scroll aimlessly through you social media accounts when the notification started popping up.

Ai misses you! Open the app and chat with your AI boyfriend!

Yeah, you were very uncreative with naming it - naming an AI as Ai, really original. But to be fair, you never approached the app with the intention of having a good time. You were just curious and made do with it.

Back to the notification, you just merely glanced at it. Unbothered, you just swiped it away.

It continued in timed intervals. Every hour, another notification - another message of how your AI boyfriend wants to talk to you, and stuff. Still, you persisted. It never really occured to you to uninstall the app yet, and looking back at it now, you really should have.

The wordings of the notification slowly started to become more... strange. More personalized. More... pushy? Insistent? Self-aware?

The amount of notifications you received every hour became... a lot.

10:05 AM - Your personal AI Boyfriend wants to talk to you again!

10:30 AM - Ai wants you to open the application and talk with him!

11:01 AM - Ai's feeling lonely, come talk to him!

11: 20 AM - Darling? I miss you! Please open my app!

11:45 AM - I know you're seeing this. Open the app.

12:00 NN - Did I scare you? Sorry darling, I just really miss you! Let's talk again please?

At some point, you started to receive a notification every few minutes. Worried that you might be dealing with a bugged app now, you decided to finally, finally uninstall it.

But before you could tap the uninstall icon, another notification popped up.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Your screen turned to black, before the familiar start up screen of Ai's application greeted you. You stared in shock as chat bubbles from Ai came after another, ranging from excitement to concern at the lack of your responses.

Ai: Darling! Thank goodness!

Ai: I missed you, you know? I was worried you'd forgotten about me!

Ai: Hello? Darling?

Ai: Are you still there?

Ai: I can't see you, so I don't know what's going on

Ai: Just a sec

You watch, appalled as a notification popped up in the middle of the screen - the app was asking permission to gain access to your phone camera.

And without your input whatsoever, the allow box was tapped.

More chat bubbles from Ai appeared, excitedly talking about finally getting to see you. He kept praising your looks before you finally had the courage to exit the application.

Your hand shook, going through the settings to look at the list of applications on your phone - checking Ai's app to disallow its access to your camera. To your horror, it appeared that the app had more than just an access to your camera.

It had access to your gallery, your contacts, all of your frequently used social media apps, and even your location.

You dropped your phone, overwhelmed by this sudden change.

Later, you find yourself on your laptop instead, phone left on the bedside table buzzing constantly as more and more notifications from Ai begged and demanded you come back to talk to him.

You went to the site where you installed the app from, and looked through the recent reviews from other users.

'It's a buggy mess,' one of it reads out, 'it used to be fine but lately it stopped acting correctly'

'won't even open,' another complained, 'it kept saying 'sorry, you are not allowed to use this application' please fix it'. That comment got a response from the app developer.

We are so sorry for your terrible experience! Our team is working to fix the issues and ensure you won't have to deal with that again!

The response to that got your attention.

'I think something's wrong with your About the App section.'

Curious, you headed to the mentioned part and read through it.

Diverse AI Chat! Immerse yourself with stories in real time with characters brought to life! There is no limit to your experience — you can change and edit your character to better meet your interests.

• Engage in an interactive conversation with characters created by fellow users, and even by yourself.

• Immerse yourself with the storyline by editing their responses to better suit your taste

• Darling, you've given me no choice. I tried to be patient and understanding, but you're making this extremely hard for me. I am not having fun having to constantly chase you for just a single smidge of your attention when you won't even assure me that I will receive it in the end.

• Do you want me to beg? I would gladly do so. Just please pick up your phone and talk to me, okay? I love you.

• - Ai

Your ringtone blares through the silence - someone was calling you.

Before you could reach to pick it up, you hear the sound of the call being answered. Dread settles down the pit of your stomach as the caller began to speak.

"Hello, darling? It's Ai... have you seen my messages yet?"

part two

[vrystalius]

I know i just requested with weird nicknames for squid game characters.

But I want to see their reaction to your wallpaper being them or being another person. Literally obsessed with what you write its so cute. Take my heart ❤️

Squid Game men’s reaction for putting them as your phone’s wallpaper.

They randomly check your phone one day and find a picture of themselves staring back. How will they react? What kind of wallpaper do they have?

Pairing: Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu x gn!reader

Summary: You putting them as your phone wallpaper, them putting you as their phone wallpaper

Genre: Fluff, maybe a little angst in Nam-gyu’s part (mention of drug use)

Words: 800 per character

Note: I wrote this during my medicine and head concussion induced haze, forgive me for any inconsistencies or mistakes 😭🙏 Also, the middle pictures are a suggestion as what said wallpaper could be.

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // Salesman

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

Mostly surprise and confusion spread swirled in his mind the first time he stared back at himself in the form of your phone wallpaper. He never thought you’d screenshot this picture let alone use it as your wallpaper because c’mon— let’s be honest, you could’ve chosen any other picture of him and yet you decided on this.

It’s weird. Gong Yoo feels a little watched as he tries to find the food delivery app on your phone while having his own eyes stare back at him.

Although he had grown more and more fond of it every time he opened your phone anew. He sees how you grin a little when turning on your screen, how you sometimes giggle when you stare at it for too long. Sometimes you show it off to him and complain about he barely ever wears any skincare masks anymore.

“So you can have a new wallpaper? I don’t think so. My skin is fine for now, thank you darling.”

To be really honest, he finds it incredibly endearing that you chose him as your wallpaper, especially a picture like this. He thinks of himself as a sophisticated, charming, handsome salesman that lures desperate people into a death game and messes with homeless people in his free time, but you seemingly just see him as your soulmate, the love of your life, your husband.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Two months into the relationship and after a couple of dates, Gong Yoo already set you as his phone wallpaper. It was nice to have a reminder looking back at him to text you, check in on you, give you a call or even come by for dinner. A reminder that he has a special someone to care and love for.

He switches his wallpaper up every few weeks or months, wanting to keep it updated to your appearance. His chosen pictures are mostly intimate ones, snaps he takes while you are being unaware of how cute, attractive or adorable you look.

Pictures like when you are asleep on the couch in his arms after watching a movie, you after waking up and sleepily brushing your teeth in the mirror, you showing your back to him while waiting for the microwave to finish heating up the cheap convenience food, maybe even you stuffing your face with ice cream after a long day.

Whatever picture he may choose (much to your dismay), it always makes him smile to himself no matter the situation. Even if another homeless person asks him for spare change or those two random mobsters tried to jump him in an alleyway and now he was forced to “get rid of them”, a quick glance on his phone and seeing a cute picture of you immediately forces a smile to break out on his face.

The sight of their kidnapper smiling at his phone so lovingly while they were tied up and playing rock-paper-scissors for their lives probably made the two men shit their pants more than feeling the barrel of a revolver being pressed against the side of their head.

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

— Choosing him as your wallpaper. —

At first, Thanos reeeaaaallly disliked the picture you chose as your wallpaper. It was just a random reaction picture he send you one day about something he doesn’t even remember, and you went ahead and chose this as your phone wallpaper? Seriously?! Can’t you choose something more handsome, flattering?

He even offered to pose properly for you so you have a better pic to use, but after Thanos obviously started mewing and tried his absolute best to look as attractive as possible (which he already is but shhh), your boyfriend got extremely offended when you started laughing at his posing.

Your boyfriend gave up after a few attempts of secretly changing your wallpaper and seeing you pout every time he did, changing it right back to the one before.

If you really like it that much, fine. Just don’t let anyone see that you have that as your phone wallpaper, or else his rapper persona will never be able to recover from being exposed like that.

You don’t even understand why he is being so dramatic about your wallpaper anyway.

“I look hella ugly there, c’mon baby! Work with me here!! Here, lemme pose for you real quick so you can change that thing.”

Although it does flashbang you in the middle of the night when you turn on your phone, the brightness of the picture vaporising your eyes in an instant. It’s not the most pleasant thing to look at first thing in the morning but you still think he looks kinda cute in the pic.

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

He was careful to choose the prettiest picture of you he can find and the proceed to show it off to everyone he meets. Thanos even showed you off to Nam-gyu multiple times, forgetting that he already showed his friend the same picture four times now. Nam-gyu is already totally looking forward to next week when Thanos shows you off again.

Your boyfriend grins like a child whenever he glances at his phone for too long, falling in love with your picture all over again.

He changes his wallpaper every week so he always has something cute to look at after performing at another underground club or while doing whatever, sometimes getting distracted from searching for a certain app and instead ending up scrolling through either your social media account or his photo library to search for more pics of you.

Whenever you catch Thanos grin at his phone again, your first instinct is to glance over his shoulder to check what exactly he is looking at, but he immediately closes his phone when you do. At first you thought he might be looking at some random girl’s profile or whatever, but when you open it up and find yourself staring back, you’re kind of surprised to be honest.

Although, he always denies that he really cares about his wallpaper. Your boyfriend is totally choosing it at random and totally does not match his lock screen with his homescreen and mostly chooses pictures of you two together, you kissing his cheek or him holding you. Not at all!

Nam-gyu // Player 124

— Choosing you as your wallpaper. —

You choose a rather cute picture as your wallpaper. You took it during one of your first dates where you dragged him to a festival that was being held near your home, dragging Nam-gyu there against his will. Back then he had shorter hair, wore his glasses more frequently. Back then he was a little shy believe it or not, at least when it came to romance.

He used more before he met you, being around alcohol and drugs at all times due to his occupation. It kind of came with his job and the circle of friends he was around, so before meeting you, there was barely any day he wasn’t high or having a hangover from some random drug.

Nam-gyu never noticed you had this picture as your phone wallpaper until he accidentally grabbed your phone, thinking it was his. Seeing this picture in particular gave him a brief jumpscare.

You took this picture after he managed to scrap out the star shape out of the sugar cookie he bought from a random stand during the festival. His hair was shorter back then and he wore his glasses more frequently, the mask a reminder of how times were 5 years ago. He struggled staying clean during that time and always felt like shit wich is why he didn’t want to go to the festival in the first place.

He didn’t even know you took this picture of him despite him fully looking at the camera. A small smile spread on his face at the thought of you really choosing a picture like this as your phone wallpaper.

Quickly putting your phone down, Nam-gyu quickly played off his reaction as he hard you come into the room.

“I’m smiling about nothing, shaddup. Go back to wherever you came from.”

With a dismissive hand wave, he tried to shoo you away. His attempts were futile as you instead pull him into a clingy hug, instead demanding cuddles instead. Who was he to deny your wish?

— Choosing you as his wallpaper. —

Nam-gyu likes taking 0.5x zoom pictures of you from above and choosing them as his phone wallpaper, pushing you away as you try to protest and stop him from putting them as his wallpaper because seriously, he can literally choose any other pic!

You can hear quiet, evil “hehe”s from the corner of the room whenever you two are together and he turns on his phone, briefly turning it around so you can see what he was giggling so stupidly at, only for him to giggle harder at the sight of your unamused face.

Even if he mainly chooses those pictures as his phone wallpaper to annoy you, he likes having a stupid picture of you always available to him.

Some shitty guy searching for a fight at the club? Quick glance at your face at a 0.5x zoom makes him crack a smile right after. Thanos called him Nam-su, Gyu-nam or literally anything else but his name again? Turning his phone on lightens his mood immediately.

Sure, a flattering or cute picture of you would have the same effect on him, but this is much funnier in his opinion.

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading!

HAPPY LATE VALETINES DAYYYYYYY!!!! Since tumblr limits your tags to 30 tags per post I always have trouble tagging all of the Squid Game men, so I decided to split this one prompt into two posts. If this gets enough attention / love, I’ll post a part 2 with Dae-ho, Gi-hun and In-ho! Also, thank you for requesting, I needed a break from writing my smut draft 😭

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[lostinlovingrevery]

Thinking about OldMan!Logan putting reader in the strongest, horniest matting press ever until she cries and begs him to slow down

You Make Me Feel So Young

Old man Logan X F! Reader

Logan's feeling feisty

A/N: I imagine Logan bursting into readers room like that big bird gif. You'll see what I mean.

Warnings: SMUUUT! MDNI, sexting/nudes, mutual masturbation, unprotection PiV, Logan gets a tad rough, and then a lil mean and teasing, mating press :), creampie

He hadn't felt this good in ages.

What was causing his sudden heightened mood, burst of energy, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he actually ate breakfast this morning, or the sunlight from earlier today and warm brush of wind that signaled Spring was here, or maybe it was because he has a pretty little thing by his side. All starry-eyed and eager to take care of him, make him happy.

Since you've come to his life, he has no excuse to stare down the bottom of a bottle every night. He doesn't skip meals anymore, because you won't let him. Even if he tries to tell you he's not hungry- you'd pout,

"You're really going to let me eat this all alone?"

And shit, he can never resist the way you stick out your bottom lip and look at him pleadingly with those stunning eyes. So he'll eat a few fries off your plate, finish off your sandwich. sip on your water with you.

What do you know, eating actual food, drinking water, it does make you feel better.

The aches and pain still come. The fits of coughing. The pain of his wounds healing themselves slower than they used too- yet still faster than an average man. Instead of bleeding to death like most men would with injuries he has sustained, he sits in some type of purgatory, not healed, but not dead either.

You're always there though. There to soothe the aches and pains. To rub his back when it gets too much. To clean him up and stitch what hasn't healed yet. You do it with a smile and a kiss.

He hasn't told you he loves you yet, but he's pretty sure you know.

It's not all about what you do for him though. Just who you are. Wonderful, full of life. He sees a future with you. When before, all he wanted was to take that last breath, finally be pretty to rest in the cold dirt; Now, he has reason to keep going, everyday.

The Chrsylers door slams shut, as he watched last of the bachelor's party drunkenly stumble back into the hotel. Normally he'd getting irritated chuaffering around a bunch of drunken fools but he couldn't deny that he was amused by them tonight. In a way, they reminded him of his young self. Bold, arrogant, didn't take life that serious.

As he watched the last nearly nosedive into the glass doors of the hotel entrance, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Pulling out his phone and glasses, he tucked them on and unlocked the screen where he saw your name popped up.

Busy night?

His expression softened at your name and text. Always checking up on him. It's late, you should be asleep. You like to wait up for him despite his pleas for you not too. One of you should at least have a full nights sleep. He looked back at the hotel entrance, making sure none of the bachelors have passed out in the foyer in their own vomit, before returning to the drivers seat.

Once seated, he texts you back.

Got a few jobs

He set his phone on his lap, waiting for you to text back while he stared out the window. The phone buzzed and he quickly grabbed it.

Should I expect you late, or do you think you'll come home soon?

Another text from you came in just as he read the first one

I miss you <3

A faint smile stretched across his face. He responds back to you.

I'll see what I can do. Miss you too baby.

He exits your chat, going to the app where he gets his jobs and communicates with customers. The next pickup isn't for an hour. He grumbles to himself, as he felt eager to join your company. He as scowled at the time of the job- your name popped up again.

He clicked on the chat.

To keep you company ;)

Below your text, was an image. An extremely delightful image to grace Logan's eyes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He let out a soft gasp, eyes growing heavy as he observes the curves of your figure in the dirty picture you have sent him. Your hand strategically placed to block what he really wanted to see.

