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mypoisonedvine · 5 months

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𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 | angus tully x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | visiting home for the holidays, Angus runs into his old babysitter... or perhaps more importantly, his first real crush. the older, unattainable girl next door; the one that made him realize maybe cooties aren't all that bad. now he's older, too, and maybe you aren't quite as unattainable-- so long as he can play it cool and not make a complete idiot out of himself...

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (18+ only!!), age gap (not huge but angus is 18 and the reader is just out of college), semi-public/car sex, drug use (watch out for the devil's lettuce y'all!!) as well as brief cigarette use, inexperienced/virgin angus, no spoilers for the holdovers (2023) nor any significant relationship to the plot of it lol

technically this is a christmas fic so if you noticed that I'm posting it in january, no you didn't and mind your business <3

The sky was pitch black, and the world was dark— even with all those Christmas lights, their colorful glow seemed to be absorbed so quickly in the gloom of the evening.

The white snow served as a nice contrast, but it did look sort of grey in all the shadows, even as it was freshly falling to cover the ground. The snowflakes fell fast, they looked almost heavy: not that cute, fluffy snow that looks all whimsical and floats on the wind.

It was the sort of weather that should’ve made him appreciate being safe and warm inside, but as he pressed his nose to the cold glass, he wished rather ungratefully for escape.

The doorbell stirred him out of the moment, and Angus looked back over his shoulder towards the foyer. “Honey! Can you get that?” his mother called out to him from the kitchen. She made herself seem so busy when he knew she hadn’t really cooked at all— she was just arranging everything she’d bought on fancy plates to look homemade. The crinkle of tinfoil gave away that she was too busy disposing of the evidence to greet her guests herself. She was lucky all the ones who had already arrived were too busy drinking in the living room to notice.

Rolling his eyes a bit, he propelled himself off of his lean on the wall, stuffing one hand in his khaki pocket and the other opening the front door.

Your parents were always really… energetic. They greeted Angus with massive smiles and ecstatic faces, as if they could hardly believe he was letting them in to his own house. To be fair, he wasn’t here most of the year, but it wasn’t like he was a celebrity or anything…

“Angus!” your mom squealed joyfully.

“Hey, buddy!” your dad greeted, forcing Angus to fight back a cringe.

“Nice to see you,” he offered them, “come on in, the food’s almost ready.”

Your mom was preoccupied with the casserole dish she was holding, but your dad’s hands were free so he of course had to give Angus a playful punch to the shoulder as he stepped inside. “Wo-hoah! You been workin’ out?” your dad joked— as if Angus’ noodly arm in a red cashmere sweater was ever going to fool anyone into thinking he lifted weights…

As he turned to shut the door, he realized you were standing there, taking one last puff of a cigarette before dropping it on the ground and snuffing it out with your shoe.

He hadn’t known you were coming over— if he had, he would’ve… done something. Fixed his hair or not worn something so dorky, maybe?

“H-hey,” he greeted you, feeling pierced by even just your passing glance up at him.

“Hey, kid,” you nodded, making him frown as you walked in past him.

Your parents and his mom were already chatting up a storm, that sort of high-pitched suburban babble he’d learned to tune out easily. In fact, it really just muffled into a distant whirr as he watched you slip off your coat, revealing your outfit beneath. He always remembered you wearing jeans when you came over to babysit— and dresses at church. So the skirt and blazer sort of caught him off-guard. It made you seem even older— in a good way, like you were a businesswoman or something— and the seam of your stockings running down the back of your legs… his head tilted as his eyes followed it

“Well shut the door, Angus, you’re letting the cold air in!” his mother scolded gently, knocking him out of the thought.

“O-oh, sorry,” he mumbled, shutting it as you looked back at him over your shoulder and smiled a bit. He felt like such a loser when you looked at him like that…

“Let me make you two some drinks! What are you having?”

He wasn’t listening again, of course; he was staring at you again, wondering if you hadn’t changed at all— you were exactly how he remembered you, even though it was probably impossible that you looked the same as his 17-year-old babysitter as you did now. He hoped that he looked totally different to you, that you were thinking to yourself right now how much more mature he looked. He hoped that you could barely believe he was the same boy you watched when he was younger— or, better yet, that you’d just totally forgotten about all that.

“Would you help set the table, please, honey?” his mother requested as she zipped back into the kitchen. He nodded and hesitated before quickly brushing past you to get the silverware out of the cabinet by the table, placing a setting in front of each chair. She reappeared behind him, but he didn’t look up— not at her or you, even though you were the one she was talking to. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I forgot to ask— did you want a glass of wine or something?”

“No, I’m alright— thanks, ma’am,” you replied. “I’ll help with the silverware.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she cooed at you before departing again, and Angus felt his hands get a little clammier around the handful of utensils as you reached out for them.

“Give me some,” you instructed him, and he only briefly glanced at your face; he tried to hand you the forks without touching your fingers, but all that accomplished was dropping some of them loudly onto the table while still brushing up against your soft hand. You snorted, picking them up and starting to set them around the placemats as well.

He tried to ignore you, both of you working around the table, but he sighed as he took a closer look at your work. “No the— that’s a salad fork,” he corrected, “that should go inside.”

“What?”

“The smaller fork goes on the other side, closest to the plate,” he explained, switching the utensils you’d just placed. “Dessert spoon goes at the top, butter knife on the left—”

You scoffed a bit. “And where should I put the opium spoon?”

“Listen, I know it’s stupid,” he assured as he looked at your face again— you were so close, standing right beside him, and his heart was racing. “But my stepdad will blow a gasket if it’s wrong,” he added in a lower voice.

“He sounds like a tool,” you mumbled back, and the two of you smiled a bit, in that way people smile when they share a secret. Not that his stepdad being a tool was all that exclusive of a secret…

“Alright!” his mom emerged again, carrying some ceramic dish with oven mitts, and you both straightened up. “Food’s coming out! Oh, are the Shaws not here yet?”

Your dad was carrying the platter of ham, and your mom behind him with another side. “I, uh, guess not,” Angus answered her question.

“Well, we’ll have to start eating without them,” she sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her head as the dishes were set down— like she was so exhausted. She probably was, but not from cooking or physical labor: just from the constant anxiety she’d been exuding for the last three days because of this stupid dinner party. She acted like the President or the Pope were coming, and not just a bunch of boring old people.

And you. She’d never mentioned you.

As she gathered the guests for dinner, Angus looked at you, and realized he should say something— be polite, at least. He was terrified to open his mouth and embarrass himself, but if he didn’t try, he’d seem like even more of a loser.

Quickly rubbing his palms against his trousers, he broke the silence. “So, um, how’ve you been?” he asked, and you looked back at him, seeming a little surprised that he talked to you at all.

“Oh,” you responded, “good, I’ve been good— just kinda busy. What have you been doing?”

“You know, just… whatever,” he shrugged, not wanting to admit he was still in high school.

“Aren’t you still in high school?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

Shit. That illusion didn’t last long. “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly, “but I’m eighteen!”

You gave him a little pitying smile that made him realize too late how pathetic his statement was. Bragging about being eighteen wasn’t doing him any favors in terms of coming off as mature to you— why did he think that would work?

“U-uh, you… you’re in college, right?”

“Well— I was, until about a week ago,” you answered. “I graduated a semester early.”

“Oh, congrats,” he offered with a nod, “that’s great. You’ve always been really smart…”

“Well, it didn’t take a genius to help you with your seventh grade math homework,” you deflected his compliment with a tilted smirk, and he laughed nervously.

“I, um, can’t believe you remember that,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” you said, and just as he started to wonder what that meant, his stepdad spoke up over the dull roar of conversation.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats around the table,” he encouraged, “and we’ll all pray before we enjoy this lovely meal.”

Aside from the late arrival of the Shaws, dinner went off without a hitch— Angus fielded the same four questions on repeat, glanced at you every thirty seconds, and only got caught about a dozen times.

The only thing more boring than the dinner was the time afterwards, the indefinite mingling phase. He usually just counted the minutes until he could get excused to his room, where he could read or sketch or really do anything quiet. But now that you were here, he wasn’t as sure what to do: he wanted to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem too excited to talk to you, but he didn’t want to seem like an asshole or anything…

So he pretty much just sat on a couch, as far away from the bustle of the party as he could reasonably get away with, trying to look busy while not actually doing anything. Occasionally looking at you, but usually trying not to— until he realized you were coming towards him. Now was it okay to look at you?

He tried to act like he didn’t even notice you coming closer until you sat next to him on the couch; you were a little close, sitting on your side and putting one of your arms up on the back of the sofa cushions like you were trapping him in. He put his legs together so they wouldn’t bump into your knees which were dangerously close to him now.

“You look bored,” you noticed.

“Yeah? I wonder why,” he replied with a small smirk.

“You didn’t really tell me how you’ve been,” you remembered. “What’s boarding school like?”

“Uh, you know, pretty much your average hellhole,” he joked— not that it wasn’t at least mostly true. “Not that living at home would be all that much better.”

“You Barton boys get into any trouble up there?” you asked, and he shrugged a bit.

“Some,” he said. “If you’re not an idiot, you can mostly avoid getting caught for anything.”

“Like what?” you pressed. “Do kids ever get busted with pot?”

“Oh, all the time,” he laughed. “It’s really not hard to get away with it, honestly. I mean, I never got caught, so…”

You raised an eyebrow. “You smoke?”

He loved the way you said it, not quite under your breath but a secretive mumble. He just shrugged again, and you laughed a little. “What?” he wondered.

“You just don’t seem the type,” you explained.

“You don’t know me that well,” he countered, lowering his voice, hoping you would pick up on the undertone. But if you did, you didn’t quite respond to it.

“Well, are you the type to sneak out of this boring dinner and go smoke?” you wondered. He thought you looked really sexy asking him a question like that, eyes lighting up as you suggested something that risky.

He grinned excitedly. “Right now?”

“You’re not scared to get caught, are you?” you challenged.

“Fuck no,” he laughed, “let’s do it.”

“Where are we gonna go?” he wondered aloud, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“My car,” you explained, having to talk a little louder to be heard over the wind. “I’m parked down the street— by the park, so nobody’s gonna notice us.”

You trudged through the snow together, each step a deep crunch into the frozen snow, and you squinted your eyes when a sharp, icy wind struck right in your face.

You picked up the pace a bit when you saw your car, excited to escape the freezing cold; and as you turned the key in the driver’s door, unlocking the rest, Angus came up beside you.

“Get in on the other side,” you told him, and he walked around the back as you got in yourself.

When you first got in the car, you could still see your breath in the air— but it was still a nice reprieve from the wind outside, and you unzipped your coat and tossed it into the passenger seat in front of you. Angus hopped in a moment later, and when he shut his door, you were both submerged suddenly into the quietest place you’d been all night. No wind, no dinner guests, no records playing— just each other’s breathing.

You considered turning the heat on, but you figured the chill would pass soon enough with Angus’ and your own body heat filling the space.

You clicked on the ceiling light, a dim yellow glow illuminating the inside of the car and really bringing out the dinginess of the grey-beige carpet and fabric all over everything. He simply sat on the seat, waiting patiently with his legs spread a bit and his hands on his knees, blowing out a breath through his cheeks which swelled with air; he watched you lean back and open the front console, bending somewhat awkwardly over it to reach in and rifle around.

“There we go,” you mumbled as your hand found the fabric bag underneath loose bills and receipts; you pulled it out and opened the drawstring, revealing with a proud smile the baggy inside. “Ta-da!” you announced softly, brandishing the crushed leaf and rolling papers. “Wanna show me your joint-rolling skills?”

You held the bag towards him in offering, but he shook his head and seemed to shrink away slightly. “N-no, I’ll let you do the honors,” he decided in a soft voice.

You rubbed your hands together to try to warm them up first, because the detailed task was trickier with cold fingers, but you managed alright in the end. His eyes were glued to the way your tongue slid along the paper before sealing it; it did intrigue you just a bit, wondering what he was imagining while you did that.

“Were you always a bad girl, and I just didn’t know it?” he asked. “Or did college make you more rebellious?”

“A bad girl, huh?” you snorted, and his face flushed a bit.

“That didn’t sound weird in my head,” he promised.

“Save it for when you can blame it on the flower, dude,” you laughed as you handed him the blunt and got your lighter ready. “You can have the first hit, I’ll light it up for you.”

He put it between his lips as you struck the BIC, and he leaned forward until the end was in the flames.

You watched him breathe it in, that singe-y, crispy sound of the weed burning with each inhale making you smile a bit in anticipation… though you had to admit, it wasn’t just your excitement to get high that had your heart beating faster.

He only managed to hold it in for a second before coughing roughly, clearly trying to suppress it at first before bringing his fist to his mouth and really hacking a few times. You smacked him on the back with a grin, and he nodded at you; poor thing, his eyes were all red, actually his whole face was red, but he eventually recovered.

“You don’t really smoke, do you?” you noticed with a tilted smile.

He cleared his throat and shook his head. “N-not really, no,” he admitted. “I mean, I’ve tried it before, I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, “I just don’t want you losing a lung.”

“Let me try again,” he pleaded, reaching for the blunt, but you held it away from him and laughed.

“I’ve got a better idea, this might make it easier,” you offered, leaning in closer. He seemed to tense up a bit, like he wasn't sure what you were leaning in for, but he watched you with half-lidded eyes as you took a long drag.

You grabbed his jaw— not hard, but enough to make him open his mouth a bit— and exhaled the smoke into his face. He got the idea and breathed in deeply, staring right into your eyes.

“Better?” you asked.

“U-um, yeah,” he whispered, “I didn't cough that time…”

“Then we’ll just do it this way,” you decided, biting your lip a little when he shifted in the seat. You were having way too much fun with him, and you knew it was unfair, but how often do you get to tease somebody like this?

After a few more hits that way, you saw his eyes get a little glassier. You yourself were starting to feel it, and you smiled at him as you brought your mouth a bit closer to his for the next shared breath.

“How does it feel?” you asked him softly as you leaned back again— he chased you for a minute, like he wanted to stay close, but relaxed quickly.

“U-uh, kinda… floaty…” he mumbled. “Don’t you think my parents are gonna notice the smell when we go back in?”

“I’ve got perfume for that,” you explained.

“So I’m gonna smell, like… fruity?” he frowned, and you giggled.

“That’s what you think my perfume smells like?” you wondered.

“Yeah, not— not that I was, you know… sniffing you…” he trailed off, face getting pink again, and you laughed.

“I think you need another hit,” you decided, and he nodded in agreement. Inhaling deeply, you pulled him closer and breathed into his open mouth, looking back into his eyes through the thin veil of excess smoke.

After that, you leaned back against the door, basking for a moment in your own high. You watched the snow falling outside the window, letting your vision get a little blurry; the quietness of the moment didn’t seem awkward to you at all, it seemed peaceful, but apparently Angus was the more anxious type of smoker and felt the need to break the silence. “I always had the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, and you sighed a bit, lips pressing into a pitying smile even though you didn’t look back at him. “I was kinda surprised you didn’t notice…”

“I did,” you mumbled.

“R-really?” he choked. “I, uh… I thought you just saw me as some little twerp.”

“I did,” you said again, smiling wider, and he laughed nervously.

“Oh,” he nodded as he looked away, “that’s… fair.”

He only let the silence linger for a second before interrupting it again.

“But I’ve grown up a lot, you know,” he reminded you. “I’m eighteen.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Right. Um,” he stalled, “but it’s not just that. I mean, I like to think I’m pretty… mature. At least, I am compared to the idiots at my school— but I probably still seem like a little kid to you. I can’t really compete with college guys…”

“Compete?” you repeated, tilting your head. “What are you competing for?”

“O-oh, I just meant like, um—” he stammered, and you scooted closer to him on the seat with a devious smile.

“What are you competing with those ‘college guys’ for, Angus?” you pressed again. “My attention?”

“Some… something like that, yeah,” he answered, speaking a little softer.

“Well, there’s not much competition here, is there?” you noticed, looking around the car. “It’s just you and me… we’re alone.”

He started to open his mouth to speak, but you reached up to drag one finger over his chest for a moment, and he only choked out a little gasp. “Yeah, I… guess that’s true,” he mumbled, going back and forth from watching your finger draw circles on his sweater to watching your face.

You wordlessly brought the joint to your lips again, seeing that it was about halfway gone already. You took a long, deep breath in, exhaling towards him without really pursing your lips, letting him come closer for his share this time. Except, finally, this time he didn’t stop. He just kept leaning in towards you until his lips brushed over yours and you shut your eyes.

His kiss was patient, almost too gentle, like he was holding back. You set the joint aside quickly in the ashtray and brought your hands up to his face, so you could kiss him a little harder and maybe encourage him somehow. It seemed to work; he got a little more ambitious, moving his lips against yours, sighing gently as you combed your fingers through his wild curls.

You heard the wind howl outside, whistling around the car, not that you really paid much attention to it. Instead, your attention was drawn to the way his hands were still sat in his lap; you smirked a little. What a polite boy.

“You can touch me, you know,” you whispered to him, never breaking away from his lips. One of your hands wrapped gingerly around one of his wrists, guiding it to your waist.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled back, grabbing onto you with a touch more confidence. He even pulled you a little closer as you kissed him harder, your hands traveling up to his shoulders in return.

Other than needing some guidance on the auxiliary stuff, Angus was a good kisser. You were actually a little surprised when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, but it was certainly a pleasant surprise: it seemed like a good sign he wasn’t holding back anymore.

One of your legs hiked up over his, just something instinctive to keep him close, and his hand trailed down over your hip to caress that leg; it was a shame you needed tights for the weather, because you would’ve loved to feel his touch right on your skin. “These are cute,” he informed you in a mumble against your lips, quickly pinching and popping the elastic-y fabric back against your leg. You broke away to look down at his hand on your thigh, which he did as well.

“Really?” you asked sweetly, not sure you were pulling off the innocent vibe of the question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, meeting your gaze again, “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

You hummed and he kissed you again— and this time, as his hand slid back up to your waist, it took a route along the curve of your ass. You wouldn’t have minded at all if he got a nice handful of it, pulled you closer, gotten a little rougher with you… but obviously, he didn’t. It was still Angus, after all.