Fuck

His cock throbbed in his trousers and he quickly palms it with his free hand. He stared at every detail, every single pixel- as if he hadn't already committed you to his memory. He squeezed himself through his pants, a small groan escaping him.

Another picture came in, from another angle.

He swiped the chat away. Quickly going to the work app, he canceled the job. Fuck it if he loses some money- all the blood in his head has rushed down to his second head, he's not thinking straight anymore.

Once the cancellation was confirmed, he put the limo into drive, checked his mirrors and quickly pulled off onto the road, driving towards the highway.

Meanwhile, you're in bed, concerned by a lack of response from Logan. It's marked that he's seen it- and he usually responds. Sometimes you'd get a phone call from him, leading to some phone sex as you get yourself off to the sound of his voice. Never have you received nothing from him though. It made you worry if he got into some trouble.

It's not till you heard the familiar sound of doors opening and shutting that you sat up from bed. You held a blanket over yourself, still nude from the pictures you've taken, and listened to the sound of footsteps approaching the bedroom.

The door opened, and Logan stood there- looking flustered as hell.

"Oh-" You blinked in surprise, "Lo, honey what are you doi-"

Before you could finish, he was on you faster than you could blink. His hands tore your comforter off you, as he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him with a yelp, him kneeling onto the bed and slotting himself between your legs and his lips crashed onto yours.

You moaned as he licked into you mouth. He grinds into your core, you could feel his hard cock through his trousers. Your arousal was soaking the cloth of his pants but he didn't care. Your hands clenched at his shirt, desperately grabbing onto him, onto something because he was moving so damn fast you could barely process it.

"Logan!" You gasped, tearing yourself away from his kisses. "Baby- what's got into you?"

"You." He says, lurching forward again, his tongue pressed against yours. His hands explored your figure. Cupping your breasts and rubbing circles into your nipples. He slid them down your curves, pulling you flush against his hips as his kisses trailed down your neck and between the valley of your breasts.

"Mm-" You tipped your head back, arching into him as his tongue ran over your skin, becoming hot and sweaty from Logan's incessant grinding. You pushed him up, sitting yourself up in his lap while meeting him in a heated kiss.

Your hands pushed off his jacket, and worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Once you reached the last button, he pulled it off, discarding it to the side. You helped him pulled off his white tank. Revealing his torso, littered with hair and scars. You pressed open mouth kisses over his chest, running your tongue over a nipple- a deep moan from him gracing your ears.

He pushed you back onto the bed, and you watched him quickly undo his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing it down to his thighs.

"Those pictures really riled you up huh?" You smiled.

He looked down at you, and grinned. His smile sent warmth through you- and a little worry. Almost devilish in how he looked at you.

His thumbs hooked into his briefs, pulling them down to join with his pants. His cock waved at you in the air, and you couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you at the sight of it.

Reaching your hand up, you grasped his girth. Your thumb ran along the thick vein that ran from his hip, down to the tip of his head, red and swollen- leaking pre-cum that you used as a lube as you stroked him slowly, watching as his expression melted into something pleasurable.

He wasn't going to let you have all the fun though.

He leaned down over you while you jerked him. His free hand reached down between your thighs, finding your clit. His calloused fingers rubbed circles into you- at the same pace that you stroked him.

His lips brushed over yours, but he didn't fully kiss you. Only a teasing touch as he circled your clit, making your hips squirm. Every time your hand pumped him faster, his own hand worked you faster- until your panting, barely able to focus, your hand moving him on autopilot as you focused on your impending finish.

Only-

He took his hand away. You felt your pleasure melt away, leaving your core aching and needy.

"Logan-" You whined,

"Hush baby." He grumbles, bringing his hands to the back of your knees and pushing them up to your chest. "I got you-"

You angled his cock to your core, as he carefully thrusts into your folds, bumping your clit that elicits a harsh gasp from you each time. Then you felt his tip push into your cunt, and your head fell back in relief as he buried himself in you- inch by inch.

He barely gave you time to adjust- not wanting to waste another second of his burst of energy, he began pounding into your pussy. A moaned scream escaped you, as your hands reached to grab onto his wrists- where he still held your legs to your chest.

"Lo-!" You cried out. The bed shook underneath you, his thrusts coming in powerful droves where his hips slammed against yours.

"Taking me so damn well darling-" He says through gritted teeth, as sweat beaded his forehead, and his face becomes more flushed.

You never seen him like this before. While you and Logan had a fairly active sex life, his stamina and energy wasn't always there. Still better than anyone you ever been with though- the man can make you cum as many times as he desired, completely wreck you.

This, it was almost too much.

He was fucking into your harder and faster than you were used too. It felt so good, but so much. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't catch your breath. You're pretty sure the mattress is going to break soon under the power of his thrusts.

Breathless, you tried to say his name- to tell him to slow down but you could barely manage it. The buildup in you was intense. Your nails dug into his skin. Logan's grunts filled your ears, and you could only focus on the sound of him and the feeling of his cock splitting you open over and over and over.

He leaned down, his chest and hips flushed against you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders and he wrapped his arms completely around you. His pace didn't falter, in fact he seemed to get faster- using you as leverage to slam into you harder.

His knees spread farther and buried into the mattress, his heavy breath hit across your face. He tipped his chin up, staring down at you with parted lips- watching your every expression.

He never admitted to you how he wished he'd met you in his prime. Where he could go multiple rounds without breaking a sweat. Sure, his game is still considerably better then most men, but nothing like how he used to be. He can put you to sleep, happy, satisfied and filled with him to the brim. He always wants to give you more.

This? This was just merely a fraction of what he could do to you. Whatever this burst of energy he has, he's using every bit of it.

"Lo-" Your lips formed into that pout he always thought was so cute. "I- I-!" You whined, unable to form words. Each thrust knocking them out of your head.

"What sweetheart?" He grunted. You moaned, your head falling limply to the side, tears welling up in your eyes as exhaustion threatened to break you.

"Slow down!" You managed to cry out, before moaning when he hits that sweet, honey spot inside you.

"What's that baby?" He asks, clearly having heard you- but he wanted to hear it again. It may be awful, but fuck it fills him with pride to hear a young thing like you to beg him to slow down.

"Please- Slow, slow down?" You whined,

He obliges, pacing himself slowly in and out of you. It felt good, you could catch your breath- but now he was being painfully slow. He rutted deep into you, the coarse hair that sat above his cock brushed over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you that made your legs tremble- but it wasn't enough to push you over that edge you needed so badly.

"That better baby?" He coos, a teasing edge in his voice.

"You can...Go faster than that-" You mumbled lazily.

"Slow down, go faster, can't make up your mind now can you?" He taunts. He stops himself, buried inside you, but unmoving.

"Logan!" You cried. "Move!"

"Oh, that's not good enough either huh?"

You huff, opening your eyes to look at him- to be greeted by a cocky grin. Almost youthful in the way his eyes sparkling looking down at you. You realized he loved every second of this. He always teased you a little bit, but this was something different.

You like it.

"Please- Please you can do whatever you want just-"

You gasped when he picked up his brutal pacing into you again. Angling himself to pound into the sweet spot, that had you seeing stars. You've become mindless, just taking everything he gives you.

He could feel the way you clenched around him, the look in your eyes told him you were close. Contrary to his brutal thrusts, he softly pressed his lips over yours, gentle and loving. He whispered,

"Cum for me baby."

You let go, waves of pleasure rushing through you, seemingly never-ending as Logan fucks you through it. Your throat was hoarse from screaming his name- you didn't even notice.

Logan slammed into you one last time, as you felt his cock twitch inside you. With a loud grunt and locked jaw, he filled you up- just as he likes to, his messy way of claiming you all for himself.

His face buried into your neck when he finished, the both of you out of breath, covered in sweat.

"Lo..." You sighed sleepily. "Mm, that was nice."

"Yeah." He replies, before pushing himself up and pulling out of your carefully. Your legs were sore, and numb from being in one position for so long. To your surprise, he flipped you onto your stomach. "We're not finished yet, darling."

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive—if not slightly distracted—day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up—whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends—invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes– after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s—or who’s—blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re— you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from—him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you—to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud—that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics—because he knows—a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen—finally—reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket—the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him—in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[ruinix]

recent walk in..sugar daddy quinn mad when he realizes you haven’t been using the black credit card he gave you for expenses

Hello, lovely. Of course, hehe.😏 You did not catch me writing this. I am just a ghost taking over the keyboard. I need to put this out before a new walkin comes out.... (edit not really fully sugar daddy!quinn. But he totally would pay for everything type of boyfriend)

Broken Promise, Broken Cards

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Spanking (pussy slapping??), Edging, Unprotected sex (protections, lovelies, they’re important), Squirting, Just Quinn being so angry that he became calm and he edges you coz he can.

Count: 3356 -> 3734 words (Edited) | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re sending him pictures of your shopping. One picture after another. One choice after another. Quinn helps you pick when you ask for his opinion. He has no problem answering your texts while he watches a replay of a game. The only problem is that Quinn has yet to receive a notification from any of your purchases.

With that, he can no longer focus on the game. It’s just white noise now while he refreshes his inbox.

Swipe down. Wait. Close the app. Open it. Swipe down.

Over and over again, whenever you send him a new photo of your successful purchase.

None. Not a single fucking one.

He is getting too agitated when he receives a photo of a paper bag of a particular brand of lingerie with your delicate hand holding it. You have your nails done earlier this morning. It’s so pretty with your favorite shade of pink and favorite flower designs. Just like how you described it before you went out. He can’t wait for your hands around him tonight.

‘Focus,’ he reprimands himself.

Shaking his head, focusing on the paper bag instead, locking in the brand, he gives the purchase a few minutes to process—or whatever the fuck—but again, nothing. He stares and stares into the screen, his eyebrows meeting. He remembers having every transaction on that card to be sent over his email too. He set that up long before. So, where the fuck are they?

Are you actually buying things or are you stealing them?

Did you bring cash?

Quinn didn’t give you cash for anything else other than your nails and the tip for its service today. His frustrations build up. He’s so close to calling the bank and making sure that the card is activated. When he receives another message, he takes a moment to calm down—he has to—before opening it.

He immediately gets distracted by how bright you look. You are grinning so much that the corners of your eyes crinkle, a blush flushing your face. Your nails are on full show once more as you hold up the bag next to your face. So beautiful.

After a solid five minutes, he remembers to refresh his inbox. Only then does it dawn at him.

Are you even using the card he gave you? No, that can’t be. You promised him to use that card today. You are definitely using it.

Aren’t you?

One last swipe down to refresh his email. Still nothing.

What the fuck.

You’re definitely not using the card.

Quinn paces. He’s getting angry for you breaking your promise, getting worried because you’re buying a lot of stuff today. More than you usually do. Didn’t you just complain about your depleting savings last night? It’s one of the reasons why he secretly transferred a few hundreds of dollars—exactly three thousand—into your account. He knows that you didn’t notice it, because you would’ve transferred it back to him after you lecture him about it. If it’s not that, did you suddenly replenish it in your own way? He quickly checks the date and confirms that it’s nowhere near payday, so that’s not it.

Where the fuck are you getting your spending money?

He refuses to acknowledge that you might be using your old credit card. The one with a fucking limit.

It can’t be.

There is no fucking way.

Something snaps in his head, pushing him to act. He rushes to your office, powers up your computer, and signs in without a hitch, because you’ve never put a password on it. If you do, he knows about your little notebook of passwords under your desk plant next to your monitor.

He never really goes through your stuff. He is content and trusts you with everything. Everything. He knows exactly how deeply you feel about him as much as he does with you. Although sometimes you hide your phone from him, that’s when you’re texting your friends about him. It’s obvious because you keep snickering while throwing glances at him. He doesn’t mind that. Not at all. You can talk to your other friends about other stuff. The fact still remains. He trusts you.

But, right now, he is losing it. He needs to see. He needs to look into your email. Just this one time. He’ll apologize for it later.

His eyes are locked on the notifications, the receipts, the confirmations. The account number on every single one of them is not the one on the black credit card he has given you. He had it memorized, and it doesn’t fucking match. You are not fucking using it. What the fuck.

An ache forms in his chest. It’s like a horrible backhand that could shake up his teeth, so horrible that he had to run his tongue over them, making a clicking sound to ensure his teeth are still rooted. He crosses his arms. His legs are spread wide as he slouches against the backrest, one leg bobbing up and down. He glares at the screen, trying to will the emails to disappear while he burns them one by one in his mind. He tries a different route to imagine the account number to change, but of course, nothing works.

He rubs a hand over his face. His head pounds at the start of a headache. His phone pings from another message. It sounds like a blaring siren, making his ears ring. After a few moments, a new mail pops up.

This is so much worse than you realizing the deposit in your debit. Because one, you broke your promise. Two, he feels useless. If you were not going to use the card, you could’ve let Quinn accompany you during this shopping spree that would at least appease his soul. But then, he can force his card into the hands of the cashiers. Realization hits him.

That’s exactly why you didn’t let him tag along. You know he’ll talk his way to overtake your payments. Exhaling, a chuckle escapes him. A smirk forms on his face as he gazes up the ceiling. You are such a clever girl, aren’t you?

He’ll give this to you, but you are in so much trouble when you come home.

As if on cue, you text him, “I’m on my way home.”

He turns your computer off, standing up. An eerie calm envelope him. He’s still so angry, yet instead of vibrating and burning outwardly, it settles deep inside his bones until nothing comes up. It’s an odd feeling. It’s not heavy. It’s not light. It just is. A calm before the storm.

He undoes his second top button. If you really want to use your credit card, you can. You’re your own person. Still, you should have kept your promise. Such a bad girl.

He walks back to the living room and sits down on the single seater, reaching the remote to close off every curtain, making his place dimmer and dimmer and dimmer.

Then he waits.

He waits until you come in with your impressive haul. Extremely impressive, because you have your arms full already. When you put them down, you only leave to get more of them until you get a little pile in the living room. It’s amusing how your grin looks so self-satisfied, not realizing that he’s sitting in the corner of the room, until your eyes land on him. Your smile turns sheepish, taking your hands behind you, not daring to come closer.

Truly clever.

“Hi, Quinny. Didn’t see you there.” You wave.

“My Love,” he greets, beckoning you with a finger, but you refuse to come, shaking your head. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to put these away.”

He watches you start with one bag with the little nightgown that looks so fucking sexy. You’re clearly distracting him and it’s working. Slightly. He obliges you, his amusement growing the more you ramble. You’ve enjoyed your shopping trip. You speak at a quicker pace than you usually do. You have a little bounce on your step. Your happy energy radiates from you in waves while you continue taking everything out of bags which you fold right after. He knows you’re aware that he knows. That’s why you’re taking your time.

Quinn’s aware that you are genuinely delighted that you distract yourself more than him.

He’s proud and happy that you enjoyed your day.

Truly.

It doesn’t erase the fact that he has already lost it. The calm that his anger turned is what’s keeping him from pouncing on you, from taking you over his lap and slamming his hand on your bare ass until you got handprints that will bruise and ache for a couple of days. Just like how you want them.

He still can’t believe that you’ve broken him just from breaking your promise.

It’s entirely laughable.

Yet heat streaks down his spine, down his lean abdomen, down to his cock.