In fact, it took a few more minutes of kissing for him to even muster the courage to touch your chest through your sweater, but you both sighed a bit when he finally did. He groped at you a bit, but you didn’t care much for all the layers in between, so you sat up and perched yourself in his lap, breaking the kiss to shed your blazer and pull your sweater up over your bra. “O-oh,” he breathed as you did it, and you felt something tighten up inside you when he absent-mindedly bit his lip.

You sighed shakily, even though you didn’t know why you felt just a bit nervous— and you pulled your bra up, too, exposing yourself entirely to him.

He whispered your name; your pussy clenched again instantly.

He put his hands over you carefully, and you jumped slightly when those long fingers of his brushed over your skin— and he pulled back quickly in response. “Fuck, are my hands cold? I’m sorry,” he stammered nervously, but you just smiled back at him.

“It’s fine,” you promised, and he put his hands back on you with a long sigh.

“Wow,” he mumbled under his breath. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the wide-eyed, awe-filled stare that never left your tits as he carefully massaged them; he toyed with your nipples briefly before groping a bit more confidently, your hips shifting in his lap without you really meaning for them to.

Your smile fell, though, when he suddenly leaned forward and latched his mouth onto one of them. “O-oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath as he suckled— rather voraciously, really— and fluttered his eyes shut, his tongue running all over the skin in his mouth. You looked down at him for a minute, thinking he looked pretty cute doing that, but had to shut your eyes and lean your head back when he sucked even harder at you. “Fuck, Angus—”

“Does that feel good?” he asked quietly as he broke away; you bit your lip and nodded, and he moved to the other one as you leaned back even further, held up only by the front seats. He, of course, gladly leaned forward with you to stay close, and kept a hand on the breast no longer in his mouth.

You could’ve sworn you felt yourself get especially wet when his tongue swirled around your nipple, and through the high that clouded your brain (equally from the pot and the pleasure) you realized that you were about to fuck Angus Tully. You sort of couldn’t believe it, and yet the thought didn’t disgust or offend you as much as you thought it would. You figured you would at least feel a little more guilty, but… you didn’t. Not very much, at least. Certainly not enough to stop you.

You sat back up and moved your hips back a bit, making him stop what he was doing just to wonder what you were up to; he groaned a bit when you reached down between your own legs to try to open his belt. “O-oh, fuck,” he whispered, lifting his hips a bit as well to make it easier for you to reach. “We're really gonna—?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, finally getting his belt open and working on his button and fly next; you could feel his cock already through the fabric, and it flexed a bit against the back of your hand in anticipation.

He groaned a little when you reached into his boxers and wrapped your hand around his length.

“You're so hard,” you noticed with a little gasp, gripping him tighter as you tried to (carefully) pull his cock out of the khakis and plaid underwear.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck, yeah… you're really, um— you're hot.”

You giggled a bit, glancing up at his nervous expression. “You're sweet,” you offered, but your mouth was agape when you finally got a glimpse of him. “You're… fuck, Angus, you're big…”

“Oh, uh, really?” he perked up, cock flexing against your palm.

Giving him a few lazy strokes as you nodded, you giggled when his hips started to buck up towards your touch. “Fuck, I want you,” you moaned softly, and his cock just flexed in your hand again.

“You— god, you can’t even imagine how long I’ve wanted you,” he assured, making you smile wide.

“I’m sure I can, but I’ll try not to,” you decided as you let go of him. He seemed disappointed until he realized why: reaching up under your skirt, you pulled your tights and panties down your thighs.

“What if somebody sees?” he wondered nervously.

“They’re all busy inside, nobody’s coming out here in this weather,” you assured. “I can turn the light off if you want though—”

“N-no,” he stopped you before you could keep reaching for the ceiling light. “No, I still wanna see.”

You laughed a little and kissed him again, quickly. “Me too,” you agreed as you lifted yourself up over his lap, guiding his cock’s head to your entrance.

He sighed a little as soon as it touched you, but that was nothing compared to the way he reacted when you lowered yourself and he slipped inside.

“Fuck,” you groaned deeply, loving the way he stretched you out— not painful, but just the right amount of challenge. The body high seemed to make everything a little extra tingly and soft, though you didn’t have a sober version of this experience to compare it to.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, “oh my god…”

You finally sank down completely into his lap, and he took hold of your waist with a little moan. “Fuck,” you said again, more of a whisper, your head falling back as you started to rock against him. “Oh, it’s so deep, Angus—”

He interrupted you with a sort of whine, like he couldn’t take hearing you talk like that… but that just made you want to do it more.

“So fucking good,” you praised with a sigh, feeling him press his forehead against your chest as he moaned quietly. “You feel so fucking good…”

He whimpered, grabbing on painfully-tight to your hips, until his head fell back and his Adam's apple bobbed with each noise he made.

A sharp, needy moan jumped out of his throat— and at the same time, you felt him pulse inside you. Your eyes went wide as he relaxed slightly under you. “Did you… just come?” you asked.

He was still panting, his face starting to flush red. “Um… yeah?” he replied breathlessly. “Sorry, I-I tried not to—”

“It’s okay,” you promised with a soft laugh, “are you— or, uh, were you a virgin?”

“Uh…” he stalled anxiously. “Yeah, I am— or was— sorry, I should’ve said something, but I thought you might—”

“It’s fine,” you assured, resting a hand on his chest to try to soothe him. “It’s cute, honestly. I don’t mind being your first.”

“I always wanted you to be,” he admitted. “I imagined it like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the car. “Like this?”

“Well, not exactly like this,” he laughed. “There was a lot more time involved, for one, and a bed. And whipped cream—”

“Okay, let’s not unpack all that right now,” you interjected, “we should get cleaned up and go back inside anyway…”

You tried to get off his lap, but he held you down by your hips (with more strength than you expected from him) and pleaded with you: “No, wait, not yet— I want you to come, too.”

“It’s okay, really, we need to go back before your parents notice you’re gone,” you insisted.

“No, they don’t care— please? Please just keep going? I’m still hard, I can—”

“Angus,” you interrupted, and he sighed a little because he knew already you weren’t going to be convinced. “You’ll get another chance to make me come, alright? We just have to get back inside now.”

He lit up instantly. “Really? So we can— we’ll do this again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged.

“Hmm, no thanks— I’ll just go back to being a horny loser,” he joked, making you snort. “Of course I wanna see you again. I can’t believe I have to do… anything else but that until then!”

“You’ll live,” you promised as you got up off of him— you both winced, but you mostly just focused on getting your panties and tights back up before anything, uh, spilled.

You pulled your bra and sweater down again, and figured out where your blazer ended up so you could slip it back on while Angus lifted his hips to be able to get himself back into the khakis.

Opening the console again, you put your paraphernalia back in and dug around for a glass bottle instead. “Hopefully this can cover up weed and sex,” you said as you spritzed yourself a couple times with the perfume, then got him once or twice for good measure.

“How am I supposed to hide this?” he asked with an annoyed groan, struggling to adjust his boner inside his trousers in a way that wasn’t obvious.

“Sorry, all I can help with is the smell,” you laughed, putting the perfume back and slipping your coat on. “You ready?”

“Yeah, guess so,” he sighed, “ready as I’ll ever be. W-wait— can I kiss you one more time first, before we go?”

You thought it was funny, and sweet, that he thought he had to ask. You nodded, and he pulled you into a kiss that was much more passionate than you expected. Not filthy or anything, but not as tired and slow as you expected after just coming. His hands held your head, and you had to really remind yourself not to get lost in it before your better judgment was overruled.

Pulling back slowly, you looked at him for a second and wondered if anyone had ever looked back at you quite like that before.

You leaned for the door handle, but just before you pulled it, a final thought popped into your mind. “Oh, I almost forgot— Merry Christmas, by the way,” you offered him with a smile.

“Yeah, no shit,” he laughed, almost sounding like he was in disbelief, “that’s about the merriest fucking Christmas I’ve ever had.”

[series masterlist here]

#angus tully x reader #angus tully smut #angus tully x you

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golbrocklovely · 2 months

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candid // colby brock

A/N: i know yall…. it’s been so long since i last posted anything. my apologies on that one. i just haven’t been in the mood to write anything. but shoutout to these pics of colby bc the moment i saw them, i knew i had to write a fic about them. this one is sweet and basically just a blurb, but i promise i’m coming out with a longer fic soon. i got a lot i gotta make up for, and this is just the beginning lol lmk what you think and hope you enjoy !

prompt: your boyfriend looks good one day and you decide you need to take a picture of him. || colby brock x reader

trigger warning: none, super sweet and fluffy 🙂

word count: 853

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You look so handsome today.” I smiled sweetly, staring up at Colby.

He glanced away from his phone to me, his brow furrowing sassily. “What?”

“I said you look handsome.” I repeated.

He looked down at what he was wearing: a big t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His feet were bare, and his hair was not completely done the way he usually did it: straightened and with a bit of gel to keep it so. He had woken up from a nap an hour ago, his hair losing its flat texture for a more wavy, messy type.

He looked so beautiful, truly. But when didn't I think of him that way? I always found him beautiful, even well before we started dating.

He hid a smile at the corner of his mouth, “Really? I look a mess.”

“Not at all.” I shook my head, stepping closer to him.

He slid his phone into his pocket, locking eyes with me. His voice was low, bashful. “But you always say that about me. That I look nice…”

“Have I ever lied?” I questioned.

He twisted his face jokingly. “I feel like you probably have at least once.”

I gasped, swatting at him. “Absolutely not! You take that back.”

He grabbed my wrist, sliding his hand into mine. A playful smile rested on his lips. “You're too kind to me.”

“Maybe you need to see what you look like…” I pulled my hand from his grasp, taking my phone and pulling up the camera.

“Aww, c’mon babe. No.” He walked around the island in the kitchen, laughing halfheartedly.

I followed after him, “What? You don't want me to take a pic of you?”

“Not really, no.” He shook his head.

“Oh, coming from the guy that takes pics of me when I sleep?” I argued.

He turned to me, still backing away from me. “I only did that twice, and both times you looked so cute.”

I scoffed, “My hair was going in six different directions, and I was basically drooling!”

He grinned, his dimples appearing. “And you still looked beautiful to me.”

I held my breath; damn he was attractive… “Exactly how I feel about you.”

He groaned, covering his face. He stopped moving away from me however, leaning his one hip against the counter.

“Move your hands.” I grabbed his one arm, pulling it down. Both of his hands followed and I snapped a quick pic. His face was still partially covered, his eyes being the only part really showing.

“Maybe next time warn me about the flash. I'm blind now.” Colby blinked harshly, his eyes unfocused.

“Oh relax, you big baby.” I murmured, pulling up the pic. “See! Look how good you look.”

He gazed down at my screen, giving me a quizzical look. “You think I look good?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was so stubborn sometimes. “Yes.”

“My hair is so messy. I think I need a haircut.” He remarked.

I bit my lip, staring up at his hair. “I like when your hair is a bit messy.”

“I know you do. I don't, though.” He replied.

“What? I never knew that.” I deadpanned.

He glared down at me, rolling his eyes and walking to the living room.

“Let me take another one!” I called after him.

He huffed, walking through the living room. “No. No. I think we're good with the candids today.”

“C'mon Colby, I whined, catching up to him. “You really do look so nice. Just let me take one more.”

He reached the stairs, ready to go up. “I think one is enough.”

I cut him off, jumping in front of him on the stairs. “Please.... just one more.”

“Why are you so adamant about taking a picture of me?” He snorted.

“I don't know, babe. Maybe because you're my boyfriend, and I love you, and I want as many pics of you as I can get in this lifetime?” I admitted, placing my hands on my hips.

He turned his head to the side. “Really?”

“Yeah. Plus you look really hot.” I added, winking.

He stared at me, his piercing blue eyes playful. He sucked his teeth dramatically. “Fine. But just one more.”

“Okay. Just one more.” I lined my phone up, "Pose for me, baby."

He rolled his eyes, placing one hand on his face, the other on the banister. I took the picture quickly, whispering a perfect under my breath.

Colby leaned over me, looking down at the picture. I smiled brightly. “Aww, this one is so good. What do you think?”

“It's not too bad.” He mumbled, shrugging.

“You'll grow to like it, I bet. Especially since I'm making it my background.” I smiled, already changing it to my background.

He took his phone out, following my lead. “I'm gonna make the one of you sleeping my background then.”

“As if you haven't done that before.” I raised an eyebrow at him, our eyes meeting.

Colby smirked at me. His eyes softened and he leaned in, kissing my lips. “Love you.”

My face warmed at his touch. “Love you too.”

#colby brock #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fluff #colby brock x reader #colby brock one shot #colby brock oneshot #colby brock blurb

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minnieminshi · 3 months

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Pucking Chemistry

Summary: You never should’ve agreed to tutor the captain of the hockey team. Who shows up a full hour after the agreed meeting time? Choi Seungcheol, apparently as you’ve come to learn. And now you’re stuck tutoring him because for some reason, you're his last hope to pass chemistry so he’s eligible to play in an upcoming tournament.

Warnings: cursing because I can’t help myself lol, mentions of your father abandoning the family (it's minor and only mentioned like once)

Word Count: 9.9K (I was possessed lol)

Extra info: high school setting, Cheol uses the term "princess" a lot and I'm a sucker for calling people by their last name, mentions of Monsta X’s I.M (aka Changkyun) and Kard’s Somin (but she gets mentioned like once lol), your little brother’s name never gets mentioned but you do call him Frosty lol, and my knowledge of hockey is limited to watching Dr. Mike on yt talk about hockey injuries so there’s not a whole lot of hockey action in this fic lmao.

Author's Note: this fic made me realize my little brother is turning 13 this year and I can’t handle that because what do you mean he’s a teen now he literally turned one the other day and I think that shows in this fic lol. Also if I only count the days I actually sat down to write this fic it only took me 3 days lol, but I had 3 tests this week and had to be productive so that nerfed me. This is also the first fic I'm posting in this app so bare with me lol and in honor of Scoups and Jeonghan getting cleared to return to activities, I present the beginning of this series

Sporteen Masterlist

Sitting in the school’s library, all your chemistry notes laid out, you began to rethink agreeing to tutor the school’s hockey captain, Choi Seungcheol. With another glance to your phone, you sighed, ten minutes passed what the two of you agreed to meet at. If you didn’t like your chemistry teacher as much as you do, you would have never agreed to do this.

He’s a sweet guy, I’m sure he won’t give you any problems!

But it’s only ten minutes and sometimes things come up. Maybe he’d walk in after a few more minutes and then you two could finally start.

Except those ten minutes slowly morphed into thirty minutes, forty five minutes, and now suddenly it’s an hour and not a single word from Choi Seungcheol about where the hell he’s at.

And while having to wait an hour for someone to show up to something they needed sucked, that’s not what pissed you off. What pissed you off was the fact that after this tutoring session, you had a date with Changkyun, set up by your friend Somin, but thanks to the no show Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush home, get your little brother ready for the evening and get ready for your date. And while you could hypothetically get everything done in time, you would prefer it if you didn’t have to rush. Your little brother’s probably gonna complain about his quick dinner of chicken nuggets and macaroni after you promised him yesterday you’d make him what he called an “actual meal.” You reminded him that he was twelve and fully capable of cooking for himself and suddenly the quick meal was the best thing he’s ever eaten.

So he could survive a rushed meal, however getting ready for your date was a different story. Rushing to get ready in the morning for school was one thing. You could halfass an outfit and get your brother out the door in fifteen minutes flat if your mom was already at work, but you needed a little more time to actually look good enough for someone who wasn’t related to you or hasn’t seen you slumped over your desk with textbooks and notes sprawled all over the floor.

Now, because of Choi Seungcheol, you’d have to rush, something you wished wouldn’t happen.

“Sweet guy my ass,” you mutter under your breath as you begin shoving your things into your backpack. Just as you finished shoving the last textbook into your backpack, a deep voice caught you off guard before you rolled your eyes.

“Where’re you going princess, aren’t you gonna tutor me?”

Oh?

Letting out a low chuckle, you turn to face the captain who you wished you could smack that smirk off his face and crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the table. “Tutor you? I agreed to tutor you an hour ago, and since that’s passed, I’m heading home to go enjoy my evening.”

As you turned around to grab your backpack and go home, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up to see him holding onto you, a hesitant look in his eyes. Your brows furrowed as you shook his hand off.

“Look, I’m sorry about being late, but something came up.” He muttered, his hand falling to his side as he shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. You scoffed as you shouldered your bag. “Too busy to send a heads up?”

You look up to see a light blush dust his cheeks as he looks away from you, and if you weren’t so pissed at him, you’d find him kinda cute.

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed as you glance at the clock on the wall, and with a sigh, you turn to the hockey player. “Look, I have plans so I can give you 45 minutes.”

“Forty five minutes? That’s barely any time to learn anything,” he complained with a small pout on his lips as you rolled your eyes. “Take it or leave it Choi, you’re the one who was late.”

He let out a small huff before agreeing to the terms, pulling out a chair as you pulled out your phone, setting an alarm for exactly 45 minutes. Thankfully tutoring him wasn’t terrible, he actually seemed to listen to you and he even took notes while you explained the most recent lesson to him. Maybe if he was kind enough to send a message earlier you might actually feel bad about leaving, but alas that wasn’t the case.

With the default alarm ringing, you began packing up your things once again, this time, really just throwing everything with no regard as to how things landed in your bag. With a little speeding you should be able to make it home in about fifteen minutes which gives you about ten minutes to make your brother’s dinner and have about thirty minutes to get ready for your date. Perfect timing as long as you leave right now.

Just as you begin to walk away, pulling up your little brother’s contact to tell him you’re on your way, Seungcheol calls you out. “Are we still good for next week?” You freeze, slowly turning to look at him as your phone rings. “Next week? Listen Choi, I think it’s best if you find someone else to tutor you.”

Before he can say anything, you cut him off. “Listen, I have things to take care of after school and I can’t wait for over an hour, wondering if you’ll show up. I’ll tell Ms. Park to find someone else and we don’t have to worry about seeing each other again.” With that, you walk out the library, your little brother having finally picked up and making things easier for you as he grabbed all the food you told him to.

Looks like things will be going back to normal after today, no more having to worry about Choi Seungcheol.

Or so you thought.

What you didn’t expect to see when coming to pick up your little brother from his little hockey club practice is Choi Seungcheol out on the ice, with your little brother excitedly talking to him about who knows what.

You internally groan, why, just why did he have to be the one to coach your little brother’s team. And why did you have to say you’d never see him again, it’s like you were asking for the universe to play a cruel prank on you by making sure this would happen to you.

Weeks ago, when your little brother asked you if you could start taking him to a hockey club he joined every Saturday, you didn’t see any issue with it initially. As long as he had the proper gear (that your guys’ mom provided) you thought it was great he found a sport he enjoyed after he burned through basketball, soccer, tennis, and baseball in a matter of a few years. Plus it meant you could have Saturday to yourself for a few hours while everyone else was out of the house. So a win-win in your book.

Or so it was a win before you were left in disbelief, standing off to the side as you watched him talk to Seungcheol. You shook your head, calling out his name as you made your way to the plexiglass wall, wanting to go home. You made the rookie mistake of walking into the rink with no jacket, thinking it would be a quick run of picking him up and going back home. How foolish of you to think things would work out for you.

You let out a small gasp as you made eye contact with your little brother, holding it for a few seconds, only to have him ignore you and continue to talk to his coach, who you knew was aware of your presence. You groan, grounding the heels of your palms into your eyes. Oh how you wished you were an only child in moments like this. Instead you were cursed to be a big sister to a little brother who made your life oh so difficult.

Calling out his name one more time, he finally looked over at you and started to make his way off the rink. You sighed, thankful you weren’t going to have to resort to actually going out on the ice to drag him out.

“Took you long enough, I’m freezing over here,” you said once he was at the wall, carefully stepping onto the non-frozen ground with his skates. “That’s on you for not bringing a jacket into the rink.”

“And that’s on you when all you get for dinner is a slice of bread,” you say when you hand him his sneakers that he had put on the seats before practice had started, and where his backpack was. “Can’t believe you feed me like I’m some paperboy from the 1900s,” he grumbled, but he took the shoes.

Before you could shoot back a reply, Seungcheol skates up to the wall, a smirk on his face. You roll your eyes, wishing he’d go back to doing figure eights or whatever the hell he does on the ice. He calls out your name but you choose to pretend you don’t hear him, instead leaning down to grab your brother’s backpack, a small groan leaving your lips from the sheer weight in his bag. It’s like he carries rocks in this thing, you complain as you shoulder the bag. He shoots you a look as if asking why are you carrying my backpack, but he doesn’t question it, you know the whole gift horse saying.

Just as he finishes tying his shoe, Seungcheol crosses the threshold, leaning against the door as he eyes you. You could feel your eye twitching as you watched him what looked like inspect you, and you fight back a groan when he smirks at you.

“What happened to never seeing each other again prin-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you grit out, hoping your little brother could help you if he truly cared about you. You glance over at him, and just from the look in his eyes, you know he’s not helping you out. It’s like his eyes are shining with awe just from being near Seungcheol and you wonder what your little brother sees in him.

He can’t be that great, you still– well hate’s not the word, that’s too strong, it’s more so you greatly dislike him for what he did a week ago. You still think it was shitty of him to not tell you anything about being late. And of course his cocky personality is really starting to get on your nerves, especially when he calls you princess, as if you two are that close. You’ve only spoken to him a handful of times and yet he calls you a petname as if you’ve known each other for ages. It just makes your skin crawl.

“You know each other?” Your brother asks, poking his head into the conversation as he looks between the two of you. Before you could say anything, Seungcheol butts in, “she tutors me.”

Your jaw drops as he smiles, as if he didn’t just lie to your little brother. It’s like every time he opens his mouth he finds a new way to piss you off. You dryly chuckle as you grab your brother’s shoulder, trying to guide him away so you can leave. “I don’t, now come on, I gotta start prepping dinner.”

“But it’s Saturday, we usually eat out today,” he says and you give him a tightlipped smile. “I just feel like cooking today so why don’t we go home now.”

At that, it seems like your brother finally puts the pieces together, and nods his head. Just as the two of you are about to leave the rink, Seungcheol calls out your name once again. Already knowing what he’s going to ask you shake your head. “I’ll tell Ms. Park on Monday to find someone else to help you.”

And with that, you’re gone and Seungcheol’s on his own again, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to get his chemistry grade up without your help.

“Do you hate Scoups hyung?” Your brother asks once you pull out of the parking lot, your car currently playing I’ll Make a Man Out of You as you let out a confused sound. “Scoups? Is that what you guys call him,” you chuckle, finding the nickname a little silly.

“He said he doesn’t like people calling him his full name,” he explains with a shrug. “Now, do you hate him?”

Wow, he’s really not letting this go.

You sigh as you look over to your right. He’s looking at you expectantly, as if there’s this great and terrible backstory to explain why you wanted to leave the rink as soon as the hockey player approached you. When you tell your brother what happened a few days ago between the two of you, he just rolls his eyes. Yes rolls his eyes, as if being forced to wait an hour for someone to show up isn’t a good enough reason to dislike a person.

“He apologized, what’s the big deal?” He asks, and it’s moments like this when you're reminded your brother is just a boy. “It’s the fact he made me wait an hour with no heads up that I’m still upset about.” Your brother looks over at you, a small smile on his face. “I think he’s a good guy, I’m sure he had a reason why he was late. I don’t think he meant to blow you off like that.”

You blink, letting his words sink in for a moment before shaking your head, focusing back on the road. “Let’s stop talking about Choi and focus back on planning your essay that you have due on Monday.”

He groans, throwing his head back onto the headrest, complaining about why his teacher needed them to write about an important person in their life. “I’m going to write about our dog,” he mutters once the two of you pull up into the parking lot of your apartment. You chuckle, locking the car as he holds open the elevator for you. “We don’t even have a dog.”

“Ms. Kang doesn’t know that.” He shrugs and sometimes you wonder how your brother’s made it this far. “Whatever you say Frosty, but that essay better be done by tomorrow since mom wants us to go out to eat for dinner.”

“Hey Frosty’s a pretty good name for a dog, you think I could use it for a husky?”

“You know what, go crazy dude.”

The last thing you expect when you were walking to the parking lot, heading over to the middle school to go pick up your brother, was to be pinned against a wall in the science building, much less to see Choi Seungcheol, on his knees, begging for you to not talk to Ms. Park.

You could only blink, wondering what the hell has gotten into him. Did he hit his head too hard from a fall on the ice or something? Feeling a little embarrassed, you try getting him back on his feet before anyone walks down the hall. Thankfully he gets up, but unfortunately he keeps you pinned to the wall, towering over you.

“Choi, what the fuck’s gotten into you,” you mutter, trying to push him slightly away from you, putting some breathing space between the two of you.

“Please don’t talk to Ms. Park to find a replacement tutor.” He quietly says and you could feel your jaw drop. No fucking way he’s still on this. You put your hands on his shoulders, effectively getting him to look at you. “You can’t be serious.”

He groans as he closes his eyes, as if he was thinking of what the best thing to say is. One of your eyebrows raise as you wait to see what he says, and what looks like great reluctance from him, he finally confesses his woes.

“There’s a big tournament coming up in a month and if I wanna play, I need to get my chem grade up.”

You stare at him for a few seconds. That’s it? Why would this concern you? Feeling a little nice, you don’t voice out your thoughts and instead ask, “so what does that have to do with me? You can just find another tutor.”

He shakes his head and you tilt your head to the side, now intrigued on what he could possibly say.

“You’re the only person who actually makes chemistry make sense so if I want a chance to pass this class,” he looks up and your breath hitches when you look into his eyes. You never noticed how pretty his eyes are, or how fucking long his eyelashes are. Shaking those thoughts away, you notice what looks like hope in his eyes, and you realize he really thinks you’ll help him. “I need your help.”

You blink, trying to weigh your options. While you still hold a grudge against him for the first tutoring session, this tournament’s important to him. The two of you are seniors, and depending on his plans for after graduation, this may be the last time he gets to play the sport. Then of course, you can’t stop thinking about what your brother said the other day, and unfortunately for you, you trust your brother’s judgment. And if Seungcheol’s ineligible to play, you really don’t want that to affect your brother’s team. He’s grown to love the sport in the weeks he’s played and you really don’t want him to lose his growing passion.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you lean your head back against the wall. “Fine, I won’t talk to her.” He smiles and before he could thank you, you cut him off. “But just know I’m doing this for my brother, he really seems to like you and I don’t want you failing to affect your coaching.”

“I’ll take it as long as you’re agreeing to keep tutoring me,” he smiles and you’re stunned into silence for a few seconds when you see dimples dot his cheeks. You shake out of it and wiggle out of his grasp. “Yeah, just make sure you’re not late without a heads up, Choi.”

The next few weeks are filled with Choi Seungcheol, and you’re not sure how you feel about that statement just yet. In the beginning, you were still a bit reluctant, still fearing he’d be late with no excuse, but at your first tutoring session, he had arrived at the library before you. You were walking to some of the tables at the back of the library when you heard someone call your name, only to see it was Seungcheol, who had reserved a study room for the two of you and already had all of his notes out.

You felt a little bad even though you arrived on time. You had to drop your brother at home so you couldn’t meet right after school, but you did your best to get there as soon as possible.

He was very attentive while you explained everything to him and you wondered how he was failing chemistry in the first place when it seemed like he knew all the topics. It was when the two of you got to the practice problems did you see where the problems were coming from.

Your teacher, Ms. Park, has the tendency to make half of your homework situational problems, where you had to apply the basic knowledge that, on its own, was quite simple, but once put in a non-laboratory setting became a lot more difficult if one didn’t have a complete grasp on the concept. And that’s what you suspect is happening to Seungcheol, and the reason he was failing the class. Good thing you caught on in the beginning of these sessions and you could plan accordingly.

It was another tutoring session when your phone started ringing, you grabbed your phone, confused on who was calling you when you excused yourself, leaving him to work on a problem on his own while you stepped out into the study room next door to take the call.

Your eyes widen when you hear your little brother’s quiet voice on the other end, hoarse as he asks if you could come back home. You tell him you’re on your way before hanging up the call, and rushing into the study room you were just in.

Seungcheol jumped at your sudden intrusion, but before he could complain about you scaring him, you started to throw your things into your bag, grabbing your keys. “I’m sorry but my little brother’s sick so I gotta go take care of him.”

You were halfway through the door when you turned to look at him, “I’ll make it up to when he’s all better!” And just like that, you were out the door, apologizing to the little kid you almost bulldozed down in your rush to your car.

You make it back home in a new record, most definitely going past the speed limits as you skid into the parking spot in the parking garage, haphazardly raising your hand with your keys in hand in the air as you run towards the elevator, not double checking to see if you actually locked your car. If you didn’t live on the fifth floor, you’d actually consider taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, but alas, not even the haze of trying to get to your little brother was enough for you to suddenly have an increase in stamina.

Thankfully the elevator didn’t take long and you were able to make it to your apartment, throwing open the door as you tossed your backpack down the hallway. You rush into the living room to see your little brother laying across the couch, buried under a pile of blankets. He’s really out of it if he didn’t even bother to look up at all the noise you made trying to get in. You sigh before heading to the bathroom, looking for a thermometer and to check if there was anything you could give him over the counter.

Tsking at the 100.4° on the small screen, you wiped a damp towel over his forehead, wondering how he got this bad in the span of the 45 minutes that you were gone. He didn’t look too bad when you had picked him up from school, tired sure, but not knocking on death’s door like he is now. You were about to give him the medicine you found when there was a knock at the door. Not knowing who it could be, you quickly gave your brother the medicine and headed to the door.

You check through the peephole and take a step back, your jaw slacking as you realize who’s on the other side of your door.

Choi Seungcheol.

How the fuck did he figure out where you live? You don’t remember telling him and last time you checked, your address wasn’t public knowledge. Shaking off the initial shock, you open the door, now curious as to why he’s here. Before he could explain his sudden visit, you beat him to the punch. “How the hell do you know where I live?”

He pointed to the floor above you. “Jeonghan told me, plus it was listed on the emergency contacts your brother filled out.” You blinked at him, wondering why your upstairs neighbor would rat you out like that, or how he knew your exact unit number. Whatever, what’s done is done. You point at the convenience store bag in his hand, asking about what he has.

He brings his free hand to scratch the back on his neck, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips, avoiding eye contact. “I- uh got kinda worried and wanted to check up on you guys.” He brings the bag up, “I don’t know what he’s sick with so I just got the generic stuff and I brought snacks.”

You stare at him for a few moments before chuckling, thanking him as you take the bag from him and gesture for him to follow you into the apartment. He hesitates for a second before you nod at him, assuring him that it’s okay. He slips his shoes off and sets them down next to yours, following you into the apartment.

Your little brother looks a little better, actually looking up when the two of you walk into the living room (it’s only a few steps past the little entryway). He looks at the two of you for a second before laying back down. He shoots back up, as if wondering if Seungcheol is actually in your guys’ apartment.

“Real or am I hallucinating?”

You laugh as you adjust the towel over his forehead, “as crazy as it looks, he’s real. Now you should lie back down while I make you a porridge to eat.” He nods his head, laying back down as he adjusts the towel to sit over his eyes. You expected Seungcheol to stay in the living room with your brother, you didn’t expect him to follow you into the kitchen, asking if he could help you. Getting over the initial shock, something that keeps happening whenever you’re around him apparently, and start telling him to grab everything that you need.

It was funny to see him panic everytime you left him on his own to check on your brother, his eyes wide as his head kept snapping from the stove to you. Who knew the tough hockey captain could get so nervous by being left alone in the kitchen?

Thankfully it didn’t take long for the porridge to be made, and once you confirmed that your brother was able to keep his food down, you went back into the kitchen. “How do you like your ramen Choi?”

You turn to see him pouting and for some reason you feel the urge to poke his cheeks. Weird.

“Why do you keep calling me Choi?” He complains, leaning against the counter as he watches you take out another pot and two packages of your favorite ramen brand. You look over your shoulder, closing the cabinet before standing back up. “Would you prefer me calling you by your full name?” You tease, smiling as you see his cheeks turn the softest shade of pink. He stumbles over his words before you hear him mutter a quiet no, and you just laugh.

“I just don’t get why you call me by my last name instead of what everyone else calls me,” he says, handing you an egg when you ask for one. You shrug, “it started when you blew me off the first tutoring session and it kinda stuck.”

“What do I have to do for you to call me something other than my last name,” he begs, and you laugh at how serious this is for him. You didn’t think his name would be this sore spot for him, but it is amusing to see him so stressed over something so small. You look over at him while the water’s boiling, biting your lip as you pretend to think it over. “Get over a 90 on our next chem test and I might consider it.”

His jaw drops as he stands there frozen for a few seconds before groaning. “A 90? Listen, you're a great tutor but our next test is in literally three days and the best I’m getting is probably a mid 70.”

“Then Choi it is,” you reply, grabbing two bowls. At least he believes he can pass this next test, that’s some progress. Before he can start complaining, you both freeze when you hear your little brother yell out, “can you two stop flirting and get me another bowl of porridge,” and before you can yell at him for even saying that he throws in a little “please” at the end. Wow, how polite of him.

“We’re not flirting!” You say, walking into the living room to take his bowl, and as much as you want to tackle him to the ground for even suggesting you’re flirting with the hockey player, you decide to take pity on him, this time. He’s lucky his body failed him today.

Once your sickly brother is content with his second bowl of porridge, you take your and Seuncheol’s bowls to your small dining table. He follows and you go back for utensils, asking what he’d like to drink. Once everything is set on the table, the two of you start eating in a comfortable silence, the show your brother was watching filling the otherwise silent apartment. Your eyes fall to his backpack that was by the door and you swallow what’s in your mouth before motioning to his bag.

“Wanna continue with where we left off? I really think if we can get past this topic you can definitely score somewhere in the 80s.” His eyes follow at what you’re pointing at, and he nods, finishing his bowl before getting up to grab his backpack, and even getting your backpack that you had thrown earlier.

The two of you pick up where you left off, occasionally taking breaks when your little brother claims he needs your assistance with what he calls “surviving” when in all actuality it was just him wanting another refill of his water.

It was nearing 8 o’clock when the two of you were done for the day. As he was gathering his things, your brother got enough strength to get off the couch, heading to his room before waving bye to Seungcheol, telling him he’d definitely be good to go to practice on Saturday. The hockey player laughs as he leans over the table to fist bump him, telling him he better keep his word. You smile at the exchange, happy to see your brother doing better.

“Come on, I’ll see you down,” you say when he’s gotten all his things. Before he can argue with you about it being unnecessary, you wave him off, saying how it’s the least you could do after he came all the way over to check up on the two of you.

The two of you are in the elevator when he finally speaks again.

“Is it usually the two of you this late into the evening?” He asks, his eyes hesitantly flitting from your face to the wall next to your head. You hum, leaning against the railing with your eyes closed, “our mom works late at the hospital and…” You trail off, opening your eyes to see Seungcheol watching you, something in his eyes that makes you look away, the floor suddenly a lot more interesting to look at. Why does he look at you with so much care?

“Our dad left when my brother was a couple of months old so it's just been us three,” you say, not quite believing you're actually telling him this about yourself. Hell, you don’t even know if he has siblings and yet you’re out here telling him your family life. Crazy what some dimples and pretty brown eyes can do to a girl.

“Oh.”

Ah, probably should’ve lied about your absent father. Something about him working late should’ve been excuse enough. Well, too late for that you internally groan at. Before you can apologize for making things awkward, he interrupts you.

“Can we move our tutoring sessions to your place?”

Your jaw drops for a few seconds before you snap out of it, blinking to try to get your brain caught up to speed. “Why?”

He sighs, turning away to face the elevator doors and you’ve never been more thankful for someone to stop looking at you. “I kinda hate the idea of your little brother waiting at home by himself while you’re tutoring me.”

“He’s twelve, but as long as you don’t mind coming over here,” you say, glancing over at him, “then okay, we can move to our apartment.” He smiles and you feel this weird pang in your chest. The last time you felt this excited over a person was when you were getting ready for your date with Changkyun the other day. Does that mean you’re starting to actually enjoy Seungcheol’s company?