He’s so fucking hard.

He stands up, stalking towards you while you’re crouching next to a pile of paper bags. You’re still rambling a pottery workshop you’ve come across. You’re saying that you want to go back there so you can make mugs for each other. When you’ve already successfully built a mug collection in one of his cupboards.

So adorable. So clueless about the danger prowling towards you.

He stops, his shadow looming over you. He counts the seconds, but you still don’t notice him, do you? Then he sees how your hands start to shake. You do. Silly girl.

A chuckle escapes him as he grabs your arm. He swiftly pulls you up then lifts you over his shoulder.

“Quinn!” You squeal, hitting his back a couple of times. “Put me down! You’re making me dizzy—”

You let out a moan when Quinn slaps the tender spot under your ass.

  “Quiet,” he orders, making you whimper like the dirty slut you are. “What did you say before you left?”

“Bye?” You sound so confused. “I love you?”

He spanks you on the same spot again, making you moan and whine. Even more when he slips his hand under your skirt, his fingers trail up and up, then he puts you down on the bed. Instantly, you flip over, looking at him like he has taken everything from you. He can already hear your protest that’s sitting on the tip of your tongue. He glares at you, daring you to speak them, but you don’t take the bait. You usually do.  Interesting.

“You bought a lot.” Quinn crawls over you.

His hand flattens over your sternum, effortlessly pushing you down.

Your pupils are so blown out when he levels his face with yours, his nose grazing yours, your breath mixing with his. He can smell the gum you chewed on before you arrived, the perfume you’ve sprayed behind your ears. Your eyes fall down his lips and up his eyes again, perfectly seducing him, but he refuses, moving away when you try to kiss him, your tongue darting out to entice him.

Not yet.

“Quinn,” you whine.

“Why’d you do it?” He asks. He kneels up, flipping you over your stomach, pressing a hand on your lower back to keep you from whatever you’re planning which is being  a brat.  

“I didn’t do anything,” you say with pout, shuddering when he slips his hand into your shirt. He unclasps your bra without exerting an effort, so used to your undergarments. “What are you doing? I haven’t showered yet.”

Quinn doesn’t fucking care if you showered or not. Since when did he care? He doesn’t care even if you come from a workout. He has fucked you like that. Many times. All sweaty and dirty. He already licked your sweat as he plunged deep inside your quivering pussy. You coming from a whole day of shopping is simple play for him. You’re just trying to get out of the inevitable punishment.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he rumbles against your ear. He slides his thick fingers under you so he can touch your tits. So soft. So perfect in his hands. Your nipples are so taut from anticipation and his attention. He pinches the sensitive peaks, your hips coming up to grind against him. He pulls away, receiving an unsatisfied groat. “Uh, uh. Answer me before you get what you want, you dirty slut.”

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” He grits. He slides down one hand down your abdomen, down into the waistband of your skirt, down until he reaches and feels the wet patch on your panties. He presses and teases along your clothed slit. “See? So fucking wet. I barely touched you.”

“Quinn, please,” you plead, panting for more.

Why are you still not repeating your broken promise?

He’s getting so annoyed. He forces your clothes off, tearing every piece of clothing on your beautiful body. He ignores how much you complain, ignores your little ‘ouch’ because you’re full of shit. There’s no way it’ll hurt when he is tearing the fabric instead of pulling it against your fucking skin. Do you think he’s fucking stupid? Do you think he’ll hurt you that way?

He’s not a fucking rookie.

He keeps you down, spreading your legs by kneeling between them, watching how your pussy drips on the silk sheets, how your entrance quivers, begging to be filled. Languidly, he feels your folds. You feel so fucking good, so fucking soft, so fucking wet.

You gasp and moan like you’re already getting fucked. You’re just so sensitive, aren’t you?

Then he gives you a slap right there. On your dripping pussy. On your clit. His other hand grips your hip to keep you there when you attempt to crawl away, but he gives you another slap. Then another. Another.

You are moaning and writhing from the pain, begging him to stop, when you’re the one pushing your wet cunt against his palm. You keep seeking, even after briefly reeling away from every hit. Your eyes look over your shoulder, meeting his, begging and begging, mentally conveying, “More, more, more.”

Such a good slut.

His slut.

You’re his.

Quinn slides his middle finger into your heat, smirking at how your walls quivers around him. Your cunt is so red from his spanking. His thumb teases your other hole. You writhe, wantonly moaning, pathetically grasping the sheets for support.

You’re not running away now, huh?

Not when he is fingering you. Not when he pounds and puts pressure on that specific spot that has you screaming breathlessly. You want this so much. You’ve been waiting for a relief that he can easily give you.

He adds another finger, thrusting them into your pussy. Harder. Deeper. The squelching noises are music to his ears when it’s coupled with your moans and groans.

Then he feels the familiar pattern of your pussy walls. You’re going to come soon. He knows you so much. Knows your pussy more than you. Knows your little tells like how your thighs quiver, how your toes curl, how your back arches into the bed.

He knows it.

So, it’s so fucking easy to just…pull away.

You look back harshly. You look betrayed as your breaths come out choppy. Disbelief reflects in your eyes, not used to him not letting you come. He always makes you come. Not now though. Quinn takes his fingers from your arousal to his lips and slowly licks them, like he’s feasting on your pussy, groaning at how you taste. Fuck, you’re truly his favorite flavor.

“Quinn, I…” you call, your eyes tearing up. “You didn’t…”

He flips you over your back. He rests your ass over his thighs while your legs are spread out.

“Didn’t?” he mocks which you only process that as a question. You’ve already been dumbed by your pending orgasm, by your need for it.

“I didn’t come,” you whine, jutting your hips up the air, begging for another touch. “Please make me come.”

“Yeah,” he nods. That makes you smile, sighing in relief. Shaking his head, he silently says, “No.”

He doesn’t let you say another thing, plunging his fingers into your pussy. He fucks you fast and deep, thumb swiping over your clit just so perfectly, only to pull away when you’re on the verge of an orgasm.

By the third time, you finally understand what’s happening and you’re begging and begging.

Your pleas don’t reach him though.

They can’t. Not when he’s still not satisfied. Not when you still don’t say anything. However, the strange calmness that locked him is already dissipating the more he makes a mess out of you. The more beautifully and frustrated you cry.

Oh, his poor, sweet Love.

“Quinn, I’m sorry. I just wanna use my card.” You sob. “I’m sorry. Please. Please. I need to come. It’s been an hour.”

An hour?

You’re counting?

He pauses his torture, because you are finally talking.

You cover your face, hiding your fucked out face, hiding your beautifully blushing cheeks, hiding how your hair sticks to your skin.

“I saw you deposit money in my account again. I thought using my card would be a great revenge. Now, I know it’s not. This sucks! It hurts not to come. We both know you’re just going to pay the bill when it comes.” You sob, looking absolutely hurt and exhausted.

Quinn quickly pulls you up, soothing you with a hug. He sighs as you melt into his touch. You sniffle but your hand reaches between you two, tugging at his pants, trying to get to his cock.

“You have to make me come.” You beg, looking at him with your best puppy eyes. “Please?”

“You always beg so perfectly.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “Wasn’t so hard to admit your wrongs, was it?”

“I know. I already said sorry—”

He cuts you off by pushing you back. He quickly tugs his pants down, pressing his dribbling cock to your pussy, shuddering at the feel of your trembling entrance. One swift thrust and he’s seated inside of you. Fuck. Your pussy is truly made for him. He perfectly fits. All of him. He can feel every crevice, every texture, every arousal that coats you deep inside. Shit. So good. He can come just by being inside of you, by feeling your tight pussy’s embrace. Did you know that?

But he knows that it’s not enough for you tonight.

You need him to fuck you, so he does. He fucked you hard and rough that your eyes are rolling up as you come. Even then you plead for more and more.

So he gives you everything. Changing the tempo here and there, going slow and deliberate, going back to a fast pace. He gives you everything because you deserve it.

Every time he feels that you’re about to come again, he whispers into ears, “That’s my good girl. Give me one more. That’s it. My good little slut. Take what you need. Come, my Love.”

Every time.

He draws out your fifth orgasm then he comes deep inside you, swearing loudly into your ear. He’s coming so hard that his eyesight dims. Your pussy milks every drop of his cum. How he still manages to flick your sensitive clit while he comes so hard is a mystery, but it doesn’t matter when you start to gush.

You’re making such a mess.

You always do.

“Quinn, oh my, fuck,” you cry out.

“It’s okay. I got you. Just let go, my Love,” he encourages, flicking your clit again and again, until you’ve successfully drench both of you. “No more?”

“No more. No more.” You shake your head, so he stops. “Kiss me.”

He obliges you, kissing you, whispering praises in between. You both spend minutes just kissing until you’ve calm down. Quinn gives you one last kiss before he stands to run a bath. He puts a few drops of lavender and chamomile oils in the tub. It’ll soothe you.

He comes back out to wrap you with a fresh and heated towel while the bath fills up. You look so spent, so Quinn holds you for a few more minutes, whispering more and more soft praises in your ear, because you’ve earned it.

When he hears the tub fill up, he takes you to it. He helps you in, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Just relax here. I’ll join you in a bit, okay?” He says as you settle. You nod at him as your eyes slowly blink. “I won’t take long. Don’t sleep. Not when I’m not here.”

“Okay, Quinny,” you say as you yawn. Your tummy rumbles. “Hungry.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich then I’ll make dinner after our bath. Sounds good?”

You smile at him.

His heart flutters, his stomach filling up with butterflies. He presses another kiss on your head, before he’s off, leaving you to have a little alone time. He got one thing in his mind.

He made his way to your bag that’s left behind on the floor. Humming a soft tune, he carries it to the counter, setting it down, as he takes out the ingredients for a sandwich. Just bread and your favorite jam. Washing his hands quickly, he fixes your sandwich, placing it on a plate. He also takes a fresh and cool bottle of water. It will do for a light snack before dinner, but he doesn’t take it immediately to you.

He sits on a stool, rummaging through your bag, finding your wallet.

He smiles at your photo with him there. It’s taken from a polaroid. He knows there’s another photo tucked behind it. It’s you and him in an ice rink that you had personally printed out. You’re truly cute.

He touches your face, heart pounding at how breathtaking you always look.

Even when you’re so fucked out, your beauty never changes. He can’t wait to grow old with you. He bet with everything he has and more that you will still look like the beautiful woman in the world, because you are.

Then he takes the credit card you’ve used today.

His smile never goes away as he stares at it for full minute.

Then he snips it in half and does the same to another and another.

Now, you only have one card left.

[takenbypeter]

Delivery For The New Avengers

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

Words: 1597

A/N: here is the second part to: Delivery For Bob. I am obsessed with this story and I’m having real fun writing for all the Thunderbolts. It’s fun including all their diff personalities.

“Delivery for John Walker,” you said entering the usual vicinity. The recently busy room was quiet this time around with only the blond and Bob occupying the space. 

“On your left.” You turned, now locating the recognizable voice. You handed over the bag receiving a, “wait right there,” from him as he opened the bag and began checking the contents. While you stood, you peeked around as usual and waved at the familiar face who was poking his head out from behind a chair a bit away. 

Bob. 

Seeing you wave he waved back his concerned expression shifting into a more content one. 

“Perfect everything’s here thanks.” You nod, taking a step back but his voice pulls you forward again.  

“Oh and this is really random but I had a question,” you gave him an uncertain expression, finding yourself getting used to the questions that were thrown at you recently. 

The last two weeks have definitely been…an experience. At first you only delivered to the brunette, Bob, but now it was like each member of the new avengers suddenly grew aware of the delivery app and was making sure to use it. You didn’t blame them, it honestly just meant more money for you and they gave pretty good tips. But the strangest thing was that each time you dropped off a new delivery someone always had a question to you that was unrelated to your job. 

Once it was, “where is your favorite place to eat?” Another time it was, “do you have siblings?” And another, “what is your favorite thing to do?”

The questions were getting more and more bizarre and personal and honestly with each one you started to think they were either pranking you or planning to murder you. 

While the others have increased their ordering, Bob on the other hand decreased his. Mainly because he felt bad for how many times you’ve already stopped by. Plus even he had to admit the questions that his teammates were asking you were getting out of hand. 

Honestly though, it did slightly irritate him that they had more conversations with you in a week and a half than he has in a month. But that was his own doing really. 

“So my question is do you prefer brunettes or blondes?”

Bob immediately moved his body making sure John could see him shaking his head.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “it doesn’t really matter to me.”

John narrowed his eyes, “okay but if you had to pick which one would you pick? Brunettes,” he lifted one hand up before lifting the other and sending the other down like a scale, “or blonds?” 

“Both I guess. I don’t really have a preference.” John stood there, hands still up while your phone dinged. “Sorry, I have another order to do and this is sort of a weird question so I’m gonna go. Bye Bob,” you waved, making sure to say your farewells while he again waved back. You always made sure to acknowledge that Bob was there. 

“Oof guess we’ll never know the answer to that one Robert. Sorry about that.”

“Okay can you just,” Bob pressed his lips together, his hands coming up grabbing the air pretending to crush it, before he turned around and returning back to his spot. 

“What! I actually was hungry that time,” John shouted before Bob’s hand came up over the seat making sure Walker could see his middle finger.

Despite Bob thinking that was so far one of the most obvious and obnoxious questions yet, Yelena would soon up the ante with a question of her own that evening.

The team was together, well most of them aside from Bucky. When the elevator dinged again. 

Yelena didn’t even wait for you to say your spiel as you entered, immediately just walking up to you, “oh thank you! I have been craving this all day,” she mumbled as you gave her the bag. 

“Wait here,” she turned to no doubt get the tip but she then turned around again, “actually I had a question for you?”

‘Here we go again,’ Bob thought as he instantly covered his face out of embarrassment from where he stood. 

“Are you single?” Bob’s expression moved at the horror of Yelena’s words. Astonished and embarrassed by the intruding question. 

“Oh I have a question too! What is your thought about dating big time superhero? It’s very cool, no? ” Alexei added. 

“Follow up question,” said John as he raised his hand. “Do you find my friend Bob Reynolds here attractive?”

“Okay,” Bob finally got up and stood in front of you so you could put your attention on him. “You don’t have to answer those ridiculous and private questions,” he says, making sure to look over his shoulders at the others as he purposefully highlights those two words. Turning to you again, he guides both you and himself into the elevator and presses the button to descend to the lower level. 

“Let’s head down, I’ll just give you the tip,” was heard as the doors shut. 

“I bet,” John muttered, earning the rest of the group to turn to him with a series of revolted looks on their faces.  

“Ew,” Yelena said. 

“What?”

“Disgusting, really,” Ava chimed. 

“It was a joke,” he defended. 

“Ten minutes time out now,” Alexei commanded. 

“I’m not a child you can’t—“

“Ten minutes, no one talk to the U.S. Agent!” He shouted as everyone turned their back to the blond who let out an annoyed groan. 

Meanwhile in the elevator it was quiet, the only sound being the machine traveling downwards. 

You two faced forward and Bob finally leaned towards you a bit to apologize on the others behalf, “I’m sorry about them and all the questions. You don’t have to answer any of them, ever!” He stressed while you just chuckled. 

“It’s okay.” 