Bound to happen considering you spend your Monday and Wednesday afternoons with the guy. It’s just, it feels different than what you felt with Changkyun and part of you just wants to bury that thought away and focus on anything else. Thankfully the elevator ride didn’t last too long and you walked Seungcheol to his car, your chest feeling a little bit tighter as you watched him drive away.

It’s Saturday and you’re back at the rink to pick up your brother from practice. He’d gotten better and while you were hesitant to drop him off at practice, he insisted that he was all good to practice. You let him go, but not without texting Seungcheol before heading over to practice, asking him to keep an eye on your brother. This was the first time you texted him about something other than about your tutoring sessions and while your hands were shaking just thinking about talking to him about something other than chemistry, thankfully he agreed to keep an eye on your brother.

You grab a jacket from the backseat, not wanting to freeze while you wait for your brother. He always manages to be the last one out of the rink, always talking to Seungcheol while everyone else skates towards the door to change out of their skates and into their shoes.

And just like the past couple of weeks, your brother was still out on the ice, except instead of the two standing to the side talking about their practice, the two were skating over across the ice, the small black puck gliding between the two of them as they pass the puck amongst themselves. If you squint, you can see what you assumed is Seungcheol giving your brother tips because soon he nods and adjusts his hold on his stick.

Then, catching the two of you off guard, he steals the puck from the hockey player, successfully scoring a goal on the unguarded net. Your mouth falls open before cheering for your brother. Sure it wasn't a game changing play, but you were still proud of him. Upon hearing your cheering, your brother skates to the wall where you’re standing, the short wall and the plexiglass the only thing separating the two of you.

“Did you see that! I totally got him good!” He excitedly told you and you smiled. “Sure did dude, next time I think you should go for his knees, then you’d have no one stopping you,” you joke, smiling as your little brother laughs, complaining how that’s “not very good sportsmanship” but winks at you when Seungcheol skates over to the two of you, wiping off some of the ice shavings off his pants.

“I can’t believe you’re telling your brother to kill me, princess,” he pouts and you roll your eyes, glad it’s so cold in the rink you can’t tell if your face is burning from the petname or from the freezing temperatures. You roll your eyes, pulling the collar of your jacket higher in an effort to cover your face. “Isn’t that part of the sport Choi, pushing and shoving each other?”

He shrugs, a smile on his face. “Glad to see you know something about the sport, I see Frosty over has been teaching you.” Your brother groans when he hears his coach use the nickname you gave him once he started hockey. It started off as a small joke that somehow morphed to having the whole team only ever calling him Frosty. Hey, at least he’s already got a marketable name, you told him one day when you were driving back home after practice a few weeks ago.

You shrug, tugging your jacket tighter. In all actuality your brother hadn’t explained the sport all that much besides the occasional “you don’t do that” or “that’s a good thing” or other vague explanations when you ask him questions. Instead, after a tutoring session with Seungcheol, and as a way to procrastinate an essay you had to work on, you decided to look into the sport. It wasn’t much, just a quick google search about the rules that had you clicking off the site after a few paragraphs and instead watching a couple of matches on youtube. You had half the mind to ask Seungcheol but decided against it. You were just supposed to be tutoring him in chemistry and you thought learning more about the sport he put years in was a little much for you. (And the thought of him in his full uniform was starting to make your heart ache just a little much.)

“Might as well since I come here once a week,” you say, and Seungcheol smiles, and you wish he didn’t have such a cute smile. His gummy smile is going to be the death of you, you think as you look over to see if your brother’s got his shoes on.

You don’t know when you started to see Seungcheol in a different light. Probably around the time your brother got sick since that was the first time you got to see him not in a school setting. Or to be more exact, the moment he asked if your tutoring sessions could be moved to your apartment so you could watch over your brother. Whenever it was, you wished it didn’t happen.

After the results of the chemistry test the two of you have a week, your tutoring sessions would be over since by then you’d know whether or not he’d be good to compete in the tournament. While a part of you was sad to think about not being with him every Monday and Wednesday with him, you’re at least happy about the fact his grade’s would be doing better. And sure, at first you were helping him out reluctantly, but after spending so much time with him, you realized he was nothing like you originally thought he was like.

Your first meeting really was just a fluke, and he was just a nice guy. You actually had asked him after a few sessions why he was so late to the first tutoring session and you can remember the cute blush that grew on his face as he explained how he was planning the youth hockey team’s practice and lost track of the time. He looked so cute, his cheeks a rosy pink and a small pout on his lips, and that’s when you thought, yeah, he’s not that bad of a guy.

“Okay, I’m good to go,” your brother says, and you blink, snapping out of your thoughts. You nod, extending your hand to help him carry some of his gear. Noticing your empty motions, Seungcheol takes a step towards you but you shake your head. “I’ll see you on Monday Choi.”

“Yeah… see you later, princess.”

You’re really, truly fucked, you come to realize as you stare at your phone. Why, just why did you have to send that text?

Your friend, who was under the impression you still hated Seungcheol for blowing you off the first tutoring session, asked if there was a way you could set her up with him for a date. And you, still not wanting to admit the fact that you’ve definitely started catching feelings for the captain, agreed to set the two up. And trying to convince yourself that the warm feeling you get in your chest from just seeing him smile meant nothing, you sent a text wondering if he was down to meet with your friend over the weekend.

And now you’re waiting for a response, hoping that he won’t agree to the date. Hell, you’re on your knees hoping that even if he does say yes, that it goes horrible so they don’t keep meeting. Terrible, yes, but your heart can’t handle the idea of someone who isn’t you by his side. And yet you still won’t admit that you have a crush on him. (Denial is one hell of a drug.)

When you hear your phone go off from a notification, you push yourself off the floor, where you’ve made home the past couple of minutes. With a shaky hand, you flip your phone over, clicking on the notification.

Choi 🏒: tell her sorry, I’m not interested in dating right now 🫤

Oh.

He’s not interested in dating right now? For some reason that hurts more than if he said he is interested in the date. With a shaky inhale you text him back, letting him know you’ll let her know and you toss your phone away, burying your face against your knees.

Okay so maybe you do have a crush on Seungcheol, big fucking hurray.

You’re walking back to your car when you hear someone calling out your name. You recognize the voice and freeze, wondering what Seungcheol wants with you and wishing he’d just leave you alone. Despite him doing nothing wrong, you really don’t want to see him right now, especially since you were going to use the drive back home to prepare yourself for your tutoring session with him.

He runs up to you, a smile on his face as he blocks you from opening the driver’s side. You cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. “What’s up Choi?”

“I came by to tell you that I can’t make it to today’s session.” He explains and you notice how his cheeks are tinted pink. Just how far was he running from? You give him a look as you lean against your car. “So why didn’t you just text me then?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Your eyes widen as you turn to face him fully. You feel your face burn as you try unsuccessfully to say something in return. He smiles and you want nothing more than to wipe his adorable smile off his face. The fact he doesn’t even know the emotional turmoil he’s putting you through is insane and you wish he didn’t have this much power over you. You try coughing, covering your face as you look away from him. “Yeah, whatever, is that all you have to say?”

He nods and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats and still with that frustratingly cute smile, his stupid dimples on full display, “I’m still good for Wednesday though, I want to celebrate our last session before the test Friday.” You nod, a tight lipped smile on display as you wave him goodbye.

Once in the comfort of your car, you groan, dropping your head on the steering wheel, wishing you weren’t so crushed over this. Things come up all the time, it’s not a big deal he can’t make it today. If anything you can just use this time to get your homework done for the week so you don’t have to worry about it later. Maybe instead of groveling over a guy you could actually be productive for once.

Wednesday rolls around and you don’t think you’ve given yourself a chance to think about Seungcheol. How could you when you’ve been busy doing your homework, planning what you’d cover in today’s session, helping your brother with his homework, doing all the chores around the apartment, and if you weren’t busy with all that you had your headphones on, not even giving yourself the chance to think. Who needs to think when you’ve been so busy?

You pull out of the parking lot of the middle school, your little brother grabbing your phone to change the song that was playing. Sticking to a song that you hoped wouldn’t show up on your spotify wrapped, you keep driving, your thoughts starting to drift off to Seungcheol. Catching yourself, you will yourself to listen to the song your brother chose, and you wonder which was worse for your mental health.

Once in the comfort of your apartment, your little brother heads off to his room claiming how he doesn’t want to watch his older sister flirt with his hockey coach while he does his homework. At first you’d argue that you weren’t but as of late you knew there was no saving yourself and didn’t even try to fight back anymore, only groaning as you started to set the table.

A few minutes later you hear someone at the door and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself to get through your last session and as a way to prepare your heart for the inevitable. Seungcheol smiles as he steps inside, slipping off his shoes as he places them next to yours. You turn around and your eyes widen as your face heats up as you take in his appearance. He was just wearing a pair of sweats and a black shirt and yet you could feel your heartbeat race at the sight. You quickly turn around, pretending to adjust your notebook as you try to calm your beating heart. He’s worn that outfit combo tons of times and yet now your heart decides to give you trouble.

If he notices your internal struggle, he doesn’t say anything. He takes his seat at the table, taking out his things as you finally look at him to start. Hopefully your heart can take the next few hours, if not, thankfully your mom’s a registered nurse.

“Hey princess,” he starts and you, against your better judgment, smile at the petname, “can I ask you something.” You put your pencil down, turning to face him as he put his pencil down, the problem you had given him to work on an afterthought. “Sure, go ahead.”

“If I ace this test will you come watch me play in my tournament?” He asks, his eyes sparkling with hope and you find yourself leaning against your hand to cover your mouth so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face. “When you say ace, how high of a score are we talking here,” you tease. You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from but if it helps you from burning away in your seat, you’ll take it.

He smirks, leaning close to you and your breath hitches, freezing in your seat. “I say at least a mid 90.” You chuckle, leaning in close as you internally scream at yourself to back the fuck away from him. “Sure, you got yourself a deal, but I’m expecting the best from you Choi.” You say, beginning to turn away so he can’t see the dopey smile on your face.

“Of course, can't disappoint my princess, can I?” His pointer finger and thumb gently hold your chin, making you look at him and his stupid smug face that you so desperately want to kiss.

Oh yeah, your heart’s definitely going to explode.

You think you mutter something along the lines of “in your dreams Choi” but at this point you’re not even sure you can still rangle up enough brain cells to formulate a coherent thought. Heat floods your cheeks as he still holds your face and you swear you see his eyes fall to your lips, or at least you think they do. You’re too busy staring at his lips to really be too sure.

Somehow your one brain cell manages to scramble enough thoughts to control your body, except it makes you lean in closer to him, close enough you can feel his breath hover over your lips. Your eyes flutter shut and just when you think everything is going great you hear your little brother yell your name from his room and that’s enough to snap the two of you out of the daze you’re in. You clear your throat, excusing yourself as you push out your chair and head to your brother’s room, wondering what the hell he needs that he just needs you right now.

“What do you want?” You hiss out, leaning against the doorframe of his room. He looks up from his desk, papers scattered across the wooden surface as he turns his swivel chair to face you. He shrugs, “I felt this weird disturbance in the force and called you over here.”

It takes everything in you to not throw him across his room. You sigh, “yeah that disturbance was born twelve years ago.”

“Hey!” He throws a pokemon plushie, piplup if you remember correctly, at you. You duck and the plushie hits your bedroom door behind you. You turn around to pick it up, only to immediately throw it back at him, and successfully manage to hit him in the head with it. He stumbles back in his chair and you laugh at him. He glares at you for a moment before breaking out into laughter as well. “Okay fine good aim, I’ll give it to you,” he acknowledges with a surrender of his hands, the plushie back on his shelves, joining the rest of his collection. “Now go back to tutoring Scoups hyung so you can make dinner.”

You shake your head, a small smile on your face. “You can always make dinner, you should probably start now since I’ll be going off to coll-”

“Don’t say the c word!” He interrupts, a new pokemon plushie in hand. His eyes are wide and your smile softens before it’s turning into a small pout. The past year you’ve been trying to teach your brother how to take care of things around the apartment since soon it’ll just be him waiting for your mom to come home, but each time he always changes the subject, or even resorting to throwing his plushies to stop the conversation. In that moment you don’t see your twelve year old brother who loves to get on your nerves, instead you see your baby brother who never left your side for anything. Your other half despite the six year difference between the two of you.

Before you know it, your throat tightens up as you watch him lower the plushie, turned away so he’s not looking at you. “Um… you should probably go back to Scoups hyung.” His voice is small, like if speaks any louder and he might start crying.

You nod, slowly backing out of his room, “yeah, just let me know if you need anything.” You turn to walk out when you turn back to face him, “I’ll make your favorite for dinner tonight.” His head perks up and you smile at him, to which he returns.

You make it back to the living room to see Seungcheol working on the problems you had left him. You let out a small chuckle, and he looks up, smiling when he notices your back. “Everything okay?”

You nod, “he’s fine, he was just a little bored.” He smiles and the two of you get back to your homework. Soon enough, the two of you finish, even with the practice you gave him to really prepare him for your upcoming test, and you relax in your seat, a smile on your face. Seungcheol faces you, his smile growing as he looks from his papers to you. “Thank you, I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

You wave his compliment off, your smile perpetually stuck on your face when you're around him. “Nope, it’s all you Choi, I’m simply here to help you. Now you’ve gotta ace this test so I can go watch you win this tournament.” He smiles and you don’t think you’d ever find dimples this cute on another person in your life.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You’re walking out of your last period class when you hear Seungcheol call your name out. You turn around, already smiling since you know what this is going to be about, and judging by his voice, it’s going to be good news.

He runs up to you, stapled papers in hand and you just know it’s his chemistry test. He makes it infront of you, his hands coming up to hold your shoulders in an effort to stabilize himself, his test pressing against your shoulder. “I got my results back!”

You laugh, your hands coming up to rest over his, smiling and feeling heat begin to creep up your face at the close proximity. “I can tell, but come on I’m dying to know what you got Choi.” A light blush grows on his face as his smile grows, his hands moving away from your shoulders as he straightens up his test since it had gotten crumpled during everything.

Once it was straightened out, he flipped it over, handing the test to you. You take the test and your eyes widen when you see the large 100 written next to his name. You look up to see him smiling and in your excitement, you pull him into a hug. “Oh my god! I knew you could do it, this is amazing!” He tightens his hold on you, picking you off the ground to spin you in a hug. You’re laughing as he gently sets you down, you’re smiling so much your cheeks are starting to hurt but you don’t even care right now. You’re just so happy for Seungcheol, happy that this means he gets to play in his tournament.

He pulls you into another hug, muttering into your hair, “thank you, I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” You pull him closer, “of course Cheol.”

The day of the tournament arrived and you don’t know why you’re so nervous. Seungcheol and the team have been doing great all day, moving farther and farther up the rackets, and yet you’re still nervous. It probably has to deal with the fact neither of you really discussed what happened last week, the whole really intimate hug in the middle of the hallway and all that. You two actually were texting back and forth the past week, and yet neither of you dared to talk about the hallway incident.

Just like how neither one of you spoke about the almost kiss back in your apartment.

So your nerves are most definitely tied to whatever you got going on with the captain of the hockey, the very same captain who’s leading his team to victory. This is the first time you’re seeing Seungcheol in his full uniform and damn, he looks good in his uniform. Something about how it makes him look larger just makes your heart beat faster every time he skates by where you’re sitting.

The first time he skated by, you watched as he did a double-take before smiling his gummy smile, dimples on full display and waving at you and your brother, who insisted on coming along. (You weren’t going to tell him no, of course you’re going to bring him along.) Occasionally, he’d shoot you a look, smiling at you and you’d wave at him, feeling your face burn up every time.

It’s the final match of the day, and you don’t think you’ve screamed this much in your life. You always make sure to cheer for Seungcheol every time he makes a goal, and halfway through the day, it turns into a competition between you and your brother on who could cheer the loudest for him. And you’re not about to lose against your brother.

Somehow the match had gone into overtime due to the teams being tied and you’re at the edge of your seat, your little brother in the same position. At some point he grabbed your gloved hand, squeezing tight as they entered the sudden death overtime. (Why the hell is it called that?) You squeeze his hand as you watch Seungcheol go head to head against someone on the other team and you hold your breath watching as the two try to steal the puck from the other.

Just when it looks like the other guy’s about to steal the puck, Seungcheol finds an opening, sending the puck into the unguarded goal, making the winning shot.

You and your brother shoot up in your seats, and you pull him into a hug as you both jump in excitement and happiness. Seungcheol gets affectionately tackled by his teammates as they swarm him, and you can hear them chanting their captain’s name as the announcer relays the winning team. You look over once you’ve calmed down a bit and somehow manage to make eye contact with him. You smile and you mouth “I’m so proud of you," hoping he’d be able to understand you.

It seems like he does because soon enough it looks like he mouths something along the lines of, “all for you, princess.”

The tournament’s over now and you’re waiting for your little brother to finish in the restroom before you two head back home. A part of you wishes you’d get to see Seungcheol before leaving but he’s probably busy with after game things and celebrating that you’ll just settle with talking to him some other time.

You’re about to text your brother to ask him where he’s at when you feel someone come up from behind you, spinning you around. You shriek, holding your phone close to your chest, about to curse out whoever it was when you hear the person laughing and you immediately soften, knowing exactly who it is.

He sets you back down, turning you to face him. You smile and before you can even open your mouth to congratulate him on winning his senior tournament, he cups your face, leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes widen at the contact before they flutter shut, your own hands coming up to rest over his. His hands are freezing but you don’t mind, not when your face is burning up enough you’re sure you could warm up his hands in minutes. Your hands drift from his to rest over his shoulders, pulling him closer as you lean slightly back, with him following. He pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, causing you to chase after his lips, already missing the pillowy feeling of them on your own. He chuckles before dipping down to kiss you again when someone clears their throat.

You groan, already knowing who it is, dreading whatever comment he has to say. You look over your shoulder, only to see your little brother smiling. You definitely expected him to be pulling some disgusted face to make fun of you. Instead he was smiling, smiling so big you would think he just won a year’s supply of his favorite food.

“If you’re done making out with your boyfriend, do you wanna ask him if he wants to join us for dinner?”

Seungcheol's hand slips into your own, squeezing your gloved hand as you look up at him. His smile is so big and his cheeks are a pretty pink blush. “I really like the sound of that, what do you think princess?”

You like that a lot, you think, squeezing his hand as you drag him to follow you and your brother, laughing when you hear his teammates cheering for their captain, for finally getting his girl.

Maybe tutoring the captain wasn’t so bad after all.

555 notes · View notes

thornsnvultures · 11 months

Text

everything I want...

bucky barnes x plus size!avenger!reader

summary: being sent on a mission with bucky should be a piece of cake, but he's been acting strange around you for weeks now and you have no clue why.

cw: SMUT, fingering, oral sex (fem rec), shower sex, p in v sex (unprotected), creampie, breath play, breeding kink, pregnancy/lactation kink (very little), possessive pervy bucky (he gets a bit feral in this one), solo masturbation mention (m), steve rogers meddling being a great wingman, angst with a happy ending, 4.4k words

a/n: my entry for the lovely @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event 🖤 Lust is the sin I chose for this fic and really it was an excuse to write filth lol I really hope you enjoy it! (and a quick thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep going, this fic wouldn't be here without you)

18+ MINORS DNI

-----

"You'll be with Barnes for this mission. Get in, get out, no big deal. We've done this before and it doesn't look like it'll be much of a problem."

Steve smiles politely at you as he hands you the briefing folder with all the info on where you'll be going and why.

"If it's so easy why doesn't Barnes go alone?"

You regret opening your mouth as soon as the words come out, choosing to bite your lip and open the folder instead of looking at Steve's patented Look of Disapproval.

"Be ready and on the jet in two hours," Steve sighs.

"Yes, Captain."

Steve marches out of the room, always moving like a man on a mission even when he's not on one. No, this one's just you and Bucky. The man who's been avoiding you like the plague the last few weeks. Someone who you thought was at least a friendly acquaintance, a close colleague maybe.

He went from joking with you on the jet and bringing you coffee when he got one for himself from the canteen, to not even looking at you. Like even daring to lift his head when you walked by would get him booted from the team and sent back to Hydra.

You wouldn't say the two of you were close, but being a part of this team, working with these people; it was hard making friends with people who didn't understand, who didn't live on the compound. Sure there were SHIELD agents you saw here and there at the gym or around medical or the offices. But you saw Bucky damn near every day since you joined the team. And now out of the blue he was pretending like you didn't exist.

It didn't help that you had a not so teeny tiny crush on the man either.

Maybe this mission was a peace offering, Steve's way of getting the two of you to rebuild, reconnect. For the betterment of the team...or whatever. The sooner you got it done, the sooner you could get home and get away; from Bucky and from your own hurt feelings.

-----

Steve was right, the mission didn't take long at all. You were able to get in and get out with the information you needed with little to no fuss. Barnes was the perfect partner to watch your six with the way he was avoiding you and it totally didn't bother you that he hadn't said a word to you outside of what was strictly necessary. Totally.

When you got back to the hotel, Bucky got on the phone with Steve right away, still avoiding. He did need to call Steve to debrief, but he wasn't even saying much, just standing there with the phone to his ear, grunting every now and then.

Frustrated, you sat on the edge of the bed and pulled of your boots. Bucky was facing the window, looking over the city. The hotel room was modest, but modest for Tony Stark's standards was still luxurious and you wanted to take advantage of the shower that was practically the size of your bedroom back home before you guys left. You weren't waiting for Bucky to shower first.

"I'm taking a shower," you called out. Bucky made a noise but didn't turn around. His back muscles shifted against the tight black tshirt he wore when he shrugged at something Steve must've said over the phone. You couldn't hear what they were discussing but you could sense Bucky's tension from across the room. From the way he looked you'd think the mission was a failure, that he was reporting back with terrible news even though you know everything went well. Your fingers itched to rub soothing circles over his back, ease some of that tension away...

Shower, think of the shower. He doesn't deserve it.

Once you figured out which knobs controlled which of the four differently angled shower heads, you hopped in. Your clothes lay discarded on the sink as steam filled the room. It was heavenly. You'd have to ask Tony about installing a system like this in your apartment.

As you soaped up with the hotel body wash, your mind started to wander to the same person it always seemed to these days.

Part of why Bucky's sudden rejection was so painful was how much you'd grown to care about him. It felt silly, having a crush like this at your grown ass age, but that's what it was. Your stomach fluttering, your heart racing. You hoped he didn't know just how much he affected you every time he brought you coffee or talked to you or sat near you in a meeting.

Maybe that's why he's been avoiding you, maybe he caught on and...he doesn't feel the same way. Maybe he's trying to put distance between the two of you so you'd get the hint.

God, how embarrassing. You stand there with your hands on your chest, over your breaking heart, and try to hold it together instead of blabbering like a baby.

Of course he doesn't want you. He's a super soldier, practically a God. And he's been through so much. He's not the type to want a...girlfriend right now, especially someone on the team.

Suds drip from your breasts as you try to finish your shower, bending over to scrub your feet while you try not to cry. It's silly, silly and stupid. But you were hoping that even if he didn't like you that way, that you wouldn't lose a friend too.

The thought of him never speaking to you again makes a tear finally fight its way free and you choke out a sob as it falls down your cheek. You hope the pounding water is enough to mask your choking sobs but who knows. Your emotions are all over the place. You can't seem to stop crying and you're angry. Angry at Steve for putting you on this mission, angry at your tears and angry that Bucky might be totally lost to you.

-----

Bucky can smell you.

He stands by the hotel window, holding the bridge of his nose like that'll make it stop. It never does. You're always there, invading his senses. Not just your body wash or the shampoo you use, or the heavy floral stuff the hotel has stocked up in the bathroom. He's trying not to imagine you using the individually wrapped bars of soap to lather yourself up not twenty feet away from him, but just like his hand on his nose, nothing helps.

No, even under all the artificial stuff, it's you that drives his senses wild. Something encoded in your goddamn DNA that fries his brain.

It took him a while to figure out what it was that made it hard to be around you. He could ignore it at first, when you first joined the team. He was still fresh himself, finally coming back to be a do-gooder with Steve and the team after talking time to heal and scrape away what was left of Hydra's programming. There wasn't time to acknowledge the way his dick twitched every time you entered the room. It wasn't appropriate. And Steve would kick his ass for chatting up the newcomer anyway.

But as the weeks and months drew on, as he found himself getting more comfortable, more used to a routine that always seemed to revolve around you, he couldn't ignore it.

He felt like a dog in heat. Most of the time he could manage it, but there were days out of every month where he'd scramble for the nearest bathroom, broom closet, empty meeting room, anything after being with you for even five minutes so he could relieve himself. Biting his lip until he bled to keep from cursing your name as he worked his fist over his cock until there was nothing left.

It was maddening, the shift in your scent. He craved you constantly, but those times when his needs couldn't be ignored he felt out of control. Like he was a snap of your fingers away from becoming him again.

It wasn't until you left your phone unattended in the compound gym that things started to make sense.

You had been chatting on the treadmill with a SHIELD agent. Bucky pretended to be focused on his workout while he listened in to your conversation. Your agent friend was talking about her and her partner trying for a baby so you recommended a period tracker app that you had been using for a while.

"It's great! After you've been using it for a few months it can predict when you'll be ovulating for max baby making potential."

Your friend laughed at the saucy tone in your voice, Bucky nearly dropped the massive dumbell he was curling on his foot. Images of you, breasts heavy and leaking, swollen and pregnant with his child was all he could see. And fuck him, he wanted it, needed it, craved it.

So when your friend was gone and you hopped off the treadmill momentarily in search of your water bottle, leaving your phone behind, Bucky took his chance to sneak a quick look.

It was all right there. He remembers the last day he could smell you so strongly he could barely stand it. He almost got caught in the gym showers, slamming a crack into the tile wall when he came so hard his vision went black with the scent of you burned in his brain. He didn't see you for two days after that but when he did there was a coppery edge to your scent. And the app on your phone proved it.

You were ovulating. Your body was practically screaming for him, demanding that he do what he was made to do and breed your sweet cunt. His need to rut into you, to bury himself deep and pump you full of his cum over and over, no matter how long it took until it sticks, finally made sense.

Bucky already knew he cared for you, but he didn't want to scare you, overwhelm you. He wanted to do right by you, take you on dates, show you how special you are to him. But this feral need to claim you wasn't stopping any time soon either. Maybe, he thought, he should give you some space. Give whatever this feeling was done distance and it would calm down. Then...then he could tell you how he felt. He needed to clear your scent from his mind before he was trapped in a constant state of relieving himself by his own hand month after month, wasting what belonged to you in tissues and shower drains.

-----

So he stayed away, for an entire month at that, before Steve got sick of his shit excuses and put the two of you on this mission together.

"Whatever's going on with you two, you need to work it out. We're not in forth grade any more, Buck, you can't pretend a girl has cooties just cause you feel weird about liking her."

Bucky tensed as he heard her boots fall to the floor behind him.

"I don't-"

"Don't bullshit me, Bucky."

"Language," Bucky's lip quirked, almost a smile.

"I'm taking a shower," you called from the other side of the room. Bucky grunted, not trusting himself to say anything more. He could feel your eyes on him.

"Just talk to her. I know what you're gonna say, she deserves better than a jerk like you. But she doesn't deserve the cold shoulder."

Bucky shrugged, forgetting that Steve couldn't see him. He heard the bathroom door click shut and his forehead dropped against the window.

"You don't get it, Steve. She's different. I can't control myself around her. I'm hanging on by a thread here."

Steve sighs and says something else but Bucky barely hears it over the sound of running water and your clothes hitting the floor.

"Bucky, you there?"

Shit.

"Sorry, I should...I gotta go."

"She likes you too, idiot." A part of him knew but hearing it out loud felt surreal. "I got the same senses you do. Better even," Bucky shakes his head at Steve's teasing, "I can hear her pulse pick up when she looks at you, how her breathing changes. How she sits close to you, touches you whenever she can."

Bucky shivers thinking of your hands on him, pulling him into your shower with you, letting him get close enough to touch you the way he's dying to touch you.

"And you know I can smell how wet she gets when y-"

"Watch it, Rogers," Bucky snaps with a growl in his throat.

"Then get your shit together, Barnes! She wants you too, you're not gonna scare her off."

Bucky wants to tell Steve he doesn't have any idea what he's talking about when he hears what sounds like crying coming from the bathroom.

"Alright, if you're done playing matchmaker I gotta go."

Bucky hangs up before Steve can say another word and tosses his phone on the bed. Before he can think better of it his boots are off and he's pulling his shirt up and over his head. His heart is being torn to shreds with every sob that shudders through thin walls and he has the sinking feeling that it's all his fault.

-----

You don't hear the bathroom door open, but you feel the rush of cool air hitting your back. Before you can wipe away your tears and yell at Bucky for coming in before you were finished, he's right there. His hands grip your waist and turn you around.

"Bucky.

"Shh, I've got you."

He pulls you in, crushing you to his bare chest in a fierce hug. You don't know what's happening or why but he's here. Finally he's here and you're not gonna do a thing to stop it.

Your face is still wet with tears when he kisses you, consumes you, more like. His lips, teeth, tongue invading your mouth and begging you to open up and let him take all of you. You're shaking when he lets you go long enough to breathe, but his hands don't let you go, only wrapping around tighter and lifting you up against his broad chest when he feels your legs go weak.

It's everything you've every dreamed of, there's no way it's real. He's naked for fuck's sake. You can see his discarded jeans on the floor by the door, feel the evidence of his nudity pressing long and thick against your thigh.

His lips work down the length of your neck, down your chest, to suck a puckered, soapy nipple into his mouth. He's looking up at you with those murky blue eyes and your mind goes blank. You don't care why he chose now of all times to see you, to touch you, as long as he doesn't stop, as long as he keeps sucking and licking and biting you just like that. And you really must've hit your head because, fuck, you're already this close to coming and that's never happened before.

Your thighs press together, searching for any kind of friction, as you tug on Bucky's hair. When you pull, his eyes roll back. He groans, the noise shooting straight to your pussy.

Still holding you up with one hand, Bucky bullies your thighs apart with the other, spreading you open and on your tip toes so he can slide his fingers over your cunt. Two thick digits slip between your folds and shove into your cunt. You gasp, writhing around his fingers. It's too much, you feel so fucking full you can barely stand it. But Bucky keeps working his fingers, scissoring them, spreading them deep as he pumps them in and out. Your nails scrape against his skin, scrambling across his broad shoulders to find purchase as he brings you careening fast over the edge until you're plummeting, screaming his name as you spasm around his fingers.

He pulls his fingers away and you watch, dazed and panting as he sucks them clean. The way he moans around his fingers nearly has you coming again.

"Bucky, please," you don't know what you're asking for but you don't care. You'll gladly take anything he gives you.

"Need more," he groans, his eyes glazed. "Can I have more, angel?"

You're nodding wildly as he sits you down on the shower bench. Hot water rains down on his back and he's lifting your feet up on the bench so he can keep you spread wide open. His big hands clamp down on your thighs and it would be almost painful if you weren't distracted by the way his mouth latched onto your clit.

"Fuck! Bucky, oh my god," there wasn't any stopping your rambling, begging, pleading. It was too much, too good. Bucky's moans vibrated to your core. He feasted on you like you were his last meal, licking every drop of your juices, sucking each fold before fucking into you with his tongue.

You could think, talk, breathe. All you knew was Bucky's touch as he made you come again. Your legs shook and your back arched and it went on for what felt like forever, this mind blowing pleasure that you almost didn't feel worthy of. That he looked up at you as he cleaned you up with his tongue like you were everything to him in this moment made your eyes well up again for being so emotional.

A look of worry wrinkles Bucky's brow.

"Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

With a shaky hand you brushed back an errant hair from his forehead and caressed his cheek. "No, I'm fine. Sorry, I just get emotional like this before, y'know..." You didn't want say it, especially not to a guy you liked right after he ate you out. It was hard to look at him still sitting there between your legs, your face feeling hotter by the second.

"You mean before your period?"

You sputtered and tried to close your legs. No way, there's no way you're talking about your period with your dream man with your legs spread open like he's your gyno.

"Don't hide from me," Bucky growled. You watched, your jaw dropping, as he nuzzled his nose into your mound at the apex of your sex and breathed in deep, filling his lungs with your scent.

"How did you know?"

"Your phone, you left it open at the gym." Bucky doesn't stop kissing your mound, your belly. It's like he's a cat and you're the catnip. "And I can smell it on you. Your scent changes, gets...deeper somehow. Like you're calling to me."

Suddenly he's lifting you up and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist with a shout of surprise. Bucky grabs one of the giant hotel towels on his way out of the bathroom, carrying you like it's nothing. It is for him, but it's jarring. You always forget that he's not just some guy. Like the fact that his enhanced senses don't just include hearing and sight. Of fucking course he can scent you like a bloodhound.

Bucky lays out the big, fluffy towel and drops you on it, watching with hunger in his eyes as you jiggle when your body bounces on the mattress. You want to cover yourself with your arms and squeeze your legs shut, but you hear his voice in your head.

"Don't hide from me."

Bucky crawls on top of you, his thick arms and broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. It's just him and you and this bed. And between you his cock pushes thick and needy against your weeping cunt. His hips twitch as he kisses you, lightly rubbing the thick vein running down his cock through your folds.

"Please, Bucky," you whine against his lips.

His forehead rests against yours briefly before he sits back on his heels. Bucky's heavy-lidded gaze is hungry, staring at the way your cream coats his cock.

"Please don't tease me, Bucky," your plea comes out shaky and unsure. "I can't take it."

Bucky caresses your cheek, tugs at your bottom lip with his thumb.

"If you let me in, I don't think I'll ever leave."

Your brows pinch, your heart hammers away in your throat. You get the feeling he doesn't just mean in the physical sense.

"I don't want you to leave."

Bucky's eyes shut and his jaw clenches and you reach for him. To take his face in your hands so you can pull him close and look into those beautiful blue eyes when he finally thrusts inside. And he lets you.

You hold him in your hands as his whole body shakes. You've never felt so full, so complete, but you need more. If only he'd move, you need him to move.

"Bucky-"

The growl that explodes from deep in Bucky's chest is the only warning you get before he pulls back, nearly all the way out, and slams back in. The force of it shoves the air from your lungs and you can scarcely catch your breath before he does it again and again, picking up pace until he's hammering into you, pounding you into the mattress. His groin grinds against your pelvis with every deep thrust, the thatch of hair there teasing your clit.

Bucky takes you by the throat, tenderly at first, saying, "Look at me. Don't look away, beautiful, keep those eyes open."

It's a struggle but those blue eyes ground you as your mind tries to float away. You don't know what sounds you're making, what you're even saying but Bucky shushes you, tells you he's got you, you're his.

"My pussy. Mine to fill up, right, beautiful? All mine."

You nod your head as best you can with his fingers on your jaw, babbling nonsense. He doesn't slow or stop, that super-soldier stamina helping him keep a brutal pace.

Bucky grabs your right thigh, turning it over so it's on top of your left and holding it there with the hand not on your throat. Your eyes roll back at the way the new position has him grinding against your inner walls. You thought you felt full before, but this is something else entirely.

Your hands fly up to Bucky's forearm, desperate for a part of him to hold on to as he looms over you, taking what belongs to him. His hand on the meat of your thigh tightens as he grunts and groans and you grip at the hand on your throat, silently begging for his gentle hold to tighten too.

His eyes soften, as he shifts his hand and squeezes. This man could end you right here, right now, with a twitch of his finger but he's looking at you like you're delicate, so fucking delicate and it doesn't make any sense. Your brain is fried, everything feels like too much and just right at the same time. Like you're meant to be here under him, full of him, taking everything he gives you.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Your legs shake under his grip and you feel yourself implode. His words ricochet around your head as you come, coating his cock, and the sheets, with your release.

Bucky's grip on your throat loosens and he collapses on top of you, capturing your lips with his, cradling his arms around you. His full weight on top of your twisted, bent body is a welcome pressure. You never want him to leave.

"Mine," he growls again. "Gotta fill you up, breed this sweet little cunt so everyone knows you're mine. I can't hold back anymore. Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours, Bucky," you cry, "all yours. Only yours."

Bucky lifts your right leg up over his shoulder, spreading you wide open. He brings his thick fingers down on your messy cunt with a wet slap and you cry out, shaking as you come again.

"That's it, beautiful. Milk me fucking dry."