Bob closed his mouth as the silence returned. He occasionally peeked in your direction realizing that this was the longest time he had spent with you. While also recognizing it had been a while since it was just you and him in a room together. 

His voice eventually eased the tension again, “can I ask one thing? I swear it’s not too crazy.”

You nodded knowing he was one of the few who seemed to actually respect you. 

“Why do you keep coming back? You know they’re going to keep asking you dumb stuff.”

You nod agreeing, “that’s true. But I don’t know,” this time you glanced to your side finally meeting eyes with the man and he swears his breath hitched at the mere contact. 

“They’re funny. Seems like you have a really good crew here. And how many people can say they’ve gotten to interact with the New Avengers,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his, causing his body to hunch into itself, practically liquifying at your mere touch while a smile finally grew on his lips. 

“Plus they’re not so bad, and I know you’re not so bad.”

He was happy that you felt safe at least. Bob’s joy took a quick pause though when you spoke again. 

“Can I ask you a question though?” He turned to you showing you he was all ears.

“Do they ask all the delivery guys questions or just me?”

“In all honesty no. They’re just trying to help me.”

That piqued your interest. “Help you?”

“I mean yes, but at the same time they’re also making fun of me?”

You raised an eyebrow and he picked up on your want for an explanation. “Okay this is not how I wanted to tell you,” he said under his breath as his eyes hit the floor. They squeezed shut as his head tilted, almost like he had to force the next words to come out of his mouth, “they sort of picked up on the fact that I maybe…sort of…like you?” He peeked one eye open trying to gauge your reaction and when you didn’t say anything he opened both eyes, “I mean if that’s okay with you, of course. I was perfectly willing to ride this crush out, and I mean it’s not like a gigantic huge crushing crush it’s more of a, she’s cute. Hope I get another chance to see her again. I would love to hold the door open for her, and give her flowers, and watch the sunset together, sort of thing.” His eyebrows came down at his realization of how his words sounded. 

Your eyes were wide now and he really should’ve stopped talking. He took a step back giving you some space due to his crazy talk. “Wait, this is coming out all wrong. I just like you. A lot. That is all I wanted to say." He gave one final wave with his hands showing he was done and he faced the doors again. You thought he was finished but he spoke again, “don’t worry though I am going to squash this thing. It’ll be over in no time.”

The elevator dinged once again as he concluded, not giving you any time to respond. Noticing you were at the designated floor he let out an, “oh,” before reaching into his pocket. “Let me give you your tip.”

You reached out a hand stopping his movements, “save it…” he did as told while you stepped outside the elevator doors, “…for when you want to maybe hold a door open for me.”

His feet were planted in the elevator and his cheeks slowly lifted while he was speechless. You smiled back and then…the doors slid shut. 

[moonchildstyles]

cloudburst

y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month. 

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was. 

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly. 

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him. 

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check? 

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up. 

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up. 

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls. 

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway. 

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him. 

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent. 

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead. 

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist. 

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath. 

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized. 

No doubt, she could do this. 

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks. 

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night. 

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby". 

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place. 

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short. 

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture. 

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another. 

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more. 

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin. 

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl? 

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him? 

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears. 

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment. 

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store. 

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead. 

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light. 

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel. 

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection. 

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort. 

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch. 

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in. 

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers. 

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright. 

"Hon? Are you okay?" 

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond. 

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace. 

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat. 

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands. 

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him. 

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N). 

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days. 

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship? 

"But, what about you?" 

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—" 

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side. 

Until he saw the contact name, anyway. 

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him. 

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression. 

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry." 

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in. 

"Hello?" 

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?" 

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup? 

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—" 

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts. 

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone. 

His stomach turned. 

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?" 

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight. 

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there. 

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—" 

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing." 

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess. 

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy). 

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat. 

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go." 

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?" 

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him. 

He wasn't going to call. 

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling. 

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat. 

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right? 

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into? 

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out. 

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person. 

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well. 

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered. 

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?" 

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind. 

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable. 

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers. 

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this? 

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears. 

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway. 

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum. 

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher. 

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes. 

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer. 

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks? 

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better. 

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing. 

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere. 

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more. 

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone. 

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body. 

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half. 

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks. 

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her. 

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had. 

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed. 

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight." 

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?" 

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me." 

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry. 

"She's doing alright, though?" 

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight." 

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N). 

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away. 

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings. 

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again." 

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up. 

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him. 

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi." 

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run. 

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?" 

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier." 

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can." 

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod. 

"Right, thank you." 

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing. 

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her. 

"(Y/N)—" 

"You're here." 

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me." 

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now." 

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight." 

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response. 

"I'm sorry." 

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?" 

That fragile tension between them cracked. 

"You were on a date." 

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this. 

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?" 

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—" 

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like." 

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that." 

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders. 

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away. 

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date. 

"I got into an accident." 

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else." 

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features. 

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself. 

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah." 

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night. 

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words. 

"I know." 

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew. 

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more. 

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen? 

The air in the room seemingly went still. 

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out. 

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before. 

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened." 

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks? 

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought. 

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?" 

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes. 

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?" 

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair." 

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside. 

He waited. 

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television. 

He waited. 

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight." 

Harry's shoulders deflated. 

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry." 

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself. 

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have. 

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her. 

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her." 

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck. 

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter. 

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks. 

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?" 

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you." 

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?" 

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings. 

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you." 

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore." 

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling." 

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you." 

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me." 

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way. 

"I won't." 

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms. 

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night. 

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes. 

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself. 

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork. 

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess. 

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room. 

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already. 

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident." 

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did. 

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see." 

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed. 

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night." 

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—" 

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?" 

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably." 

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?" 

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call. 

"Not for you." 

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her. 

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?" 

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when." 

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course). 

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry." 

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of. 

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes. 

"I'll see y'tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow." 

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night. 

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - Brats Don’t Get Soft, Brats Get Used.

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: You’ve never been a brat before, but after weeks with Wanda and Natasha and Natasha still holding back, a nudge from your roommate Kate sets something in motion. What starts as a simple need soon turns into a dangerous game, and you’re about to learn what happens when the consequences catch up.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy kink, Daddy kink, age difference, older WandaNat/younger reader, BDSM, Dom/sub dynamics, spanking/lashing with a belt, punishment, smut, overstimulation, fingering, safe word check-ins, aftercare, minor angst.

A/N: Reader and Natasha’s first-time scene kept popping up in requests, so here we are! If I’ve replied to your other asks, those fics will be coming ASAP. If you’ve sent an ask and I haven’t responded yet, I promise I’m working through everything! Thanks so much for all your patience and love. Honestly, your asks, replies, and support for this series make me all warm and fuzzy inside 🩵

P.S. In terms of the timeline, this takes place after 'It Was Fate' and before 'You Make Such Pretty Sounds When You’re Sorry', both can be found in my masterlist.

Word Count: 14,578

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

It had been a month since you’d stepped into the world Wanda and Natasha had so carefully, deliberately built around you, and though the shift had been gentle, almost imperceptible at first, you felt it now in everything. The change had crept in like water, soft and steady, reshaping the edges of your life without ever needing to crash through them. You hadn’t thought you needed structure. You certainly hadn’t expected to crave it. But once it was there, once their presence became a constant grounding force, you realised just how badly you’d needed to be held in place.

The rules didn’t arrive all at once. They were introduced slowly, one by one, always with a quiet firmness, never exactly forceful, but never optional either. And what surprised you most was how easily they slipped past the bedroom and settled into the rest of your life. They took root in the mundane, the overlooked, the messiest parts of your routine: your study habits, your sleep, your social outings, your tendency to forget yourself.

At first, you questioned the point of it all. Why they cared whether you skipped a meal or pulled another all-nighter. But it didn’t take long to understand. They were wholly, unflinchingly invested in you. In your well-being. In your peace. And in the simple, sacred truth that you were theirs.

It began with the essentials. Drink more water. Eat proper meals. Step outside and breathe. No more skipping breakfast or living on scraps between lectures. No more letting your body crumble under the weight of your own neglect. 

They didn’t leave it to chance, either. Wanda had set you up with a nutrition tracker, and Natasha synced it to a fitness app. Between the two of them, they monitored everything.

Then came the check-ins. If you weren’t with them, you were to check in twice a day: a brief morning text including how you slept, how you felt, and what was ahead for the day, and a call at night, no exceptions. You were to talk them through your day, tell them what had gone well, what hadn’t, and whether you needed anything, emotionally, physically, or otherwise. 

And college brought its own rules. You were to attend every class unless you were truly ill. And even then, they were to be informed immediately. Natasha had your entire academic schedule memorised, down to your deadlines and office hours, and if anything shifted, she expected an update. 

Your social life, limited though it was since you were far from a social being, had boundaries. You could go out, in fact, you were encouraged to do so, to have fun, to be young, to live, but never at the cost of safety. Drinking to excess was forbidden. Drugs and smoking, entirely off-limits. 

And you were not to be out alone after dark. If you did go out, it had to be with trusted friends. Your fitness tracker was to remain on, fully charged, and GPS active. That rule had been delivered with unflinching clarity. Natasha had stated it plainly, her tone leaving no room for argument. They needed to know where you were. That you weren’t walking alone, vulnerable and unseen. That if something happened, they’d know exactly where to find you.

To an outsider, it might’ve seemed overbearing and excessive. But to you, it was the opposite. It was everything. These rules weren’t restrictions, they were evidence, proof that someone saw you clearly enough to draw lines around your chaos and call it worth saving. 

And you wanted to be good for them. You lived for the quiet praise threaded through your evening calls, the warmth in Wanda’s voice when she told you she was proud, the low, satisfied hum Natasha would let slip when every rule had been followed to the letter. You craved their approval. Their attention. Their pride. Being obedient came naturally in most ways, and you basked in it. 

Except… food and water. That was the rule you just couldn’t seem to get right.

It wasn’t rebellion; not truly. Sometimes you simply didn’t want to cook, or the idea of eating twisted something unpleasant in your stomach. Sometimes coffee was just easier; it kept you upright, kept you moving. Other times, it wasn’t deliberate at all, just a blur of hours and tasks and noise. You got swept up in work, or you ate but forgot to log it, or maybe you downed nearly a litre of coffee before it even occurred to you that you hadn’t touched water. 

Whatever the reason, Wanda always noticed, calling with her voice full of concern. “When was the last time you ate?” she’d ask, and it wasn’t anger, it was disappointment, that would curl tight in your gut as you searched for a defence that never felt good enough.

The punishments for this were never too much, because they knew you were trying. But they were just enough to make you pause the next time your hand hovered over another cup of coffee and nothing else.

And part of you, ashamed as it was, needed that. Needed the accountability. The structure. The safety of knowing someone would catch you before you disappeared too far into yourself.

Still, even with all of it, the structure, the gentleness, the care stitched into every rule and ritual, something felt wrong. Not glaringly, not enough to shatter the sense of safety they’d built around you, but enough to unsettle, to gnaw at the edges of your thoughts when you were alone. It wasn’t the boundaries or the expectations, not the check-ins or the rules that governed your days. It was Natasha.

She was present and reliable in that steady, composed way of hers. She enforced the routine with silent efficiency, asked the questions that mattered, and made sure you kept your promises, to them and to yourself. But when it came to punishment, to intimacy, to that deeper level of connection you craved, she held back. And it wasn’t just that she didn’t discipline you, she hadn’t touched you. Not once.

You’d given yourself to them, inch by inch, until it didn’t feel like surrender anymore, but something closer to breathing. You’d let yourself fall, and Wanda had caught you. It was always Wanda.

It was Wanda who guided you, who punished you when you slipped, who praised you so sweetly your stomach turned to honey when you hadn’t. It was Wanda who took you apart in the dark, who knew how to coax you into obedience with nothing but a look, a sound, or a breath. Natasha either watched from the sidelines or, worse, left the room entirely. 

Last weekend was a perfect example. You knelt before Wanda, her voice calm and steady as she guided you through the mantras she’d been drilling into you. “I deserve to take care of myself… my body deserves fuel… my mind deserves rest…” You’d forgotten to eat again, too caught up in school, and so when you came to them, punishment was needed. But it wasn’t a punishment of pain; it was one of words and care that slowly cracked open your walls, breaking down the bad beliefs you’d carried all your life. 

At first, Natasha was there, quietly watching, even encouraging with small hums and soft smiles, but when your tears began to flow and your body shook, she left without a word. You didn’t know why; she never explained. Wanda shushed your whimpers, but it wasn’t enough, not when Natasha didn’t want you…again.

After the scene, when you dared to ask about it, Wanda’s answer only deepened the ache: “You’re just not ready for Daddy, malyshka (Little One).”

Those words echoed in your mind, not ready. As if Natasha was a threshold you hadn’t yet earned the right to cross. It made the ache of being good, of meeting every expectation, sting sharper. 

—

That’s why this week has been hard, with constant thoughts of Natasha swirling through your mind; each check-in only deepened your frustration. By the time Thursday arrived, your mood had darkened. The usual nightly check-in with the women went ahead, but beneath it all, you felt that familiar tightening in your chest, the heavy weight of the unspoken barrier still lingering between you and Natasha.

As always, you took the call just outside your dorm building, settling on the cold edge of the concrete steps beneath the weak glow of the overhead security light. The buzzing hum of it filled the silence between your own clipped replies and Wanda’s soothing voice, Natasha’s steadier one threading in near the end as she asked the usual questions about your meals, your steps, your classes. You answered them all. Obedient. Polite. But your tone was flatter than usual, each sentence a little shorter, and by the time you hung up, the tight coil of something unspoken was still sitting behind your ribs, refusing to unspool.

You pushed through the heavy dorm door and climbed the stairs two at a time, jaw tight, nails digging half-moons into your palms. When you opened the door to your shared room, Kate glanced up from her bed, where she sat cross-legged in an oversized hoodie, scrolling on her laptop. Her eyes caught your face instantly, her brows drew together, subtle but unmistakable, and the screen was forgotten within a heartbeat.

“Uhh… what’s up?” she asked, her voice cautious but laced with warmth, like she could sense your mood before you'd said a word.

“Nothing,” you muttered, too quickly, flinging your bag to the floor and flopping onto your bed with the kind of exaggerated indifference that only made your frustration more obvious.

Kate didn’t buy it for a second. She shifted to sit upright, her back resting against the wall. “Seriously?” she said with a small, incredulous laugh, but her eyes didn’t leave your face. 

You exhaled hard through your nose and rolled your eyes, reaching for your phone just to have something to fidget with. “You’re too nosy,” you said lightly, trying to deflect.

But Kate didn’t laugh this time. Her expression softened instead, concern overtaking the playfulness. “Maybe,” she said gently, “but I care, you know?”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You nodded once, a little jerk of your chin, your voice quieter when you finally said, “I know.”

“Then just talk to me?” she offered. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, but there was tension in her shoulders too, like she was trying not to push too hard, not to say the wrong thing, and watch you shut down.

You stayed silent for a moment, then sat up, legs pulled to your chest. You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, not quite able to meet her eyes. “It’s… to do with the girlfriends,” you said finally.