Bucky's hips stutter and go still and he shouts, spilling inside you, filling you to the brim.

Bucky lets your leg fall from his shoulder and collapses on top of you. Before he can suffocate you, not that you'd mind, he rolls the two of you onto your side and holds you tight to his chest. You can feel his release slipping out, oozing down your thigh. There's so much, you don't even want to think about the clean up. Not now, not when it's so much easier to think about how good it feels to be here, in his arms.

"You're mine," Bucky whispers into your hair, taking a heavy breath, filling his lungs with your scent.

"All yours," you smile, your cheek pressing against his solid chest.

"I mean it. Not just here, not just tonight. I want to make you mine, angel."

Bucky sounds so serious it almost worries you. You turn your head where it rests on his bicep, trying to not get distracted by how big it is. Those blue eyes of his are soft but searching your face, like he needs you to understand, to know that he means it.

"I want that, Bucky. I want it so bad."

Your voice is quiet but you know he can hear you loud and clear, can hear the desperation in his voice mirrored back in yours.

His big hands roam your body, caressing your breast, your hips, like he wants to touch you everywhere all at once. You help him settle on a place by lifting your leg and curling it over his hip. You can see it on Bucky's face, how much he needs you. The way your combined scents make his nostrils flare, the tightening of his jaw. His fingers leave your hip and delve between the juncture of your thighs, a groan rumbling through his chest.

"Bucky," you pant as his fingers play in the mess he made, slipping in and out of your cunt.

He kisses your forehead, continuing to work you open once again.

"Need to have you again, angel." Bucky doesn't wait for you to respond before he's guiding himself in til you're full to bursting. "Gotta keep you stuffed full, baby."

You shudder at his words, his hands roaming your body.

"I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

---

🖤

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #my fics

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 8 months

Note

Not sure if you've closed or open requests but

How do you feel about writing a Yan! Slime? Could be platonic or romantic up to you! Idk slimes are cute :3

(also I'm permanently gonna low key stalk ur blog since again yummy yan fics hope you don't mind me staying- /hj)

CW: Wholesome, romantic, stalker monster love ahead ❤️ proceed with caution❤️

Accidently pushed post whoops done now lol

The five year old boy burst through the bushes, tumbling awkwardly and unskillfully before slowly popping up onto his feet and swinging his stick sword forward. His sibling, (Reader), high stepped carefully over the branches of the bush their brother had just crashed through. (Reader) nervously held their own sword, following their older brother into the woods.

"Jay, can we please go back?" (Reader) whined, trying not to cry nervously as they "explored" deeper into the forest.

"Don't be a baby!" Jay chastised, raising his arms high above his head. "How are you gonna be a monster hunter if you're too chicken?!"

(Reader) grumbled, dragging their shoes in the dirt. "I don't wanna be a monster hunter.. I wanna go home! I'm hungry!"

Jay opened his mouth, and raised his fists, ready to say something when something moved nearby, plopping loudly into a pile of dry leaves. His big, childish eyes went wide with fear, immediately losing all confidence and hiding behind (Reader), holding his thin stick in front of his face defensively. He was too scared to speak, trembling into (Reader's) back.

The younger of the two felt a surge of strength, needing to protect their beloved big brother, so they gripped their weapon with both hands, scrunching up their chubby little face to appear tough. They stomped over to the bush the sound came from, holding their breath, unlike Jay who was hyperventilating. (Reader) removed one pudgy hand from their stick, and swiftly pushed back the little branches, exposing a tiny green blob.

Jay released a high pitched scream and took off running back home, dropping his stick.

The glob was vibrating, and (Reader) was instantly filled with sympathy, assuming the little ball of goo was shaking with fear. "Hey, don't be scared." The four year old cooed, dropping their 'sword' and sitting on their knees to be closer. "I'm sorry, I thought you were a monster." (Reader's) cheesy grin showed off their missing front teeth.

Whatever the green thing was slowly went still, and (Reader) could feel it looking up at them.

"My name is (Reader), and I'm," they looked at their fingers, focusing on holding up the right number, before practically shoving their fingers in the glob's personal space, "four years old!"

The goo reached forward, forming a little nub of a hand, touching (Reader's) fingers. It was surprisingly warm. (Reader) opened their hand so it could roll onto their palm.

"Burrrrble!" The thing happily gurgled, looking quite pleased despite it's lack of a face.

"Burble? Is that your name?"

"Prrrr?" It patted their hand, not understanding the question. (Reader) laughed, feeling ticklish.

"I'm gonna be your best friend!" They decided, cupping the slime with both hands, still giggling over the sticky tingling the little guy caused. "I'll visit you every day, and we can play together everyday after school!"

And (Reader) kept their promise, visiting every single day, for years. The two friends grew up together, Burble learning to speak (Reader's) language over time as (Reader) brought their homework into the woods to have more time with Burble while they studied. Jay kept Burble's existence a secret, but never got over his fear of the creature, so he kept his distance from the two while they played.

Burble had a difficult time not praising (Reader) for their heroics, because if they did it would reveal that Burble had been watching them at school. Living alone in the woods was isolating, especially as a monster, their presence frightening off animals of all species. At first it was just because of how lonely they were, wanting to leave the forest to be with (Reader). They turned Burble down, reminding them how dangerous it would be, now no longer the naive child who didn't understand that slimes were monsters. But, no one would know if Burble attached just a little piece of themselves inside (Reader's) backpack, just to hear their voice while they were away.

Fourteen years later, Burble had been practicing in secret, forming their naturally round body into a humanoid form, trying to perfect their appearance before they revealed themselves to (Reader). It happened so naturally, Burble falling in love with their one and only friend. They wondered if (Reader) could ever feel the same. (Reader) was just so perfect; they were kind and strong, preferring pacifism, but quick to throw themselves in danger's way to protect the ones they love, just like when they first met. Even at school, (Reader) would stand up for those being bullied on a regular basis, gaining a reputation for standing up for those too scared to protect themselves. And they never bragged about it!

The green slime learned so much about (Reader) through the way they interacted with others at school, and fell deeper in love everytime they opened their mouth. (Reader) was an angel on Earth.

(Reader) trudged into the forest behind their home, exhausted after field hockey but refusing to take even a day off from visiting their best friend. It was surprising, learning that Burble was less of a pet and actually a sentient being with thoughts and feelings, but that was even more exciting, being able to communicate with a species not known for their intelligence. Burble rolled onto view, now a very large blob the size of (Reader) if they tucked in their arms and legs.

"(Reader)!" They happily gurgled, jiggling up to the high school senior. "How was your day?"

"Same old, same old." (Reader) lied, still wearing their gym shirt because their original clothes got soaked with milk after they stood up to Cody, the biggest dick they ever met.

Burble knew this, however, and was fine with (Reader) lying, knowing they were just being humble. It made their non-existent heart swell. (Reader) pulled out a bunch of classwork, and a brochure slipped out from a folder. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's a pamphlet for a university. Admissions are coming up, so I've been looking around."

The green color lightened almost to a sick looking yellow. Burble hadn't heard anything about this! What did they mean?!

"Burble, you okay?"

"Does that mean you're leaving?" Burble's voice shook, wobbling their jelly body.

"Yeah, if I make it in, but that's still half a year away, so we have time-"

Burble cut them off. "Don't go."

(Reader) sighed, placing a hand on top of their friend's smooth body. "I can't stay with my parents forever. I want to go explore, meet new people, hopefully get a career a have a passion for."

"Then take me with you!" Burble shouted, heating up under (Reader's) hand, the yellow intensifying.

The now yellow blob lunged at (Reader), morphing into a humanesque shape, creating a beautiful face that looked to be on the verge of tears. Burble held (Reader) to the ground, trapping (Reader's) body with their arms and knees.

"Burble, what the hell?" (Reader) wasn't angry, or nervous, just confused, not understanding what had gotten into their childhood friend.

"You can't leave me alone, (Reader), please!" Burble was incapable of forming tears, but their body ached like they were sobbing, rumbling instead of heaving as they didn't need to breathe. They slammed their face onto (Reader's), knowing what kissing was from a picture book (Reader) had shown them as a child, but not quite understanding how to actually do it. Their newly formed lips moved against (Reader's) timidly, easily holding down the struggling human. Burble broke the kiss so (Reader) could gasp for air. "I love you, (Reader), please don't leave me!"

A hurricane of emotions ripped (Reader's) mind apart, struggling with accepting what was happening. Their first kiss was taken by their best friend, who was still holding them tightly against the dirt ground.

"Let's.. let's talk about this later.. I need to go home." (Reader) stuttered, overwhelmed by the emotions they never felt before rampaging in their skull. Burble sunk lower, melting over (Reader's) body to better prevent their leaving.

"No.. not until you promise not to leave me." Their voice was barely a whisper, begging for (Reader) to love them back.

"I-I won't leave you. We'll figure something out.. You've just gotten too big to hide and-" Burble's weight was heavy on (Reader's) ribcage. "we'll figure something out."

Satisfied, Burble sat up and rolled off of (Reader), slowly changing back to their natural green hue. "You promise?"

"I promise." (Reader) face a sad smile, still incapable of fearing their dear friend.

Burble smiled, barely maintaining their shape as they allowed (Reader) to leave. They trusted (Reader), even if (Reader) didn't accept their confession at that moment, there was no way they would break their promise. And, if for some reason they did, if someone like their nervous brother fear mongered (Reader) into abandoning Burble, they would always be able to find them. The green slime collapsed back into a ball, happily listening to (Reader) through the tiny piece of themselves still hiding in (Reader's) backpack.

"Please come back soon.."

#soft yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #yandere slime #accidentally posted this early instead of saving it as a draft #whoops #i'm just really stupid lol #so sorry #not proofread #i hope you like it #again i'm so sorry #i'm really dumb

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ginnsbaker · 7 months

Text

In Silent Screams (3/3)

Chapter word count: 11.8k+ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Vision (past) Warnings in this part: Smut (F/F), Angst, Gaslighting, Blackmail, Mild attempted sexual assault

A/N: This is probably the most uncomfortable fic I've written after In Flames (for good reason lol), so I'm nothing short of amazed if you were able to go through every line in this three-parter. P.S. For some reason, third part was the hardest to write for me, I guess it's because a lot of the scenes now are the same ones from In Flames after R found out and switching perspectives was a lot harder than I anticipated :P

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It all feels like a dream, starting from the moment she opens her eyes and a few rays of light have filtered through the slats of the blinds. For a few moments Wanda pretends she’s back to that day—to that first morning she woke up next to you as your wife. She can still vividly recall the setting: your old bedroom in Montauk. Less than a year out of college, both you and Wanda were being frugal about the whole marriage thing, opting out of checking into a hotel after the festivities the night before.

Wanda smiles to herself at the fond memory. She glances to the side, and the alarm clock reads 5:30. It's too early to be waking you up, or anyone in this sleepy town. Nevertheless, she has to talk herself into extricating herself from your arms if she wants to pull off a very special breakfast-in-bed. A hesitant decision, a quiet sigh, and Wanda's slowly pulling herself from the warmth of the bed. The wood floor feels cool against her bare feet, prompting her to reach for one of your used polo shirts hanging over the back of the desk chair.

She enters the kitchen, her hands immediately getting to work. The spinach and mushroom are her first go-to, swiftly layered with day-old bread, and custard mix, forming the base for her strata. Next come the eggs, which she sets to poach, anticipating the smooth burst of yolk that'll cascade over the muffin once all is said and done. And then finally, bacon—your favorite.

Sparky trots into the kitchen, inevitably drawn by the wafting aroma, his tail wagging in tandem with his eagerness. He settles by her feet, watching with those pleading puppy eyes, occasionally letting out a quiet whine that speaks of his impatience and hope. Wanda chuckles, bending down to ruffle his fur. “You think this will get you a piece, huh?” she teases. But, she already knows that she'll give in, sneaking him a piece or two. He's your and Wanda's baby after all.

After she’s finished plating the meal, she sets them on a tray and carefully carries it back to the bedroom. The morning sun presents itself more boldly, almost spotlighting you in bed. Your face is tucked beneath a pillow, the sheets haphazardly pooled around your waist, revealing the bare expanse of your back, without a care in the world. Warmth floods Wanda's chest. She places the tray on a nearby desk.

Breakfast can wait.

Slipping into bed behind you, she becomes a shadow to your form. Her fingers gently trace the curve of your shoulder, lightly skimming over your skin. A shiver runs through her, and she lowers her lips to your nape. The temptation is too great, and soon, her tongue joins the fray, drawing a wet path down your spine. And then, unable to stop herself, she begins to rub herself against you, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sheer fabric of the polo shirt she's wearing, infused with your scent, rubs tantalizingly against her sensitized skin, heightening her need.

She can't stop thinking about last night, and the times before. She can't stop thinking about you—having you, being had by you. However, as your muscles start to tense, indicating the micro movements of your awakening body, a soft “fuck” slips from Wanda's lips, distracting her rhythm. She waits, a small smile tugging at her lips, silently asking if you're ready to greet the day—together.

You lazily roll onto your back, causing Wanda to reposition herself, now straddling your abdomen. With a drowsy smirk, your eyes half-lidded, you murmur, “Good morning,” squinting at the enthusiastic goddess—my wife, you think possessively to yourself— hovering above you.

Her face lights up, her morning energy nearly palpable. “Morning,” she chirps back, leaning down to capture your lips in a short but sweet kiss. Breaking away only slightly, she gives you a playful eskimo kiss, her nose rubbing affectionately against yours. A giggle escapes you, and she continues until you feel her nose scrunch up from how hard she’s smiling, all the while relishing the sound of her laughter.

When she's done teasing you, she buries her face in your neck. Drawn to the soft, milky expanse of her thighs, your hands begin to wander. As your fingers brush the curve where her thigh meets her hip, the subtle absence of fabric gives you pause. She's without a stitch beneath your polo. Your thumb ventures further south, discovering the dampness tangled in her soft curls. Heat surges to your cheeks, and you bite your lip, stifling a moan.

Wanda notices the slight change in your expression and a devilish smirk forms on her lips. “Seems like you found a little surprise,” she teases.

“Did I?” you smirk, tracing the V-line leading to her hidden treasure, teasing her a little. Wanda's breath catches, her pupils blown. But just as she readies herself for whatever comes next, you suddenly shift upwards, unbalancing her slightly. Reflexively, her legs wrap around your waist, anchoring herself to you. Her hands fly to your shoulders, gripping them for support. With a swift move, you part the front of the polo she’s wearing, exposing the smooth curve of her breast to the cool morning air.

The sudden exposure makes her gasp, but before she can utter a word, you close the distance, taking a hardened nipple into your mouth. Her face contorts in unabashed pleasure, her world spinning as you draw her deeper and deeper into your mouth. It's messy and primal, yet at the same time, it's reverent and sacred—something she has only ever experienced with you. She can't help but squirm, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer, urging you on.

Keeping an arm firmly around her waist to ensure she stays secure, your free hand travels down her belly, fingers tracing a sultry path to her soaked center. You leisurely trace her slick folds, gathering her arousal, playing with it.

“Please, baby,” she arches and bucks, grinding her hips, “more...I need more.”

Your lips twist into a devious smirk, reveling in her desperation. Drawing back slightly, you gaze at the flushed, vulnerable state of her, taking a moment to commit the image to memory. “I love it when you’re this needy…” you rasp, the tease evident in your tone.

Oh, but she is. She needs you to claim her, time and time again. She never wants to be anything else other than yours once more.

You lean back in, trailing a path of searing kisses from her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts. Without warning, you nip at her tender flesh, causing her to let out a surprised gasp. Marking her further, you suck and bite gently, leaving a trail of reddened spots, declaring your claim on her. With every purple bruise you leave, Wanda's moans grow more desperate, more wanton.

When you finally lift your head, her chest is littered with bites, then with a wicked grin, you dip your finger into her wetness once more, circling her entrance but never dipping inside.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I... I want you,” she admits breathlessly, biting her lower lip, eyes pleading. “Please, I need you inside.”

Not wanting to make her wait any longer, you slide two fingers into her, curling them expertly. Wanda's body arches off the bed, her inner walls instantly tightening around your digits, pulling them deeper. Every sound that spills from her lips, the way her body arches, trying to get closer, to feel more of you, tells you just how good you’re making her feel.

Your thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in tight circles, while your fingers continue to piston in and out of her. The room is filled with the sound of Wanda's ragged breaths and the wet, slick noises of your fingers moving within her. As you feel her body tense further, you take a chance and slide a third finger into her, stretching her, filling her completely. The sensation of being so full sends Wanda over the edge.

“Oh, God!” she gasps, her back arching, eyes squeezed shut. Her hands grip your shoulders tightly, knuckles white from the intensity of her climax. Her inner walls spasm around your fingers, coating them with her release, her entire body trembling in the throes of ecstasy.

You keep up the pace, not wanting to stop until she's wrung out from pleasure. Each stroke of your fingers sends aftershocks rippling through her. When it finally becomes too much, Wanda grabs your wrist.

“Enough,” she breathes out, a sated smile curling her lips.

You can't resist the allure of the taste she's left on your fingers. You raise them to your lips, deliberately and slowly, letting her watch as you savor her taste. The move earns a flustered gasp from her.

“You taste so good,” you murmur, your voice low and husky.

Wanda's cheeks redden, but her eyes darken once more, filled with a burning intensity. “Your turn,” she whispers, reaching for you.

Thirty minutes before she can call it a day, the sound of a knock on her office door sends a ripple of tension through Wanda.

She knows that knock all too well.

Taking a deep breath, she calls out, “Yes?” even as she mentally braces herself for who might be on the other side.

The person almost immediately steps in, and—unfortunately, she's correct about who she thinks it might be. Before she can utter a word, he says, “You know, I can't just come in without an appointment, right?”

“Exactly, Vision. You shouldn't be here without—” she starts to say, but he interrupts her by triumphantly holding up an appointment slip.

His cheeky grin widens. “Got one right here.”

Wanda eyes the slip, pursing her lips as she thinks of a retort, keeping her guard up. The game has changed, but Vision's audacity, it seems, remains the same.

“Alright, what do you want? And I wouldn’t entertain anything that doesn’t have to do with the course.”

“Just some clarification about our last lecture,” he says as he closes the door behind him, audibly locking it. Wanda maintains her composure, not letting it show that the small act alarms her in the slightest.

“Go on,” Wanda prompts, leaning back slightly against her desk, arms crossed defensively.

But Vision, without missing a beat, launches into something entirely different. “I miss you,” he starts, and Wanda's posture stiffens, her fingernails reactively digging into her arms rather painfully. “I realize I messed up, Wanda. I do. But I can change.”

“Vis—” she warns, trying to interrupt him, but he barrels on, his voice filled with desperation.

“And if, by any chance, you're pregnant, I'll step up. I promise. I'll be responsible,” he continues, his voice quivering slightly. “You have no idea how happy I’ll be if you are.”

“I'm not pregnant,” Wanda whispers, struggling to keep her emotions in check. It's one thing for him to disregard her boundaries and be reckless with his words, but to assume that she would continue a pregnancy, knowing he's the father? Even the thought of it is sickening.

“And I would still choose not to be even if you were successful in your plans,” she adds, just to spite him.

Vision looks as if he might be sick, his complexion turning pallid, and a faint sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Wanda has never seen him struck by her words this hard, and she realizes she doesn't have any idea what he might do next.

“I just... I thought…” he stammers, eyes glistening, “I just wanted to matter to you, b-by—”

“By what, Vision?” She cuts him off, her tone icy. “Hoping you'd lock me down by trying to knock me up?”

Vision’s face crumples further, tears spilling over. For all his stature—tall, lanky yet broad-shouldered—in this moment, he's stripped of that facade. His body shake as he tries to hold back sobs. “I didn't... I didn't think it through,” he manages to say between choked breaths.

Wanda almost pities him, but she shakes her head. “If you’re not here for school, you need to leave.” Her voice is cold, but inside, she's fighting a storm of guilt for the hurt she sees in him.

Just then, the shrill ring of Wanda's phone startles them both simultaneously. Vision's eyes dart to the screen as her caller ID lights up, displaying your name. In a split second, desperation and panic take hold of him. He lunges for the phone, but Wanda is quicker. She swiftly grabs it from her desk, tucking it safely into her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses, her back pressing against the desk.

Vision's eyes burn with an intensity that chills her. Taking slow, deliberate steps, he looms over her, his presence imposing in the small confines of her office. “That’s her, isn’t it?” he demands with barely suppressed jealousy. “She's coming to get you now?”

Wanda backs away slightly, her breathing erratic. “Vision, you need to think—”

“I am thinking.” His voice drops to a low, menacing growl. He tilts his head, eyes never leaving hers. “And maybe I'm thinking of doing something you won't like.”

“No!” Wanda pleads. “Look, Vision—okay, okay, let’s talk. Just not here. We can go to your place.”

His gaze narrows, considering her offer. “When?”

“Soon.”

Vision shakes his head. Not good enough.

“Tomorrow,” he states without room for argument, his eyes drilling into hers. “Same time. Like we used to.” The allusion to their previous meetings isn't lost on her.

Wanda's throat constricts, “Fine,” she whispers, barely audible, a clear note of dread in her voice. She hates the familiarity of this situation. Most of all, she hates that she's put herself in this position to begin with.

Suddenly, Vision reaches out, his fingers nearly brushing the side of her face. Wanda instinctively shrinks back, but the space between the desk and Vision offers her little room to escape. Her back is to the wall, both literally and figuratively. She can feel the cold press of the desk behind her, contrasting with the heat emanating from Vision's body. It’s obvious what he's thinking, what he's restraining himself from doing.

Horrified and trapped, Wanda closes her eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the touch she anticipates, she hears Vision's harsh intake of breath. The realization that she's retreated from him seems to strike a nerve.

Without another word, Vision pulls away sharply, as if burnt. He turns on his heel, storming out of her office. As soon as he’s gone, her legs give out from under her and she slides down to the cold floor, clutching her chest as she struggles for air. The walls of her office seem to close in on her, trapping her in her own spiraling thoughts.

As the room begins to blur, the sharp buzz of her phone breaks through her spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, she reaches into her purse, pulling out the phone. Your name illuminates the screen, and with it comes a flood of emotions—relief, safety, love.

The mere thought of you—so close, just beyond these walls—stops a panic attack from consuming her.

“Would you like to go bowling?” Wanda asks you as soon as she fastens her seat belt.

The randomness of the suggestion takes you aback, and a hearty laugh escapes your lips. But as you glance over to see Wanda's reaction, expecting to see her sharing in the moment's levity, you're met with a pained expression.

Your smile fades immediately, replaced by concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Wanda mentally curses herself, realizing just how easily you can read her, see past her defenses. Needing to come up with something plausible, she quickly blurts out, “I had something super spicy when you called earlier. Didn't handle it too well, it seems.”

The corners of her mouth quirk up in a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, hoping you'd buy the lie, or at least not press further.

You don’t. “Hmm… how about we take Sparky out for a stroll today?” you suggest.

“A walk sounds great,” Wanda replies, her voice softening.

“Good,” you say, starting the car. “Let's head to the park. A bit of nature might do us both some good.”

The engine rumbles softly as you shift the gears, transitioning smoothly from one to the next. And then, almost instinctively, you reach out to take Wanda's hand, your fingers lacing with hers in a gentle yet firm grip. You hold her hand throughout the entire ride home, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze whenever you feel them tremble between yours.

That night, while you sleep soundly beside her, she finds herself unable to sleep. She spends the empty hours simply studying your peaceful face. There's a childlike innocence in the way your lips part slightly, a soft snore escaping occasionally. It's endearing, and it makes Wanda smile, even through her turmoil. She imagines traces of age on your face—the lines that will mark years of laughter, the silver that will streak through your hair. She tries to picture herself beside you, her own face carrying the weight of the years, both of you holding on to each other until the last breath. Her smile is teary as she hopes and hopes that this is where she's headed—to this future.

Because tomorrow, she will have to see Vision, and if everything goes well, she'll never have to see him again. Then she will finally express how she needs you to take her back to Manhattan or anywhere far from here, so she'll never have to relive this nightmare she’s created.

The next day comes like any regular day of the week. She kisses you goodbye as you head off to work, and she feeds Sparky to his heart's content before getting into a pinstripe blue blazer set. She fails to notice just how good she looks in this well-fitted ensemble, the fabric hugging her waist perfectly. Her focus is solely on feeling powerful, as she knows she'll need all the strength to finally put an end to things with Vision.

Wanda takes a deep breath, then another, and then two more, before she finally gathers enough courage to knock on the door. Vision answers almost immediately, as though he had been anticipating her knock down to the very second.

The man before her now looks wholly different from the one she had encountered just yesterday. His blue eyes are bright and clear, his face clean shaven. The scent of a cologne she doesn't recognize wafts to her. New, she thinks. It's heady and distinctly masculine, unsettling her slightly.

“Wanda,” he greets with a charming smile, one that reaches his eyes, but doesn’t quite touch the soul behind them. For a moment, she's transported to the countless afternoons she spent here, entangled with him with nothing—not even air—separating their sweating, writhing bodies. His lips quirk into a sly, familiar smile, as if he too remembers those days and expects this visit to be a similar occasion.

“Vision.” Gripping her shoulder bag tighter, almost using it as a shield, she quickly sidesteps him. “May I?” she asks, though it sounds more like a statement as she makes her way into his apartment.

He chuckles softly behind her, the sound dripping with memories she would rather forget. “Of course. After all, you've always felt at home here.”

Wanda's stride falters for a fraction of a second at his words, the implication threatening to pull her under. But she needed to keep her wits about her. If she wants this conversation to go her way.

“Let’s just get to the point, Vision,” she says curtly.

“I intend to,” he replies, closing the door behind them with an intentional finality. Wanda allows herself to glance around, seeking even a brief distraction from what's about to unfold. His apartment is in disarray, a stark contrast to his appearance. Her eyes are drawn to one particular piece amongst the chaos—the finished nude painting he had made of her. The realization catches in her throat. It appears he’s finished it.

Wanda shoots him an expectant look, urging him to speak first.

Vision clears his throat, attempting to sound casual but failing. “Wine? Or should we skip the formalities?”

Her eyes narrow, her patience waning. “We skip.”

“Alright.”

He sighs and drops onto the couch. “Look, I've said sorry over and over, but I’ll say it again. I'm sorry, Wanda. I'm sorry for being careless that night.” His voice lowers, “But I don't regret it.”

Wanda's eyes flash with disbelief. “You don't regret it?”

“No,” he murmurs. “What I regret is that it didn't result in... well, you know.”

The implication is clear, and Wanda feels bile rise in her throat. How could he say something so audacious?

She opens her mouth to retort but he continues, raising a hand as if to hold off her words, “I want to keep seeing you. I can’t stop. Because, believe it or not, I'm in love with you.”

Wanda feels as though the ground has been pulled from under her feet. Every instinct tells her to run, but she knows that this won’t have an ending if she does. Wanda swallows dryly and closes her eyes, trying to piece together a strategy, a way to get through him, a way to get out of this unscathed, a way to ensure he won’t tell anyone about this when she leaves.

“I-I believe you,” she starts. “I think I’ve always known, no—felt, that you l-love me.” Vision nods to her words, his lips curling into a hopeful smile.

“But I have to be honest with you, too,” she continues, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I took advantage of those feelings, Vision. I knew, deep down, that you felt this way and I still... I still let it happen. And for that, I'm deeply sorry.”

He stiffens at her words, a frown forming on his brow. “Wanda—”

She raises her hand, signaling for him to let her finish. “I don’t love you. It's Y/N. It's always been her. From the very start. What happened between us, it was a mistake, one that I haven't forgiven myself for. Especially because of what it means for Y/N.”

She takes a shaky breath, looking into his eyes earnestly, “You deserve someone who can return your feelings, who can love you wholeheartedly. You're a handsome, intelligent, passionate young man. There are many out there who would consider themselves lucky to be with you—”

But Vision vehemently shakes his head, unwilling to accept it, refusing to acknowledge their end. “I want to keep seeing you.”

“You can't,” Wanda insists, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. “It's over.”

Vision's eyes flash dangerously, the calm veneer shattering in an instant. He takes a step forward, trapping Wanda with a threatening look.

“You think you can just fuck me and then discard me like nothing?!” he hisses.

Wanda backs up, startled. She feels her control starting to slip away. “Of course not. I… you were my friend. I cared—I care about you. But I shouldn't have let it get this far.”

He scoffs, not a word of hers reaching his ears. “So, it's all a game to you? You get to decide when to play and when to stop?”

“No, it's not a game,” she replies, desperate for him to understand. “But I can't keep lying to myself or to you. I can't keep hurting Y/N or you.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and there's a glint of something dark and foreboding in his eyes. “Maybe you should've considered the consequences of your actions, Wanda.”

She swallows hard, sensing the danger in his voice. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe Y/N should know the truth,” he surmises, his voice dripping with malice. “Maybe she should know exactly who she's been sharing her bed with.”

Wanda feels like she might faint anytime. Panic rises, threatening to choke her. “Vision, please,” she pleads, “you can't do that.”

His eyes remain steely. “Why not? She deserves to know, doesn't she?”

Wanda takes a shaky breath, grappling for words, trying to appeal to his sense of reason. “Yes, she does. But not like this. Not from you. If anyone should tell her, it's me.”

“But you'll never tell her,” Vision says, his voice laced with accusation. “I see it in your eyes, Wanda. You don't have the balls to be honest with her. Because you're afraid. You're afraid she'll walk away.”

Both are poised in this high-stakes game, each waiting, anticipating, guessing what card the other will play next. For a heartbeat, Wanda feels disarmed, Vision's threat too sharp and too real. But as the seconds tick by, something shifts in her. She straightens up, pulling herself to her full height, and when she speaks, there’s no fear or hesitation in her voice.

“You’re not going to tell her,” she declares.

“And what makes you so sure?”

“Because you know I'll hate you,” she says. “And if there's even the slightest chance that I'll change my mind, then doing that wouldn't be it.”

Vision lets out a humorless laugh, but the look in his eyes betrays his indifference. “You think there's a chance you'll change your mind?”

“No,” Wanda says firmly. “It's over.”

The defiant look that had been painted across Vision's face begins to crack. He looks smaller somehow, like he's shrinking back into himself. His shoulders slump, and the facade of control and confidence he'd donned earlier dissolves. The boy from yesterday, the one who seemed so heartbroken, returns in full force.

“Wanda,” his voice trembles, almost as if he's on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m all alone. I told you my life, I told you about my parents, nobody in this world cares about me! And I know I said I’m fine and I can survive without them, but why should I when I have you, Wanda—”

She can't help but pity him, his brokenness tugging at her heartstrings. But she knows that relenting now would mean drowning in the same cycle all over again.

“Vis, you will find someone. Someone who isn't me, someone better for you. Trust that.”

“How can I want someone else when I had you,” he insists with unwavering stubbornness, his eyes growing more frenzied, and Wanda shivers at the unsettling sight before her.

“Maybe you had me,” she says tearfully as she decides to finally drive a stake into his heart. “But not in every way like Y/N has me.”

Before she can register what's happening, Vision's hands are suddenly around her waist, pulling her forcefully against him. The initial shock and his assertiveness make her freeze for a split second. As he starts rubbing himself against her, she feels the unmistakable hardness growing between them.

“Vision, stop!” she protests, trying to wriggle free.

“Can you feel that?” he whispers hoarsely, clearly misinterpreting her struggle, mistaking it for their first time together and all the other times she eventually gave in to his advances. “That's how much I want you. Need you.”

Tears of frustration and fear spill from her eyes. “This isn't right, Vision. Let go,” she pleads, placing her hands against his chest and pushing with all her might.

“Wanda, just—maybe if we—you’ll see. You’ll see that you love me, just let me—”

Her fist connects with his cheek, causing him to stumble a few steps away. For a while, they both freeze in horror, the gravity of the situation sinking in. In his moment of delirium, Vision comprehends what he was about to do to the woman he claims to love, and guilt claws at his guts, wrenching his insides.

On the other end, Wanda's chest heaves with shock and distress. She stands there momentarily paralyzed, the aftershocks of the ordeal still rippling through her. Tears blur her vision, but she refuses to let them fall, not now, not when she needs all her strength. Her gaze meets Vision's only briefly before she pulls herself together. She wraps her arms around herself, and then rushes to the front door.

He yells, “No, Wanda! I…please let’s just—”

But his pleas fall on deaf ears.

Wanda goes straight home after the whole fiasco with Vision. She locks herself in the bedroom, crying for hours, paying no attention to Sparky's worried barks from outside the door. She tells herself that it could be worse, trying to talk herself out of going to the police. If she goes to the authorities, she'll have to give a statement. This would inevitably lead to an investigation into their past, revealing things she doesn't want you to know.

Drained from crying, Wanda's eyelids grow heavy. As sleep overtakes her, vivid dreams flood her mind, each presenting an alternate reality. In one dream she’s back in Vision’s apartment, his arms wrapped around her like a chain, and every time she tries to pull away, the chains grow tighter, pulling her back into his prison. A cold dread settles in her heart, as she struggles and fights, desperate to wrench herself free from his grasp.

The next scenario places her in a world without Vision. It's a life untouched by his influence, where she walks unfamiliar streets and meets faces that do not recognize her. Then, in a sudden shift, she's back at her office on that fateful evening, but the events unfurl differently. The temptation of Vision never materializes. She leaves, unburdened by the weight of a choice she didn't make.

But the relief is short-lived. These dreams meld into a harrowing nightmare, saturated in hues of red and black, where you discover her secret. She tries to call out, to explain, to mend, but her voice is swallowed by the deafening silence of the dreamscape.

In her seemingly endless silent screams, Wanda wakes up. The remnants of her haunting dreams still clutching at her, making her jolt upright. The fabric of the sheets sticks to her body, drenched in a cold sweat. Each breath comes in ragged gasps, as if she's been submerged underwater and has just broken the surface.

The bedside clock reads half past six and panic sets anew. You could be home in an hour, given that you haven't been extending your hours at the office lately. The realization pushes her into a frenzied urgency. Throwing off the sheets, Wanda rushes to the ensuite bathroom. The cold stream from the shower brings a semblance of clarity, washing away the residues of her nightmares.

Wrapped in a towel, with droplets still cascading down her skin, she dashes to the kitchen. She pulls out ingredients, her hands working methodically, albeit with a haste that speaks of her need to keep busy, to keep the demons of her subconscious at bay. She manages to prepare a simple but appetizing meal, but the mere thought of taking a bite threatens to turn her stomach inside out.

The dining table is set, and she seats herself, her gaze distant once again. And she stays there, lost in her own head.

It’s how you find her when you get home at 9:15 in the evening.

You’re quiet tonight. Alarmingly so.

She asks you how your day was, and you respond tersely with a simple, “Good.” She attempts to get you to elaborate, maybe share an anecdote like you usually do, but you dismiss her efforts, attributing your lack of interest in conversation to fatigue.

But Wanda can’t stand the silence. When it’s quiet, the voices in her head are even louder.

So she decides to tell you about her day instead. She swears to herself this is the last day she’ll ever lie to you with a straight face. She talks about the final projects her students have begun submitting. As she describes her favorites, your interest particularly sharpens when she mentions the portrait projects. You pepper her with questions, mostly about who made which, and Wanda offers names that probably wouldn't mean much to you.

After you finish eating, you thank her with a small smile. It's only then that Wanda feels she can breathe again. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, her longing evident. However, just as she tries to deepen the kiss, you pull away, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Showered without me?” you tease, but it lacks the usual lilt in your voice. She simply nods in response. You playfully tap her nose, whispering, “Naughty girl.” Then, without another word, you're on your feet and heading up the stairs to the bedroom.

She proceeds to clear the table and wash the dishes, all while the sound of the shower fills her ears. She allows herself a small smile, chiding herself for being overly affected by her dream.

By the time she makes her way up to join you, she discovers you've already drifted off, turned away from the vacant space beside you that's meant for her.

She’s positively shaking as she takes the short walk from the parking lot to the classroom, the dread building up inside her like a swelling storm. The thought of facing her class, and especially Vision, sends shivers down her spine. The recent events—the horrifically inappropriate advances and Vision's glaring sense of entitlement—play over and over in her mind.