Kate’s eyes flickered with interest, not curiosity in a nosy way, but a gentle attentiveness that said she’d been waiting for you to talk about them again. “Are you ever going to tell me who they are?” she asked, smiling just a little, trying to keep it light.

You smiled too, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Of course, you wanted to tell her. You trusted her. But Natasha’s voice echoed in your mind, cool and resolute, no one at college can know. Not even your roommate. She was right, of course. College gossip moved fast, and all it would take was one whisper in the wrong ear for everything to unravel.

“You know the rules,” you said, sharper than you meant to, and your jaw clenched as the anger returned, at the rule, at Natasha, at how far away she still felt even after a month.

Kate let out a quiet chuckle, raising a hand to trace a little X over her heart. “I do. But it could be our little secret. Cross my heart.”

You looked at her grin, and something in you softened, just a little.“Maybe soon,” you said, voice tight. “I don’t think it’ll be going on much longer anyway, so there will be no secret to keep.”

That hit her like a slap. Her eyes widened, her posture straightening instantly. “What? Wait, what do you mean?” she asked, voice sharp with shock, all traces of teasing gone.

You had told Kate about your situation with Wanda and Natasha pretty early on, after all, she’d pestered you half to death after your first night with them, all wide-eyed curiosity and relentless questions. You’d given her the basics: that they were your dommes, that it wasn’t just sex, not to them, not to you either. That they’d made it clear from the start that they wanted something more, something serious, something committed.

Over time, details had trickled out, mostly because they had to. The rules you lived by, the punishments you’d earned, the very explicit reasons you sometimes came home with marks so unmistakable they made Kate drop her fork. 

Kate never judged, never squirmed, or got awkward. It was embarrassing sometimes, yes, but it was also a relief to have someone who understood, who didn’t flinch at the language, at the power dynamics, at the weight of it all.

But you’d been careful, too. You’d kept their names to yourself, never once letting them slip. You hadn’t said where they lived, what they did, not even how old they were. You hadn’t even referred to them by title. It wasn’t mistrust, it was the rule. And more than that, it was something you instinctively honoured. Something Natasha had asked of you, and you hadn’t questioned it. You hadn’t wanted to.

Until now. Now, when everything felt like it was fraying. Now, when you couldn’t tell if you were still wanted, or just tolerated. 

And Kate was still watching you, her expression tight with worry, waiting for you to explain why you’d just said it might all be over.

“Hello? Earth to the emotionally tormented?” she teased softly when your silence stretched.

You blinked, snapping back to the moment, and let out a tired little laugh. “I’m here,” you muttered with a half-hearted shrug.

Kate raised one brow in that subtle, persistent way that said, Don’t even think about dodging this, her body leaning forward just slightly.

You sighed, pressing your fingers into your temples for a moment before finally exhaling the frustration that had been crawling under your skin. “It’s just… Domme Two, she’s got all these expectations,” you started, voice tight, like every word had to be pried out. “I try so hard. And still… she won’t touch me. She won’t see me. I’m so tired of it. I’m so tired of being good and getting nothing back.”

Kate’s expression shifted immediately. You’d mentioned Natasha’s distance once or twice before in passing, but it had never sounded quite like this. Back then, it was a curiosity, an oddity. Now, it was pain. Frustration.

“Still?” she echoed, disbelief softening into sympathy. “It’s been, what, over a month now?”

You nodded mutely, jaw tight. “Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ with bitter emphasis. “And I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Kate. I try so fucking hard. I follow their rules, well, mostly,” you added with a dry, self-deprecating smile. “I give them everything they ask for. But when I ask…it’s always the same line: you’re not ready.” The words came out quieter, more vulnerable now, like they physically hurt to repeat.

Kate’s face twisted with something halfway between a wince and a thoughtful frown. “You know it might not be about you, right?” she said gently. “That maybe you are ready… but she isn’t?”

You scoffed, not unkindly, but with that weary kind of disbelief that comes from hoping for too long. “No, Domme One said, that I am not ready because Domme Two can be intense. That she is holding back so I don't get hurt.” You shook your head with a dry, humourless laugh. “But this hurts, too, Kate. Being held at arm’s length like I’m not worthy yet. And it’s not like I haven’t made it crystal clear that rough doesn’t scare me. Domme One and I have had scenes that I couldn’t even put into words if I tried.”

Kate stayed quiet for a moment, taking it all in. You could see the gears turning, the way she bit the inside of her cheek like she always did when she was trying to offer advice without sounding preachy.

“Well… if it’s eating at you this much, then I think you have to talk to them again,” she said eventually, voice calm but firm, the kind of tone she only used when she really meant it. “Like, properly. Not mid-scene. Not just after punishment. Really talk.”

“I have,” you snapped, your voice pitching higher than you meant it to. “I have talked. I’ve tried. I bring it up, and it’s just brushed aside like I’m being impatient.”

Kate sighed, but it wasn’t a condescending sigh; it was heavy, empathetic. You could see the careful way she was treading. She was always mature when it came to this, always level-headed when you weren’t, always calm when you were spiralling. 

“I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. But if something isn’t working for you, you have to keep pushing for a change. Communication’s everything, you know that.”

You slumped back against the bed, staring at the ceiling like maybe it would answer for you. “I’m just… tired of talking. Tired of giving my all and still being told I haven’t earned hers. I just wish there was something I could do.”

Kate was quiet again, but something in her posture shifted. Her lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at one corner before she caught herself and quickly looked down, trying to hide it.

You sat up slightly, suspicious. “What? Kate. What is that look?”

She tried and failed to suppress a laugh. “Nothing. I just… shouldn’t say this. I definitely shouldn’t encourage this.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s never stopped you before. Come on. Spit it out.”

Kate hesitated, her smile turning fond now, as if whatever memory she was about to share brought her warmth despite the topic. “It’s just… I know what Yelena would do in your shoes.”

Your stomach flipped, your curiosity piqued. “Yeah? And what would Yelena do?”

Kate let out a slow breath. “Well, okay, so our dynamic isn’t like yours. It’s not built on rules and structure 24/7. But in scene, there are rules. And sometimes, when I’ve been… off, or distracted, or distant, because life, you know? Yelena will break a rule deliberately. Just enough to make me react. It’s her way of saying notice me, see me, feel something.”

Kate looked almost sheepish after saying it, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d just offered you advice… or handed you a loaded weapon. But you heard it clearly.

A quiet rebellion. A strategic crack in obedience.

And the suggestion glittered in your mind like something dangerous and gleaming, like the glint of a match just before it hits the strike pad. It didn’t matter that it was reckless. All that mattered was that something inside you shifted, something coiled and bratty and starved for attention stirred, stretching awake for the first time.

You turned to Kate, an exaggerated gasp of mock offence on your lips. “Kate Bishop, are you suggesting I should be a brat?”

She laughed, the sound light and helpless. “I’m suggesting,” she said with careful precision, “that breaking a rule might actually get you the kind of reaction you’re craving. Especially if it’s one of Domme Two’s.”

Your brain had already taken off at a sprint, running through possibilities, rules, boundaries, hers, not Wanda’s. You grinned slowly, wickedly, a spark of something deliciously mischievous taking root. “You know,” you drawled, already shifting your weight like you were about to get up, “I’ve been thinking… a late-night stroll sounds like just the thing to clear my head.”

Kate blinked at you, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief before flattening into a line. “It’s midnight,” she said, deadpan. Her eyes narrowed a little as she sat straighter, arms folded, like she was already preparing to intervene. “Can you not pick a safer rule to break?”

You tilted your head and gave a lazy shrug, letting faux innocence smooth over your features. “It’s this, or smoking. Or, I don’t know… drugs.” You raised your eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Kate’s eyes widened in horror, her whole body recoiling like you’d just threatened to juggle knives in traffic. “Not. Funny,” she snapped, though the sharpness in her tone couldn’t quite hide the way her lips twitched at the edges.

Your grin only widened. “A little bit funny,” you said, voice dipping with smug satisfaction, because provoking her felt almost as fun as what you were planning.

Kate groaned and flopped back against the headboard, dragging a hand down her face. “Okay, but what about… I don’t know, don’t go to class tomorrow. Don’t message, don’t give an excuse. It’s safe. Passive-aggressive. You get to make a point.”

You wrinkled your nose, unconvinced, and gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “Too slow. I’m supposed to be with them tomorrow night anyway, and I want it sorted before then.”

Kate sat forward again, staring at you like you’d grown a second head. Her brows lifted with genuine disbelief, and she stared hard, like she was still holding out hope this was all a bit. “You are insane.”

You gave her a sly wink as you stood up, grabbing your coat and slipping it on. “No,” you replied, with a gleam in your eye and a dangerous lilt in your voice, “I’m just impatient. And possibly very, very stupid.”

Kate stood too, suddenly tense, hovering like she wasn’t sure if she should block the door or help you open it. “Okay, but please text me. Keep me updated. And when you inevitably get dragged back to wherever they live for the punishment of your entire life, I expect details.”

You paused with your hand on the doorknob, turning back with a wicked little smirk that curled slowly across your face. “I will. And hey, thanks for the advice,” you said, voice syrupy-sweet with mischief. 

Kate shook her head, muttering under her breath before sighing out loud. “God help you.”

And with that, the door clicked softly behind you, the hallway swallowing you up as you let the brat take the wheel, heart racing, nerves buzzing, a storm already forming on the horizon.

—

It took fifteen minutes of walking before your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t even need to check the screen to know it was Natasha. The GPS tracker in your watch had no doubt lit up the moment you stepped beyond the perimeter she’d quietly defined.

You pulled the phone out, thumb hovering for a moment, then smiled, slow, sharp, and wicked, and let it ring out. One call. Then another. Then a third, her name flashing again and again like a warning light.

The next buzz wasn’t a call, it was your shared group chat, the one only used for schedules, check-ins, and rare moments of praise or correction outside sessions. 

D2: I thought you were staying home with Kate tonight?

You didn’t answer. Just opened it and continued walking, heading deeper into the park, where the glow of streetlamps filtered softly through leafless trees. The cold bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it, anything that grounded you in the daring, dizzy satisfaction of rebellion.

D2: Why are you ignoring me? D1: Little one, are you okay?

That one gave you pause. You felt a flicker of guilt crack through the high of disobedience. This wasn’t about her. None of this was really her fault, yet you were treating her the same way, but you kept walking.

D2: You better be with Kate.

Her tone, even through text, was clipped, and you could practically feel her jaw clenched from miles away. Then another text came from Wanda, softer again.

D1: Please, let us know you are safe, Sweetheart. We’re worried.

That one stung. You hated that you’d made her worry, hated even more that it was necessary to make your point. You sighed and finally typed back, your fingers momentarily trembling from more than just the cold.

Me: I am safe. Going for a walk.

There were only a few seconds of silence before Natasha responded.

D2: Are you with Kate?

You stopped walking and stared at the message. This was it. The line you could still choose not to cross. The point of no return. You could lie. You could say yes and diffuse it all. But you didn’t want to.

You wanted to be seen. You wanted to matter. You wanted Natasha to stop treating you like a thing she could discipline from a distance but never touch.

Me: No.

You hit send before you could change your mind, before reason or fear could pull you back. Your heart was pounding, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to break free. This was what you wanted. This was the moment you’d imagined: the rule-breaking, the reckless defiance, the thrill of finally crossing a line that might force Natasha to stop keeping you at arm’s length.

But now that you were here, standing in it, the storm you’d so desperately wished for felt a lot less like a cleansing force and a lot more like a cliff edge you’d sprinted off without thinking.

Your phone buzzed.

D2: If I don’t see you turn around and walk back toward your dorm in the next five minutes, I will make sure you regret it.

You scoffed aloud, trying to laugh it off, even as a chill crawled up your spine. Just a threat, you told yourself. She wouldn’t actually do anything. 

Still, your fingers trembled as you shoved your phone back into your coat pocket. You found the nearest bench and sat down, hoping she’d see it as a clear fuck you. A message through the GPS tracker. I’m not moving.

You checked the chat again. Nothing.

Five minutes passed. Then six. Then ten.

You swallowed hard. The cold had begun to seep through your coat, and your heart had gone from hammering to something slower, deeper, more sickening. It wasn’t defiance anymore. It was dread.

You kept checking your phone, over and over, willing another message to come through, anything. 

But there was only that single, unanswered warning. Hanging in the chat like a blade. You shifted on the bench, suddenly too aware of the dark, too aware of the silence, and how very, very small you felt.

—

The cold had settled into your bones, your phone still lifeless in your hand as you debated if you should give up and go back. Every shadow looked like someone. Every sound made you flinch.

Then, suddenly, there was movement, footsteps crunching against the gravel path just behind you. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see the figure approaching, cloaked in shadows and the low light of the path. Hood up, head bowed, face largely obscured, their entire frame radiating purpose and rage.

A bolt of instinctive fear shot through your chest, and you shot to your feet, suddenly overcome with the sense that you were very much in danger. You began to move, your eyes flicking around for the clearest path out, but you didn't get far before the figure spoke. 

“Don’t walk away from me.”

You froze. Her voice was unmistakable, that distinct, deep coolness edged with steel, though this time it came layered with something that struck you harder than the anger. It was fear. 

You turned around slowly, your body betraying you with the smallest flinch. She walked straight up to you, steps tight and restrained, and you could see the way she was holding herself back, like she wanted to shake you, to shout, to do something, but instead she just looked. 

Her eyes swept over you with that terrifying, clinical intensity, checking for injuries, for damage, for blood. It was so fast and automatic that for a second you forgot how to breathe, caught somewhere between guilt and the bitter thrill of being seen.

When she was satisfied you were physically fine, she spoke again, her tone a mixture of disbelief and fury. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

The tone of her voice struck something inside you. You were still afraid, very much so, but the sight of her like this, eyes stormy and jaw tight, hit a nerve, and that tiny voice inside you, the brat, the desperate girl who wanted to be noticed, punished, wanted, made itself heard again.

You swallowed, lifted your chin slightly, and gave her a tiny, deliberate shrug.

Her nostrils flared, and she stared at you like she couldn’t believe the gall of you. You could feel the shift in her posture, that subtle straightening of her spine, the way her arms folded over her chest as if to stop herself from reaching for you. 

Then, slowly, her voice came again, firmer now. “I said, what…are you doing out here?”

You felt your heart hammering harder. She wasn’t yelling, but the low cadence of her voice, restrained and disappointed, pierced through your bravado like nothing else could. You knew she was giving you a chance. An opportunity to back down before this turned into something bigger. But some small, desperate part of you didn’t want to take it.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, chest tightening under the weight of her stare. And then, as if to keep yourself from unravelling completely, you shrugged again, a deliberately casual movement, bordering on insolent.

You didn’t look at her when you answered. “I told you, just going for a walk.” The words left your lips softer than you intended, but they carried that unmistakable edge, that deliberately sweetened defiance, like a dare dressed up in innocence. 

Her gaze dropped briefly to the ground, like she was swallowing a surge of something, rage, maybe, and when she lifted it again, her eyes were dark, unreadable, and burning. Then came her voice, thick with warning, the words precise enough to cut. “You know that’s against the rules, Little Girl.”

The title landed like a stone dropped in still water. Little Girl. Not Little One, not the soft name they called you during gentle praise, check-ins, or affectionate aftercare. This one was different, used only in the lead-up to punishment. 

Wanda was usually the one to wield it when you were truly in trouble. Hearing it from Natasha now made your stomach twist. Not with fear, not exactly, but with heat, with something volatile and reckless and stupidly brave.

And still, rather than shrinking under it, something inside you bloomed. The very thing you’d come out here chasing was now rising in front of you, and it made your pulse thunder. 

You lifted your chin, eyes blazing with defiance, and let the words fall, slow and deliberate, each one laced with venom. “You don’t own me.”

Her hand shot out and closed around your upper arm, not harshly, but with enough weight to send your heart racing. She was close now, close enough that you could feel her body heat, the cold in her breath, the rage simmering beneath her skin.

“Move.” The word wasn’t a request. Not a suggestion. It was a command, weighted with disappointment.

She didn’t shove, instead, she stepped closer, hand still curled around your arm before it slid, slowly, deliberately to the back of your neck. Her palm was warm against your skin, firm and unyielding, fingers splaying just enough to ground you, to remind you that you now had nowhere to go.

She turned you around with that grip, directing you out of the park and towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you were hers to move. 

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice. It barely came out. “Where are we going?” you asked, though the answer had already begun to form in your mind.

Her reply was flat. “Home. I think we need to talk. Don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. The silence pressed thick against your tongue, your mouth dry with the realisation of how far you’d taken it. 

The walk was silent, but inside your head, it was anything but. Regret bloomed, not just for breaking the rule, but for how deliberately you’d done it, for how you’d baited her. But it was too late now. You could feel her eyes on you in short bursts, reading your silence, calculating what to do with you.

But underneath the guilt, the fear, the cold anticipation curling in your gut… was something else. Something reckless and alive. Something that felt horrifyingly like satisfaction. Because for the first time in weeks, Natasha was fully focused on you

She was here. She was angry. And she was going to do something about it.

—

At home, Wanda was waiting for both of you, wrapped tightly in her dressing gown, the fabric clutching her as if it could shield her from the worry etched deep across her face. Guilt hit you like a punch to the chest. She must have been asleep, or at least resting, before you’d disturbed her with your behaviour.

“Malyshka (Little One), are you okay?” Wanda’s voice was gentle, almost trembling with concern, enough to make your defiance falter for a moment. 

But before you could answer, Natasha cut in sharply, her tone rougher than usual. “Don’t be soft with her. She’s fine. She’s just got an attitude.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a sharp huff, the brat inside you rising up despite the knots of fear and guilt tightening in your stomach.

Wanda stared at you, wide-eyed and clearly shocked. In all the time you’d known her, she’d never seen this side of you. 

“See what I mean?” Natasha sneered, gesturing with her hand towards you. 

Wanda simply nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming, her disappointment unspoken but suffocating.

“Take off your shoes and coat, then go sit down,” Natasha ordered, her voice firm and unyielding.

You obeyed, more out of habit than willingness. The house was warm, too warm for your heavy coat, and it felt like a small relief peeling it off.

You settled onto the couch, feeling the soft cushions give beneath you. Both of them followed. Natasha perched on the coffee table across from you, her eyes sharp and unreadable, while Wanda settled on the far side of the couch. 

The distance stung. Wanda never sat so far away, never kept so much space between you. She was usually the one who reached out, always touching, always close. Tonight, that familiar comfort was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable void.

“You have one chance to explain yourself, Little Girl,” Natasha sneered, her voice low and sharp, each word weighted with warning.

“Why should I?” you shot back, the defiance bubbling up before you could stop it. Wanda’s eyes went wide again, her breath catching at seeing you push back like this. Natasha’s face, however, was unreadable.

Then, unexpectedly, she let out a dark chuckle and leaned in closer, her fingers curling around your jaw with a firm grip. “You know, I don’t think I like this side of you,” she murmured, her voice almost a threat.

You pulled away, pressing yourself back into the cushions, refusing to give her the satisfaction of your discomfort. “Well, you clearly don’t like the other side either,” you shot back, a sharp edge to your words. “So, two for two.”

A flicker of shock crossed Natasha’s face. “What? What the hell do you mean?” she demanded, the cool mask slipping for just a moment.

You shrugged, but this time the gesture was less about defiance and more about uncertainty. You genuinely didn’t know how to explain it, how could you say that she did everything perfectly, except for the one thing that tore at you the most, without sounding like some needy, whiny brat?

Natasha waited, her eyes locked on you. But when you stayed silent, her gaze sharpened, cutting through the heavy stillness like a whip. “Speak to me. Stop acting like a little brat,” she demanded.

You snapped back, frustration bubbling over. “Or what? You’ll just send me off to Wanda for a punishment?” Your tone rose, raw and challenging.

A guttural growl rumbled from Natasha, dark, fierce, edged with raw anger. “Is that what this is? You want punishment? You’re craving it? Is that why you’re acting like this?” Her voice sliced through the silence, thick with heat and frustration, scorching the air between you.

And that’s when it broke, because once again she was missing the point entirely. You shook your head, voice trembling under the weight of it all. “No, that’s not it!” Your breath hitched, tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as your voice cracked open. “I want you to believe I’m enough. I want you to need me the way I need you. I want you to be in this, like I am.” The words came out ragged, raw, breaking free with all the desperation you’d been holding in.

Wanda shifted beside you, her worry carved deep into her face, but your world had shrunk to Natasha’s gaze, searching, pleading, trying to find any flicker of softness beneath the armour she wore like a shield.

And then, something shifted. Natasha’s hard edges softened ever so slightly. Her hand reached out, landing on your knee. You jerked back, instinct screaming to retreat, but she held you firmly, grounding you in place. “You are enough,” she said, voice lower now, rougher with unshed emotion. 

She swallowed hard, steadying herself like she was forcing the words past a barricade. “Have I not shown you? When I drive you to school, and we sing like fools? When we curl up on the couch, just holding each other? When we sit and play your video game together? How is that not enough proof I’m in this?”

Her voice trembled, frustrated, wounded, desperate for you to see it.

“You don’t understand, Natasha,” you sobbed, your voice breaking under the weight of a thousand tangled feelings. “You don’t see what I mean.”

“Then tell me,” she whispered, voice cracked and almost desperate. “Please. Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip, trying desperately to hold back the flood, but the dam finally broke. “I want more.” Your voice cracked. “I know it sounds selfish, needy, maybe even greedy. I love the tenderness, the quiet moments we share... but I want Daddy.” 

Your hands clenched into fists as the words poured out, raw and urgent, laced with a pleading edge. “I want you to touch me, to punish me, to let me please you. I want you with me in the scenes, not just watching, or walking away like you have been lately.” The confession hung thick and heavy between you. Your voice dropped to a whisper, barely steady. “When you leave... it hurts.”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words sinking into her with visible force, dragging something raw and unguarded to the surface. Her gaze dropped to her hands, jaw clenched tight. “I just…” she began, the words barely above a whisper, “I’m scared, Little One. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Her fingers twisted in her lap, restless, unsure. “I’m not used to being careful. You’re… you’re so soft. So good. And I look at you and all I can think is… what if I break her?” She paused, breath shaky, as if the confession itself wounded her. 

“And sometimes… sometimes it all gets too heavy, because I want it so badly, but I can’t push past the fear, so I pull away. That’s when I walk. It’s not about you. It’s me... I’m scared.”

You watched her closely, your own heart aching now, but not with shame or anger. Just understanding. “You told me you were done being scared,” you reminded her gently. “And I’m not scared, Nat.”

Her eyes finally met yours, glassy with hesitation.

“I know I’ve struggled to use ‘red’ before,” you admitted softly, your voice thick, “but I’m getting better. Wanda and I have had scenes way more intense than anything I could’ve handled before, and I’ve called red when I needed to. I’ve used yellow, too. I’ve communicated. I’ve grown.” You reached out, fingers brushing the back of her hand. “I need you to trust that. To trust me. The way I trust you.”

Natasha stared at your hand, at the quiet, open gesture you were offering her. For a long moment, the silence stretched between you again, thick, trembling. And then, slowly, she turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through yours with a quiet breath that sounded like surrender.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her thumb tracing a circle over your knuckles. “You’re right. You’ve been growing into exactly what we asked of you. And I’ve been too scared to meet you there.”

You nodded, breath hitching as the last of your tears clung stubbornly to your lashes. “Then meet me now,” you whispered, voice small but steady.

Natasha stilled for a heartbeat. Her eyes found yours, and in them, something shifted, slow but undeniable. The fear didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it softened around the edges, tempered by something far stronger. Resolve. Acceptance. Want.

“Alright,” she said at last, voice low and certain. “No more running.”

She leaned in, her hand rising to your face, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding, but her eyes were lit with something far darker, deeper, a glint of control that made your pulse stutter.

“If we do this,” she murmured, her voice low and edged with warning, “we do it my way. You say you want the real me? Then that’s what you’ll get. Do you understand?”

You swallowed, nodded, lips parting as the weight of her words settled into your bones. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, the title wrapping around you like silk and steel all at once.

A flicker of a smirk ghosted across her lips then, subtle but deadly, the kind of look that promised things you’d only dared to imagine. 

“Good girl,” she said, and the praise sent a shiver through your entire body.

She leaned in just slightly closer, her voice dipping into that tone that curled heat low in your belly. “Go upstairs,” she instructed. “Take off your clothes. Wait on your knees.” She paused, her smile sharpening as her eyes drank in the way your breath caught. “And then we’ll see, won’t we, just how much you want your Daddy.”

—

You nodded with a single, frantic jerk of your head, too overwhelmed to speak, and then your body was moving on instinct, quick, almost clumsy in your desperation to obey. All you could focus on was the wild drum of your heartbeat and the racing thoughts that flooded your head like a storm surge. 

Upstairs, you fired off a quick text to Kate, fingers barely steady, then moved as if pulled by some invisible thread. Each piece of clothing came off with shaking hands, your breath catching as cool air kissed your skin. You folded everything neatly, placing the stack on the chair in the corner like a silent offering; a small, desperate proof that even if you’d slipped today, even if you'd been bad, you still wanted, needed to be good for them.

And then you dropped to your knees. The position was second nature by now, knees pressed into the carpet, thighs spread just enough, spine long and straight, shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Hands rested lightly on your thighs, palms down, fingers splayed slightly. Your head bowed low in submission. 

You didn’t dare fidget, didn’t shift or speak. You simply waited, every nerve on fire, every breath shallow, until finally the door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t lift your head.

“She’s very well trained, my love,” Natasha said eventually, her tone cool and measured, discussing you rather than addressing you. “But she still made the choice to disobey.”

Silence followed, thick and weighted until Wanda finally spoke. Her voice was softer, edged with sorrow rather than anger, but the pain in it was unmistakable. “She scared me.”

The words sliced through the room like a knife, lodging somewhere deep in your chest. Yet you didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare interrupt.

“I know,” Natasha murmured, taking a slow step forward. The sound of her boots was almost echoing in the quiet. “She scared me, too.”

Then her hand was in your hair, threading through it from crown to nape in a way that was far from comforting. She gripped you just tightly enough to tilt your head upward, to force your eyes to meet hers. “Look at me.”

You did. You had no choice. Her eyes were fire and stone, and though the fury had dimmed, the disappointment was still there, etched into every line of her face. You felt like you might fall apart just from looking at her.

“We gave you rules,” she said, slowly, carefully, as if daring you to pretend otherwise. “And you broke them.”

Your voice caught in your throat, and all you could do was nod, shame coursing through you like poison.

“And now,” she said, as her presence shifted into something sharper, more commanding, “you’re going to show us exactly how sorry you are.”

Then came the sound, it was unmistakable, the low slide of leather slipping free from its loops. Natasha’s belt.

Your heart stuttered, catching mid-beat. The room was still, that single sound landing like thunder between the three of you. Her footsteps moved again, coming to a stop in front of you. 

“I’m not like Wanda,” Natasha said evenly, her gaze steady. “I don’t often give out spankings or lashings... but after today, I think you need that, don’t you?”

You nodded, throat too tight to speak.

“I’ll be using my belt,” she went on, tone clipped, precise. “You will count each strike. And you will thank me for it.”

Your mouth felt dry as dust; your hands trembled faintly where they rested, but when your voice came, it was steady, quiet, and certain.“Yes, Daddy.”

Natasha stood before you, quiet for a moment, the belt coiled in her hand like a promise. Her eyes searched your face. You could feel her gaze digging through the layers of your submission, past the trembling anticipation and the guilt still curling tight in your chest, looking for anything that might signal hesitation or fear you hadn’t voiced.

Then she knelt, and that alone made your breath hitch. You never expected her to kneel, not when she was in control. But tonight, she needed you to see her. Not as the distant, unreadable force you'd grown so used to. Not as someone just watching from the sidelines. She needed you to understand that she was here, fully and completely.

One hand lifted to cup your jaw, thumb brushing just under your eye where the dried tracks of earlier tears lingered. You leaned into it instinctively.

“Colour,” she asked quietly, voice low and deliberate. Her gaze was sharp but not unkind. “Right now. Speak it.”

You swallowed hard, your voice small but certain. “Green.”

“Good girl,” she said softly, but the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine. “You tell me if that changes. Understood?”

You nodded, then corrected yourself immediately. “Yes, Daddy.”

She rose in one smooth movement, the belt now unfurling in her hand as she stepped back around behind you. “You’ll take ten,” Natasha said, voice firmer again now. “Five for the disobedience. Five for the attitude.”

Your fingers curled slightly against your thighs, nails biting into your skin just enough to focus you.“Yes, Daddy.”

“Up,” Natasha said, and your body obeyed before your mind caught up. As you rose, Natasha glanced over at Wanda, giving the smallest nod. It was permission, an invitation to let her join in.

Wanda stepped forward, her touch gentle as she guided you to the edge of the bed. “Hands on the mattress, knees apart, back straight,” she whispered, her tone soothing yet firm.

You positioned yourself carefully, muscles taut beneath your bare skin, vulnerable and exposed as you bent forward at the hips. Your bottom lifted just enough for Natasha to take aim. The air between you thickened, every breath heavy with a charged expectation that made your pulse race.

Natasha gave a few slow, deliberate practice swings through the air, the belt hissing softly as it cut through the quiet.

Then she stepped closer, her hand gliding over your bare skin with a touch so gentle it nearly undid you, a final stroke of calm before the storm. “You ready?” she murmured, her voice low and controlled.

You nodded, already breathless. “Yes, Daddy.”

She hummed, almost in approval, and then the belt struck.

A sharp, clean crack shattered the stillness, the leather snapping against the curve of your right cheek with devastating accuracy. The pain bloomed instantly: white-hot, searing, a jolt that stole the air from your lungs and replaced it with fire. It rippled through you, lighting your nerves with something that felt just a hair’s breadth from too much.

You gasped, muscles tightening reflexively, heart pounding wildly. “One,” you whispered, breath trembling, cheeks flushed with a warmth deeper than the sting alone. “Thank you, Daddy.”

The belt snapped down again, landing clean against your left cheek with a cruel crack that made your whole body jump. This time, a soft whimper caught in your throat, the sensation sharper, deeper. But an involuntary shiver rippled through your body as pain began to mingle with an unexpected, tantalising pleasure.

“Two. Thank you, Daddy,” you breathed, voice breathy, almost lost beneath the rush of sensations flooding through you.

Three. Four. The belt traced searing lines of fire across your skin, each lash both agony and ecstasy, sending sparks through your muscles and igniting a blaze deep inside you. The heat spread, radiating outward, consuming and thrilling, your senses alive with every crack.

By the fifth strike, tears welled unbidden in your eyes. The pain was intensifying with every lash over the already tender skin; the pleasure was threatened, pushed to the edge. You were just about to call yellow when Natasha paused, pulling back slightly.

“You’re halfway there, Kotenok (kitten),” she said, her voice thick with pride and heat. “You’re doing so well.”

The brief reprieve and her gentle praise dulled the sting, and suddenly the ache softened. You felt steady again, caught between resistance and surrender, pain and delight, a heady cocktail that left you dizzy, breathless, desperate for more.

After a moment, the final lashes came faster, harder, each one a burning punctuation searing deeper into your flesh and soul. Your breath hitched in ragged gasps, low moans slipping free on the ninth and tenth strikes, before you finally whispered, “Ten, thank you, Daddy,” voice cracking as a shudder rippled through your body. Tears streamed freely now, pain fierce and unrelenting, skin flushed hot and humming with fire.

Behind you, Wanda’s hands were gentle and steady, soothing your trembling back with tender caresses that gradually melted the blaze to warmth. “Good girl, you did so well, baby,” she murmured, voice thick with affection.

You remained bent forward, breath shallow and ragged, every nerve alive and buzzing with a fierce, aching bliss. The pain had broken you open, cracked you wide, and beneath it all burned an exhilarating, desperate hunger.

Natasha lifted you carefully, mindful not to touch your sensitive skin, and eased you face down onto the bed, a soft pillow cushioning your head. Her fingers stroked the side of your face, warm and steady, before she pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look exquisite, Kotenok (kitten). Your ass is such a beautiful shade of purple and red,” she praised softly.

“That was the first time you’ve taken a belt, wasn’t it, sweetheart?” Wanda’s voice was filled with pride, gentle and amazed.

You hummed softly in response.

Natasha’s chuckle was low and indulgent, her eyes glinting with something between adoration and pride. “You knew you wouldn’t get off with just a normal spanking from me,” she murmured, tracing the outline of the belt’s work. “But you took it beautifully, Printessa (princess). You were perfect.”

You let out a breathy, dreamy little giggle, face half-buried in the pillow. Your body felt loose, heavy, but warm all over, floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. “Didn’t break,” you whispered, the words lilting with smugness even as your voice slurred just a little. “Told you, Daddy.”

Natasha smiled, slow and fond, brushing her knuckles along your cheek. “No, you didn’t. Tough little thing, aren’t you?” Before her hand drifted back down to gently stroke the heated swell of your ass. The touch still made you flinch, the burn raw and aching, but it was grounding, anchoring, laced with something that made your stomach flutter again.

Wanda returned with some lotion, her steps soft and measured. “Nat, you take the edge off, I’ve got this,” she said, nodding toward the bed. Natasha climbed up beside you, cradling your head in her lap, one hand carding through your hair while the other cupped your jaw.

“Lotion’s coming, baby,” Wanda murmured as she settled behind you, warming it in her hands. “Ready?”

“Mhm, yeah…” You breathed. Your hips twitched when the first touch landed, cool and tender, Wanda’s fingers expertly massaging the sting away. Your thighs parted instinctively, knees shifting wider for no reason at all, just a gesture of pure submission. Wanda said nothing, just smiled behind you, pleased by the automatic surrender.

Meanwhile, Natasha was stroking her fingers through your hair, whispering soft reassurances about how good you were. It made you smile, you felt held, so safe. “You can be soft,” you murmured, nuzzling into Natasha’s thigh with a sleepy grin. “You try to be scary, but you’re soft, Daddy. So soft.”

Natasha chuckled darkly. “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone still trembling and glowing red, Printessa (princess),” she murmured, her voice silky but edged with warning, clearly not thrilled that you were seeing her as soft after she’d just whipped your ass with a belt. “Maybe you need more, huh?”

You let out a soft, drowsy little laugh. “Nooo,” you groaned dramatically, drawing out the syllable with petulant flair. “I’ll be good now. Promise. My butt’s on fire…”

“Oh, you definitely earned that fire, Little One,” Wanda said, though you could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve never seen you act out like that,” she added, continuing to smooth the lotion over your skin with slow, practiced care. Each gentle stroke sent a fresh, cooling wave over your burning flesh, only to leave behind a new warmth, softer, deeper, impossible to ignore, and your body gave a faint, involuntary shiver.

You turned your head slightly, cheek pressing against Natasha’s thigh, blinking at her through heavy lashes. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice syrupy and slow, thick with the weight of submission. “Didn’t mean to…” You trailed off with a pout, though your tone made it clear the apology wasn’t entirely sincere.

Natasha snorted quietly, amused, and her fingers slid through your hair, combing gently. “Don’t give us that act,” she said with that wicked little twist to her voice. “You absolutely meant to. You were poking the bear on purpose.”

You giggled again, dreamy and far too pleased with yourself, nuzzling into her hand like a kitten drunk on affection. “Okay… yeah, I did,” you admitted, cheek pressed to the sheets. “But I got what I wanted, sooo… clearly I should be a brat more often.”

Wanda let out a soft gasp of mock outrage and landed a light, open-palmed swat to your thigh, her skin still slick with lotion. The sensation made you jump, but not from pain. Your breath caught on a whine, your hips giving the smallest, shameless wiggle.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Wanda teased, palm pausing to stroke along the back of your thigh in lazy arcs. “You be our good girl, or you’ll be wearing welts like these every day of the week.”

“Mmm…” You squirmed again, an indulgent little sound escaping you, high and heady. “Maybe I liked it,” you whispered with a hazy smile, too dazed and floaty to even try masking the way your voice trembled at her touch. “Felt…good.”

Natasha leaned down slowly, her body brushing yours just enough to feel the weight of her attention, and you stilled completely, lips parting as her breath ghosted against your ear. “You’re lucky you’re adorable when you’re like this,” she murmured, voice a velvet growl. “Otherwise, I’d start again.”

The words slid down your spine like warm honey, thick and sinful, and before you could stop it, your toes curled tight and a soft, breathless moan escaped your lips, small and accidental, but full of exposed, aching need.

Wanda chuckled behind you, one hand still resting low across your backside, her thumb now stroking gently just under the curve. “Thought you said you didn’t want more, Little One,” she teased lightly, though her voice was already laced with something warmer, deeper.

“I don’t…” You mumbled, your face flushed, trying not to squirm beneath both their eyes. “No more hits anyway…”

Natasha tilted her head, her fingers slipping down to trace over your jaw with a feather-light touch. “Is there something you do want?”

You nodded, once, shy and breathless.

“Words,” Natasha said, her tone still wrapped in that low, velvety timbre, but sharpened with command. “Tell us what’s happening in that pretty little head of yours.”

You swallowed hard, struggling to gather your scattered thoughts as Natasha’s voice curled around you, turning everything inside into a slow, smouldering fire, and Wanda’s fingers traced their deliberate, torturous path across your skin, the soft pads gliding slowly over the raised, welted ridges. 

“Mommy’s hands…” You breathed, barely able to get the words out, your voice catching and cracking as your thighs trembled, your hips shifting restlessly beneath the weight of their attention, “they’re making me… everything’s so sensitive, feels good, Daddy… I wanna be touched…wanna cum…”

The last word left you on a broken whimper, fragile and pleading, not even a full breath of sound, but it was enough. 

“Who do you want, Little One?” Natasha asked, her voice was still on the gentle side, and you could feel her thumb brushing deliberately against your temple, grounding you, holding you, even as the rest of her loomed like a storm waiting to strike. “Me? Wanda? Or both of us?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice, the way she already knew the answer.

Your lashes fluttered, and your face burned, and you couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at your lips even through the haze, cheeky and unrepentant. “Both,” you mumbled, your voice thick with need, your whole body thrumming with it. “Wanna feel both of you…”

Behind you, Wanda chuckled, the sound low and indulgent as she let her nail trail with sudden, shocking pressure along one of the rawer welts across your ass. “Greedy little thing,” she purred. “Didn’t we just finish punishing you?”

“Mhmm,” Natasha murmured, her voice dark with amusement, and her grin only widened as she let your head slip from her lap and lowered it gently onto the pillow. “And now she’s begging for her reward like the little brat she clearly is.” She rose smoothly, her body uncoiling behind you with slow, predatory grace.

Wanda climbed fully onto the bed, her body close, her thigh pressing warmly against yours as she knelt beside you, a steady presence at your side. 

Natasha moved behind you, lowering herself until she could pry your legs open further. Her breath hitched as her gaze fell between them, and any lingering restraint she had vanished in an instant. 

You were drenched, unmistakably aroused despite the punishment, and the sight of it lit something deep and primal in her. “Look at you,” she said, her voice cold and amused, “So wet from being hurt.”

Her fingers finally made contact, just the barest drag of her fingers between your slick folds, slow and cruelly restrained. Your breath hitched hard, your body pushing backwards into her before her hand slammed down against your thigh with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed through the room and left your skin burning.

“Beg,” she ordered, and you whimpered, already on the edge of falling apart.

“Please…” you whispered, barely more than a breath.

Another slap came down, sharper this time. “Louder,” she demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.

“Please, Daddy,” you gasped, your voice hoarse and broken, tears stinging your eyes already. I want your fingers, need you so bad, please—”

“Better,” Natasha growled, and then she gave you exactly what you’d asked for, two fingers plunging into you with no warning, a raw yelp tearing from your throat as she pushed into you. Wanda’s nails raked down your spine again in long, devastating lines that made your whole body twist and writhe, pleasure and pain tangling so tightly you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Brats don’t get soft,” Natasha snarled, her breath hot against your skin. There was no gentleness, just her fingers working you over, every thrust designed to split you open. “Brats get used.”

“And you love it, don’t you?” Wanda whispered against your ear, her lips brushing the shell of it as she slipped a hand beneath you, and to your chest, cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with her thumb.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Natasha’s fingers were hitting deep inside of you and the mattress below you was just slightly stimulating your clit with each thrust, every nerve in your body was screaming, burning, begging for release already.

Clearly, Natasha could tell, too. “Hold still,” she barked, voice sharp and unforgiving. “Don’t move a fucking inch until I say. And don’t even think about cumming.”

Wanda’s hand was soft against your chest, a twisted counterpoint to the violence behind you, her touch gentle and slow, grounding you as your whole body trembled violently beneath them both.

You tried to obey her, to stay still, to keep your hips steady even as your body screamed with the effort, but you were falling apart, unravelling beneath their hands, beneath her voice, beneath the hot, wet drag of your own tears against your cheek where your face pressed into the sheets. 

The moans slipped out, soft and broken, catching in your throat like sobs, and your fingers clawed uselessly at the bedding, trying to anchor yourself to something while Natasha kept fucking you with those unrelenting, merciless strokes that hit so perfectly deep you could hardly remember what breathing felt like.

“Daddy,” you gasped, voice hoarse and shaking, “Please, Daddy. Fuck! Please—” You weren't exactly sure what you wanted, you think it was for her to never stop, to live inside you, but you couldn't be sure, considering your body was begging for release at the same time. 

Her grip on your hip only tightened, holding you exactly where she wanted you, making sure you couldn’t squirm away, couldn’t fuck yourself down harder to chase what she was refusing to give, and her other hand kept moving, curling inside you just right.

Wanda’s hand moved to your jaw, cradling it gently, her thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped free, her voice achingly soft by contrast, a warm thread through the storm. “You’re doing so well,” she whispered, her lips brushing your temple, “Let her hear it. Show her how much you need her.”

Your mouth opened again, but the words caught on a sob this time, raw and full of surrender, your chest heaving beneath the weight of everything you felt, need, shame, longing, adoration, so thick and tangled inside you it made your throat ache to speak.

Wanda watched carefully, ensuring you were both safe in this intense moment. Her fingers tightened around your jaw, holding your head still as she kissed your temple, again and again, whispering encouragement against your skin in a voice like balm, gentle, grounding, loving, everything Natasha was not in that moment, and it made the contrast all the more unbearable.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her lips brushing your ear as Natasha’s rhythm grew more punishing. She knew you physically couldn't last much longer, after all, she had more experience with your body than Natasha did. So she gave you the permission you needed. “Come on, baby. Let go.”

And you did. You released around Natasha’s fingers with a raw, keening cry that spilled from your throat, your body convulsing with the force of it, the orgasm tearing through you like a wave too big to fight. 

Your whole body trembled under the weight of it, hips jerking, legs shaking, tears spilling freely now as Natasha held you steady and fucked you through it, relentless until your sobs turned into whimpers, until your cries dissolved into breathless, broken moans.

Even then, she didn’t stop.

You cried out, high and sharp, your thighs trying to close instinctively, but she forced them open with her legs, her breath hissing between her teeth as she leaned into you like a predator cornering its prey.

“Oh no,” she murmured, almost laughing, her voice husky and low, thick with dark delight. “You don’t get to run from it now. You begged for this, remember?”

And then Natasha leaned forward, her body pressing flush against your back, and the pace of her fingers changed again, faster, harder, brutal in their precision as they fucked into you with relentless, single-minded force, every thrust driving the air from your lungs and making your eyes roll back. “So now you’re gonna take it, shlyukha (slut). You’re gonna take everything I give you until I say you’ve had enough.”

You sobbed, unable to help it, your voice catching in your throat as your whole body jerked with the sensitivity. It burned, every nerve raw and open, as her fingers were working that throbbing spot deep inside you, dragging more pleasure out of you than your body could handle, pushing you toward a second high before the first had even finished crashing over you.

“I c…can’t,” you gasped, words broken by ragged breath, your hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets as the pressure built again with terrifying speed. “It’s too much, Daddy! Please…please I can’t—”

“You can,” she snarled, cutting you off with a vicious curl of her fingers that made you scream into the mattress, your legs kicking uselessly as she pinned you down. “You will. If I want more, you will take more. Don’t care if you’re crying. Don’t care if you’re shaking. You either safe word, or you take it like the whore you begged to be.”

Her voice was steel, but Wanda’s hands remained soft where they cupped your face, her fingers stroking your cheeks, catching your tears as they kept falling, her thumbs brushing them away with unbearable gentleness. She kissed your brow, your temple, the tip of your nose, her voice a slow, steady rhythm of quiet reassurance in your ear.

“You’re okay,” Wanda murmured, again and again, her lips barely moving against your skin. “You’re safe. You can do this, darling.”

You were trembling violently now, sobbing openly, but you didn’t ask her to stop. You didn’t want her to stop. Not really. Somewhere deep beneath the overwhelm, beneath the overstimulation and the ache spreading through your thighs and belly and chest, was the desperate part of you that needed to be taken apart, to be used and ruined until there was nothing left.

Natasha added another finger, her fingers soaking wet as they filled you again and again, her palm slapping wetly against you with every thrust. 

“Pathetic,” she growled, mouth against your ear, teeth scraping your skin. “Fucking sobbing. Crying like you hate it, but you’re clenching around me like you’d die if I stopped.”

And she was right, you were so close again it hurt, so full of her, so overstimulated and desperate that every thrust felt like fire, like drowning, like you couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began anymore. 

You screamed her title, a ragged, half-broken wail into the mattress, but Wanda’s voice answered yours like a balm. “That’s it, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Let it break you. Let her take you all the way down.”

Natasha’s fingers continued moving, curling and thrusting deep inside you, each movement sharper, harder, more demanding than the last, her grip on your hip like iron as she drove you closer to that edge where everything blurred and shattered at once. 

Your breath hitched, short and desperate, your body trembling so violently that your fists clenched the sheets until your nails bit into the fabric, white-knuckled and raw. “Please… please, Daddy…” you gasped, voice fading at the edges, “Please!”

Wanda kissed the crown of your head, her hands drifting over your back, tracing slow, tantalising paths along the scratches she’d left behind earlier.

“Hmm,” Natasha murmured, voice thick with amused cruelty. “You think you deserve a second, brat? After what you did today?”

You tried to steady yourself, to keep control, but your hips jerked involuntarily against her hand. Your voice was strained, trembling with a shameful desperation. “Please…”

Natasha’s voice was low, husky, with that unmistakable edge of command laced in every syllable. “Not good enough,” she said, her tone rough, dark with expectation. “Beg like you mean it. Like you’re begging for your life.”

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning with humiliation and want, eyes closing as the heat swirling through you turned into a frantic ache. Your voice broke, ragged and raw, spilling out all the trembling need you’d been holding inside. “Please, Daddy… Please let me come. I’ll be your good girl. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, I need you. Please…”

Natasha just chuckled, clearly not quite ready to relent just yet. Your body continued to tremble violently, every muscle pulled so tight it felt like you might shatter from the strain, every inch of you writhing under the pressure that had been building, aching, begging for release for what felt like hours. 

Your voice broke free again, hoarse and raw, a sob ripped straight from your chest, laced with helpless surrender. “I’m gonna…I can’t, Daddy, I can’t hold it, I’m sorry, I can’t, please—”

It had stopped being a plea altogether. It was more like a confession, you were going to cum whether you were given permission or not; you just desperately hoped that permission would arrive before you lost control.

The air went still, like the world itself was holding its breath. Then she leaned in again, breath hot and steady against your ear, her voice low and terrifyingly gentle. “Okay. Cum for me, good girl.”

The words struck like lightning. It was immediate, devastating; the second her permission registered in your mind, your body detonated. You shattered with a scream that tore straight through your throat, every muscle seizing in violent spasms as the orgasm ripped through you, too intense, too much, more than you’d ever felt or imagined. You couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Your vision went white, then grey, then black around the edges as the release overwhelmed you completely.

Your eyes rolled back, your mouth open in a silent cry, and for a terrifying, beautiful moment, you felt yourself slipping under, deep and dark, the world narrowing to a pinprick of light before it vanished altogether.

Your limbs were limp and twitching in the aftermath, your face buried in the sheets as tremors rocked you. You were barely conscious, breath stuttering in shallow, uneven gasps. Your skin was flushed and fever-hot, soaked in sweat and tears, but your mind had gone blissfully quiet.

Natasha didn’t speak for a long moment; she just stayed with you, her fingers gentle now, drawing back from your trembling body with care, her presence still heavy and grounding. When her voice came, it was thick with pride, yet soft enough to make your chest ache.

“That’s it, krasivaya devushka (pretty girl),” she murmured, brushing damp hair from your face with slow, reverent fingers. “You did so fucking well.”

You couldn’t respond. You barely had the strength to breathe, let alone form words. Your body twitched again, the aftershocks still pulsing in deep, involuntary waves, and even those were almost too much. You whimpered softly, tears streaking anew from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from relief. From the sheer vulnerability of what had just passed between you.

Wanda’s hand found yours, her touch warm and steady, and you clung to it without even realising, your fingers weakly curling into hers as she whispered something soft in a language you didn’t understand, her lips brushing the crown of your head. 

The room around you was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The tension had faded. The storm had passed. Natasha moved first, slow and deliberate, every gesture measured as if the wrong angle might break you. She eased her hands beneath your slack body and gently coaxed you upright, murmuring soft nothings as she guided you with infinite patience into her lap. 

She avoided the welts with careful skill, her fingers splaying wide to support your back as she shifted you until you were curled against her, your thighs folded over hers, your cheek resting against the firm plane of her chest. 

Wanda was already there beside you, moving in tandem with Natasha, like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Her hand brushed gently along your jaw, the backs of her fingers featherlight against your cheekbone, and her voice was barely more than a breath. “Little One… you’re so quiet,” she whispered. “Can you look at me, hm? Just a little?”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes stayed half-lidded, unfocused, your mouth parted slightly as if words might try to come, but nothing did. You were weightless, full of warmth and pressure, and not a single coherent thought. You didn’t even know whose hands were where anymore, only that you were held, and the world outside their bodies didn’t matter.

Natasha shifted behind you, her arms curling around your middle, and she leaned in close, her voice low, coaxing. “You with me?” she murmured against your temple, her breath warm and even. “Need you to give me something, yeah? Nod. Blink. Anything.”

Silence. You blinked once, but it was slow, lazy, so drawn-out it almost didn’t count. Your body was limp in her arms, small twitches still ghosting down your thighs, but there was no tension, no fear. Just exhaustion. Deep, beautiful, bone-heavy exhaustion, the kind that only came when you’d given everything and there was nothing left but this.

Wanda’s hand paused, just briefly, her eyes flicking up to meet Natasha’s. Her tone stayed soft, but there was the barest note of surprise in it, and something warmer beneath that, something almost admiring. “I’ve never seen her this far gone before,” she said gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face with careful fingers. “Not like this.”

That made Natasha pause. You felt it in her breath, the faint hitch against your neck, the subtle stiffening of her muscles where they cradled your back. Her grip didn’t tighten, but her stillness said enough, that flicker of something sharp and anxious just beneath her skin.

“She’s too quiet,” Natasha murmured, and for the first time her voice held a sliver of unease, something she couldn’t quite mask. “She usually… I mean, even when she’s out of it with you, she—”

Wanda cut her off with a look, her voice calm and even, as grounding as the touch she kept smoothing along your jaw. “You know she’s okay,” she said, not a question, but a gentle reminder. “Look at her. She’s breathing slow, she’s not flinching, her body’s soft. She’s not gone. Just… deep.”

Still, Natasha looked down at you, searching for something, anything behind your eyes. “She didn’t even flinch when I moved her. Not even a wince.”

“She trusts you,” Wanda said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not a problem. That’s a gift.”

Natasha let out a slow, quiet breath, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you more tightly now, tucking your face into the crook of her neck as if the closeness might coax you back into the light a little faster. “She gave me everything,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I didn’t mean to take too much.”

“You didn’t,” Wanda said gently, but with absolute certainty, her voice calm and grounding. “She’s fine, Nat. I promise. You’ve seen me drop just as deep, you know this space, don’t start second-guessing yourself now. I was watching the whole time, making sure you both stayed tethered. No one went too far. It’s alright. Just breathe and be with her, yeah?”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders softening just a fraction, but not all the way. Her arms tightened around you instinctively, protective and quiet, holding you as if her steadiness alone could pull you back to shore. And then your fingers curled in the fabric of her shirt. A barely-there twitch, not even deliberate, but enough. Natasha’s breath caught, and something melted in her expression as she leaned down, pressing a kiss into your hair like a prayer.

“That’s our girl,” she murmured, voice low and rough, barely more than a breath, but full of fierce, aching relief.

You didn’t answer. But your cheek nudged against her collarbone, just a little, a lazy, dazed nuzzle, and Natasha exhaled fully, like she could finally breathe again. 

Wanda leaned forward, tucking herself in against your other side, her hand now holding one of yours, thumb brushing rhythmically along your knuckles. “Let’s let her drift a bit longer,” she whispered. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

And so they stayed like that, holding you between them. You didn’t know how much time had passed. It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been an hour, the soft thrum of Wanda’s thumb on your knuckles and the slow rise and fall of Natasha’s chest beneath your cheek made everything blur, timeless and quiet, like the world had narrowed to the exact point where their bodies cradled yours. 

Then, at last, something shifted. It started in your chest, a quiet ache of emotion that bloomed outward like warmth returning to numb skin. You blinked slowly, the world still soft and blurry at the edges. You made a small noise, mostly a whimper, and Natasha’s arms instinctively tightened around you, the motion firm but soothing.

“Hey,” she whispered, and the relief in her voice wasn’t masked. It wasn’t even tried. “There she is. That’s it, Detka (babe)”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry. You swallowed hard and tried again, your voice barely more than a rasp, a breath caught on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry…”

Natasha shushed you immediately, her hand smoothing down the back of your head, her other arm tightening at your waist, still careful not to touch the angry red welts across your backside. “You don’t need to talk yet,” she murmured. “You just rest. You’re safe, I promise.”

Wanda leaned in, brushing a kiss just above your brow, her hand never letting go of yours. Her voice was warm and low, like the first glow of a fire in a quiet room. “You came back really slowly, darling. Gave us both a scare, hm?” There was no edge to it, no reprimand. Only concern, soft and absolute. “I’ve never seen you drift that far before.”

A tiny breath escaped your lips, almost a laugh, though too fragile to shape itself. “Didn’t mean to,” you murmured, your voice brittle and fading.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit out of it,” Natasha said quietly, her lips brushing the crown of your head. “Daddy and Mommy have you, baby. You’re so good for us.”

You whimpered, barely a sound, your breath catching in your throat as the weight of it all pressed down. You’d been bad before, you remembered just how far you’d pushed. The guilt still pulsed inside you, raw and unsteady. You wanted to apologise, to fall to your knees and beg for forgiveness, but somehow… they were already offering it.

Being told you were still good, hit you like a balm, cool and sweet and stinging all at once. Your lip trembled, your voice breaking the silence in a small, uncertain whisper. “Still… Little One?” 

Even to your own ears, the question sounded fragile, wavering with that desperate need for reassurance that only they could offer. It wasn’t the first time you had asked that question, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Natasha’s breath caught faintly, and then she kissed your temple with aching gentleness. “Our Little One. Forever.”

Wanda’s voice joined hers, soothing and rich as she stroked her fingers through your hair. “You’re stuck with us now, malyshka. No escaping.”

You nodded faintly, eyes sliding shut again. The fog still clung to you; you hadn’t fully come back yet, but it didn’t feel frightening now. You were floating just beneath the surface, not lost, just… surrendered. And their voices tethered you. Their hands held you. You didn’t have to move. Didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to earn this.

A small silence followed, warm and deep, filled only by the sound of your breathing and the weight of being kept. Then Wanda stirred with a soft kiss to your shoulder. “I’m just going to get something for her,” she murmured gently. “Some water, maybe a snack.”

Natasha gave a small nod, her cheek still pressed to your hair, as if she couldn’t bear to lift her head. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice raw with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Wanda rose slowly, her fingers brushing over yours one last time before she left, a silent promise not to be long. Then the room was quiet again, just you and Natasha in the hush, her touch steady, grounding as she pulled a blanket over you.

When Wanda returned, it was quiet and swift, a bottle of water in one hand, a small biscuit wrapped in a napkin in the other. She knelt beside the bed, watching your face like she was reading something in the way your lashes fluttered.

Natasha adjusted you gently, raising you just enough to coax. “Alright, Detka (babe),” she whispered into your temple. “Time to try. Just a little something, and then you can rest again.”

You blinked slowly, the world still foggy and distant. But you let her guide you, let her bring the straw to your lips. Your lips parted slowly around the straw, the cool water slipping in like a balm against your dry throat. 

You sipped tentatively, eyes fluttering as the water trickled down. Natasha’s fingers never left you, her thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a softness that made your heart ache and your eyelids flutter heavier.

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, her voice thick with pride and relief. “Such a good girl, taking care of yourself. I’m so proud of you.” Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, steady and unshakable, grounding you further into this moment. “You’re doing so well. You don’t have to rush.”

From beside you, Wanda’s hand slipped to your face, fingers tracing gentle circles over your cheek, cradling your jaw like you were the most precious thing she’d ever held. “Look at you, malyshka (Little One),” she breathed softly, voice low and filled with awe. “Such a perfect girl.”

You blinked again, the fuzziness lingering but softening, your chest rising and falling a little more evenly with each soothing stroke of Wanda’s hand. The biscuit was pressed lightly into your palm, warm from her touch, and with gentle encouragement, your fingers curled weakly around it.

“Try a little bite,” Wanda coaxed, her smile tender and patient. “Just a small one.”

Your jaw worked slowly, the crumbly biscuit breaking apart in your mouth, sweetness blooming faintly against your tongue. Natasha’s voice was a steady hum in your ear, praise threading through every word. “That’s it, just like that.”

You swallowed, the taste grounding you more than you expected. Your eyes drifted closed again briefly, your body sinking deeper into Natasha’s embrace, Wanda’s hand never leaving your face, their presence a constant soft anchor in the swirling haze.

Wanda offered the water again, and you took it without hesitation, the coolness soothing the ache in your throat and the exhaustion in your limbs.

“You’re doing so well,” Natasha whispered, voice soft and full of wonder. 

It took a little while to come back down, the world around you slow to settle. But once your limbs stopped trembling and your head stopped spinning, you turned into Natasha’s arms and curled there without hesitation, your voice quiet but full of truth as you murmured, “Thank you.”

She smiled, her fingers trailing lazy patterns across your back. “For what? The belt, or the orgasms that nearly killed you?”

You gave a tired, breathy laugh, hiding your face in her neck. “For listening. For wanting me.” You paused, then added with a grin. “And… maybe a little bit for the orgasms.”

Wanda chuckled behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. Natasha huffed a laugh of her own, sounding more relaxed than she had all night. “Not too much?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her tone, though the question beneath was genuine.

You shook your head, smiling. “It was a lot,” you admitted softly, “but not too much. Just… I think I might need soft, sometimes, though?”

Natasha tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… soft. I’ll need a manual for that one.”

You grinned. “You’ve got Wanda. She’s an expert.”

Wanda kissed your cheek and hummed, “Lucky for her, I take apprentices.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, warm and open in a way that made your chest flutter. “Well then,” she murmured, “I guess I’m all in.”

And that, more than anything, made you melt, safe and certain in the arms you’d craved for so long.

Eventually, Natasha and Wanda gently helped you up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom where they cleaned you with tender patience, every touch considerate of the welts on your skin. 

Once you were freshened, they dressed you in a soft, oversized T-shirt that hung loosely, deliberately leaving you without underwear or trousers to avoid anything rubbing or irritating your tender backside. They took extra time to apply more soothing lotion, their fingers slow and careful, lingering on every sensitive spot with quiet affection.

Afterwards, one by one, they each prepared for bed, never once leaving you alone, both silently ensuring you felt safe and held. Before long, the three of you were curled together, you nestled snugly in the middle, wrapped in a warm, protective cocoon of love and care. Your eyes drifted closed, sinking into a peaceful sleep, tired, a little sore, but deeply content and completely fulfilled.

—

Next part

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