Her feet eventually take her to her destination, but she remains outside for a full minute. The thought of facing Vision again is almost enough to turn her around. But another, stronger, voice reminds her of her duty, her commitment to her other students, and her own integrity. Moreover, she doesn't want to be alone today, here the haunting events with Vision could replay in her mind without any distractions.

She pushes open the door. It appears to be a typical day, with her students clustered in small groups, engrossed in conversation and seemingly oblivious to her arrival. She swiftly surveys the room and, to her relief, doesn't spot the familiar blue eyes that usually fixate on her by this time.

When she starts her lecture on the final topic of the semester, it flows seamlessly. Still, the end of the course can't come soon enough; continuing here is untenable. She can’t keep teaching here, when these hallways keep reminding her of the mistake that almost cost her everything.

You've been leaving the side of your bed cold for almost two weeks now. Sometimes, your careful movements stir her awake, and she watches you, bleary-eyed, as you go through the motions of prepping for a run, a habit you've picked up quite recently. At first, Wanda would always ask where you’re headed and if she can accompany you. But you'd consistently dismiss her offer, always seeming in a rush to hit the pavement.

She thinks it’s good for you—the exercise. The only aspect of your new hobby that she dislikes is that you typically go before sunrise, where everywhere is still too dark and eerily quiet, and her imagination runs wild of all the worst things that could happen to you while you’re out on your run.

And Wanda wouldn’t admit it, but she can't help but internalize the consistent rejection of her offers to join you. She wonders if there's a deeper reason behind it. When you're out and she's left alone with her thoughts, Wanda can't help but let the guilt seep in. Has she become too transparent? Has something given her secret away? Did you find out about her affair? How would she even begin to explain?

But then you return after your run, with a sense of tranquility, as though the exercise had been a cathartic release of some pent-up tension. However, something still feels amiss. Perhaps it's because she hasn't slept with you since the night she discovered she wasn't pregnant with Vision's child, and all that has passed between you are brief, perfunctory kisses here and there. She wants to discuss it with you, but she doesn't want to appear too eager or guilty. Instead, she remains committed to being a good wife. And even though being a good wife was never about housework, Wanda ensures that every corner of the house sparkles and shines.

Meanwhile, you go about fulfilling your own household responsibilities seamlessly. From tending to minor repairs to ensuring that bills are paid on time, you continue with the routines that have always defined the dynamic of your relationship. There's no sign of resentment or dissatisfaction in your actions. It's almost as if everything is back to normal. This confounds Wanda even more. She starts to question her own memory, wondering if perhaps this distance, this new version of you, has always been present and she just never realized it. It's possible that you've become this way while she was preoccupied with her affair, and she didn't notice how you slowly adjusted to her unavailability.

Of course, she only has herself to blame. She's determined, however, to rectify it and make it up to you.

Which is when the idea strikes her. The dream vacation to Hawaii that both of you often fantasized about but never took due to financial constraints and a tight schedule. With the money from her teaching job, she now has the means to turn that dream into a reality. A surprise trip might be the perfect remedy to rekindle the connection that has worn out due to your busy lives and... her unfaithfulness.

She knows it doesn't atone for her sins, but it's a step in the right direction.

It should have been the perfect day for her surprises. She has two of them—the surprise trip and the news of her resignation from the university. She had just handed you the box with all the Hawaii trip details, and you were about to dive in, when there was a knock at the door.

Two men in dark suits have arrived at the house, looking for her. Detectives—Rogers and Barnes. Wanda uncovers the real reason behind Vision's absence from school, and it wasn't due to personal family matters or a decision to pursue education elsewhere.

He's been in an accident, and they suspect foul play.

Their questions start off simple, touching on the basics. But soon, they feel like piercing arrows as they delve into the phone calls between them, how close they were, and if she ever set foot in his apartment. Throughout the interrogation, Wanda manages to keep a straight face, though deep down she knows she probably can't fool detectives of their caliber. Yet, she silently prays that you don't see past her mask.

“That’s enough,” you interject firmly. “My wife has answered your questions. Unless there’s anything else directly related to your investigation, I believe we’ve covered everything.”

Your intervention when their questions grow more intrusive suggests she's managed to keep you in the dark. The realization that you're still on her side floods her with immense relief.

“Very well. Thank you both for your time,” Rogers says.

But Wanda isn’t done. She has her own questions. She needs to know if Vision's involvement with her is the reason they're here, probing. She wonders if he might have informed the authorities about their inappropriate relationship, and if that somehow relates to his current situation.

“Wait!” Wanda exclaims, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She contemplates asking her burning questions, but with you observing from the side, she suppresses her urge to do so. Instead, she conveys her worry—she is, after all, his teacher.

“Is he… is he okay?”

Wanda's complexion turns ashen upon catching the look on Barnes' face, instantly realizing he's fully aware of her and Vision's relationship. She can barely hear Roger's response, her blood rushing in her ears.

“…that he’s stable. However, he remains in a coma. It’s uncertain when or if he’ll wake up, but let's hold onto hope.”

Oh.

Her secret's safe—for now. But she... she has to be certain. She needs to tie up any loose ends, if there are any.

It's reckless to visit Vision's apartment in daylight, especially right after a visit from the police.

Exiting her car, Wanda's sandals softly scrape against the ground. She pauses to scan her surroundings, her gaze flitting from one building to another. The neighboring houses and apartment complexes stand silent, their stillness almost eerie, as if they've been forsaken. She knows that not many reside in this part of the town, a fact that had made Vision's apartment an ideal hideaway for their secret meetings.

She cautiously approaches Vision's unit, her hand shaking slightly as it reaches for the door knob: locked. A memory surges—Vision handing her a spare key during one of their early encounters. Retrieving it from her bag, she hesitantly fits it into the lock, preparing herself for what she might find beyond the door.

It opens with a muted creak, and a blanket of darkness envelops her. Hesitating at the threshold, she fumbles for a light switch, her fingers brushing against the cool wall before finding it. She'd half-expected Vision's belongings to be packed up, perhaps by a landlord who wanted to move on from the situation. But everything appears untouched, as if frozen in time; dust hasn't settled, and the items scattered about give no indication that the place has been vacant for weeks. It occurs to her that the ongoing investigation might be the reason the apartment remains untouched.

Wanda moves quickly, knowing she shouldn’t linger. Heading straight to the bathroom, she swiftly gathers her toothbrush and a few other personal items she had left behind. As she emerges, her gaze is drawn to the corner where Vision's easel stands. It used to hold a portrait of her, a work he'd wanted to submit for his final project, capturing her in a light she had never seen herself. But now, it’s empty.

A cold rush of panic seizes her. She clutches the edge of a table, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Had Vision decided to move the painting for some reason? Or worse, had the detectives seen it and taken it as evidence? The painting wasn’t just art; it was tangible evidence of their affair.

But then, in the midst of her mounting fear, a memory jolts her—there was another painting, the one Vision had purchased from the gallery where she used to work. With a newfound urgency, she hurries to his bedroom. The scene is disarrayed, with sheets and pillows strewn about. Ignoring the mess, Wanda goes directly to the cabinet where she remembered he last stored it. She yanks open the doors, and her eyes dart around, searching, but the painting is nowhere to be found.

Desperation grips her. If the detectives come across either painting, they'd have more reasons to scrutinize her further than she's comfortable with. Such involvement would be near-impossible to hide from you. Wanda proceeds with caution, scanning the apartment for any lingering items that could connect her to Vision. Unexpectedly, she finds a piece of her lingerie nestled within his sock drawer. Swiftly, she snatches it up. Before departing, she meticulously wipes away any fingerprints from the surfaces she's touched, then dashes to her car.

Once inside, she pauses to draw several deep, steadying breaths. It's overwhelming to think that this is now her reality, teetering on the brink of exposure.

She eventually finds herself falling off the edge when she discovers Natasha’s email on your laptop, mere moments after the crushing realization that you hadn’t bothered to open her gift.

Her instinct is to craft a lie. She searches her mind rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for the intimate handhold. Maybe she could say it was an old friend from the past, or perhaps a distressed student she was comforting. But one glance at the photo and she knows, deep down, that any excuse would fall flat. The way Vision looks at her, with such unmistakable affection and wonder, betrays any innocence she might claim. Trying to explain this to you or anyone else would be an exercise in futility.

Wanda had played out various scenarios in her mind about how you might discover the truth, but she never imagined it would be through seeking the expertise of your best friend. It was perhaps naive, but she had hoped you wouldn’t notice anything or, if you did, that you'd confront her about it.

But why would you come to her? She's been pushing you away for months, and the only time she truly showed you how much you mean to her was when she was so relieved that she wouldn't be carrying the consequences of her indiscretions in her womb.

In case you need them, the subject of the email says. Need them for what? Wanda wonders. From the way Natasha worded the message accompanying the photos, it doesn't appear you're just discovering the truth now.

No, it seems that you’ve known for a while. Which means—

The pieces fall into place, a chilling realization creeping over her. Wanda's breath catches as she pushes the laptop away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. The way you had carried yourself, especially around the police—it was far too serene, too measured. When they mentioned Vision's name, you didn't so much as flinch or even show a flicker of surprise.

Her heart beats painfully against her ribs. The calm demeanor, the calculated way you’d been moving about—it wasn't out of ignorance. You knew. And for how long? The thought terrifies her. How many days or weeks has she been living this lie while you watched, silently knowing everything?

Your silence, amplifying her betrayal, eats away at her conscience. The quiet before the storm, she thinks. And she's right in the middle of it.

“Wanda?”

She’s hiding in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror, practicing a smile and a thousand more expressions even though she's barely holding it together.

“Wanda.”

She couldn't shake the thought of you knowing. Did you have any involvement in Vision's accident? You've never intentionally hurt even the smallest creature, let alone another human being, right?

“Wanda!”

She nearly leaps out of her skin as the bathroom door slams open, and you stare back at her, looking just as startled and taken aback.

“Hey,” she says, forcing a smile.

You narrow your eyes at her, and she shivers under your intense scrutiny.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in here for almost an hour.”

Wanda nods quickly. “I'm fine.”

You continue to watch her for a moment, before saying, “Alright.”

Just as you're about to step away, Wanda remembers the plans for later. “About the dinner tonight,” she starts hesitantly, “with your colleagues from the bank... should we cancel?”

She's desperately hoping you'd say yes. She can't bear not knowing what's going on in your mind. The way you act as if everything's normal is suffocating her. Does she even still know the real you? Every moment you're not cursing her out or confronting her betrayal feels like an eternity.

But you shake your head. “No, let's do it. We already promised them.”

Wanda's heart sinks a little, but she nods in understanding.

“I'll go grab some wine real quick,” you say before leaving the bathroom, leaving Wanda alone once again with her thoughts.

Later, as the last of the guests leave, she's certain you've picked up on her distress, noticing how you kept glancing at your watch and drifting out of conversations. She senses your gaze on her as she escorts Scott and his wife to the car, acutely aware you're observing her every move from the bedroom window.

Though they're older than both you and Wanda, they've only been hitched for two years. Wanda can't help but wonder if maybe things are smoother for them because they waited to get married. But then a familiar warmth washes over her. The memory of how deeply in love she was with you surfaces. Even if you had waited six years to propose, she’s sure that had you suggested it within the first few months of dating, she would've said yes in a heartbeat.

Truth be told, she doesn't regret it now, the timing of it, and everything in between.

All she's uncertain of is how tonight will unfold.

The house lies shrouded in an inky stillness, almost like it’s holding its breath. She carefully climbs the stairs to the bedroom you both share, one uncertain step at a time. The door is slightly open, and you're standing by the window, your silhouette thin and brittle.

“What happened, Y/N?” she asks as she stops a few feet from you. Your eyes are closed, and your body trembles. Though she should be consumed by fear, her only desire is for you to open your eyes, hoping to find the person she fell in love with over a decade ago still there.

“What did you do? Did you cause his ‘accident’?” she continues. But you remain silent, unmoving. “Y/N?”

Still, nothing. Wanda is slowly but surely losing her sanity.

“Did you hurt him? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Y/N. Talk to me,” Wanda pleads, and then out of desperation she screams, “Tell me what you did!”

“No!” You roar with a primal intensity, reminiscent of a wounded animal in the wild, and the sheer force of it makes Wanda recoil. But she doesn't move away from you. Not at this crucial moment, when she senses how close she is to losing you. “You tell me what you did!”

You stalk towards her menacingly, until you're mere breaths away, and Wanda wants to reach out and touch you, but she knows she'll be burned.

“How you fucked him over and over and over! How you lied to me… over and over and over,” you tell her brokenly.

“Y/N, please–”

“Don’t. You don’t get to talk to me now,” you say, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “You didn’t think I’d know? I wouldn’t feel it? I knew from the very first night. Because I know you, Wanda. Every thought. Every look. Every fiber of your being. I know you and I fucking hate you! I didn’t want to hurt him, I wanted to hurt you!”

The confirmation she's been dreading, along with the murderous glint in your eyes, saps the color from Wanda’s face. “Oh my god,” she chokes out, hand clamping over her mouth in horror. “Y/N…”

You try to walk away, but your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, knees first, like a puppet with its strings cut. The tears flow freely now, unburdened by pride or anger. A raw, guttural sob escapes your lips, echoing the pain in your chest. Wanda, too, collapses, a mirror reflection of your despair, her body shaking as sobs rack her frame.

How could she have ever been afraid of you, especially knowing what you've been through? Beneath it all, she sees the woman she deeply loves, now appearing so fragile and torn apart, all because of her own mistakes. “I'm so sorry...” she whispers, her apology a mere drop in the ocean of hurt between you.

“Was there anyone else aside from him?” you ask suddenly, looking at the carpeted floor before you.

“No,” Wanda answers earnestly.

You offer a wry smile. “He must be really special then.”

She frantically shakes her head. He's not. No one is. It's always been—

“Do you love him?”

“No,” Wanda responds hastily, almost too hastily for your taste. And by the look on your face, she's crushed by the realization that no matter what she says next, your trust in her words may be irrevocably broken. “I thought I did, but no,” she admits. She can't bear the thought of deceiving you further and aims to leave no question unanswered.

“Did you…” you start, staring intently at the ceiling, and Wanda knows exactly what you’re asking even before it comes out of your mouth. The fact that you have to ask leaves her utterly heartbroken.

“...ever love me?”

This was her doing. The very second she acted on impulse and succumbed to temptation was when she truly lost you.

“I love you,” Wanda murmurs, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours, stubborn for her words to reach you. “I know how fucked up that sounds to you right now. But I do, I love you, Y/N.”

“You love me?” your voice falters, making you wince. “You have a truly unique way of showing it.”

How does she prove it? How can she make you believe? Wanda scrambles for tactics, for miracles, for a do-over.

“After all this,” you continue, “you might as well have killed me. Being dead might be painless compared to this.”

“Baby, please don't say that,” Wanda's voice breaks, choked by tears she can't hold back. She feels the urge to reach out, her fingers itching to touch you.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Even hearing you say my name makes me sick.” Your voice is steady, each word dripping with cold resentment.

“You can stay,” you say after a while. Wanda senses a fragile hint of hope blossoming within her. But it's quickly crushed when you add, “Stay in this house, for as long as you need. But I'm leaving.”

And it’s here where the panic sets in. The realization that she's on the brink of losing you entirely, not just emotionally but physically as well, hits Wanda like a freight train. The walls of the room seem to close in on her, and the weight of her decisions and mistakes press heavily on her shoulders, making her feel as if she's sinking.

“No,” she whispers. “Please, don't go.”

You start to slide your wedding ring off, and that’s when Wanda loses it. She launches herself at you, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. In the split-second it takes for the golden loop to slip off your finger, a flood of memories rushes over Wanda—the scent of rain as it patters on the roof of the reception, the song playing in the background as you and Wanda sway to your first dance as a married couple, the warmth of your hand intertwined with hers. Those fragments play in a demented, rapid slideshow, and time stretches and contracts, maddeningly so.

For Wanda, it feels like someone's drilled a hole in the base of her skull, letting all the sorrow rush in like a merciless flood. Everything else is white noise. For that brief instant when her lips slot against yours, you don’t push her away. Wanda pours everything she has into this kiss, hoping you'll feel her truth in it. But then, before she even has the chance to deepen it, you’re pulling away and it’s—

It’s over.

Stubborn as always, Wanda tries to hide in your neck, and you feel her tears sliding down your throat. She clings to you with all her might, holding on for as long as she can. But when she feels you gently place your wedding ring into her palm, her face crumples with a pain so profound, she knows she may never recover from it. And then you begin to rise, lifting yourself from the floor. As she instinctively clings to your leg, you take another step, causing Wanda to stumble forward from the sudden loss of support.

“This can't be the end. It just can't,” Wanda murmurs to herself like a mantra, as if repeating it will change the course of reality. She's almost certain you hear her, but it doesn't change your stride; you just keep walking away.

The ring burns in her palm, a searing reminder that her promise of loving and cherishing you always means nothing to you now.

Wanda can't quite figure out how, but you've chosen to remain in the guest bedroom for the evening. She'd heard the engine of your car roar to life, but then it fell silent after just a few moments. Peering out, she’d seen you stepping out of the car, phone pressed to your ear.

Who had you been talking to? An intense curiosity had consumed Wanda, making her wonder who had been on the other end of that call. In the short window they'd been estranged—no, just temporarily separated, because Wanda refused to believe that you'd entirely lost your affection for her—could there have been someone else? Someone waiting in line for their turn?

Now, she stands hesitantly in front of the guest bedroom door, hands clenched in her sides, torn between giving you space and continuing to fight for her marriage. She's torn, but not clueless. It's not just about barging in or holding back; it's about the aftermath. She stands there, frozen, trying to figure out which move won't blow everything to smithereens. Because the time she has with you is running out and there might not be a tomorrow.

Or a you and her. Ever again.

Wanda finally sinks to the floor, her back flush against the cold, indifferent wood of the door. Sparky, pads over, his little claws making almost no sound against the floor. He nestles himself on her lap, making his bed there for the night. She wraps her fingers around his soft fur, his warmth seeping into her, but his presence is a double-edged sword. As much as she adores him, he's going to be the only thing of you she gets to keep, and it's going to be a painful reminder from here on out.

In an act of despair, she presses an ear flat against the door, searching for the tiniest murmur, the faintest shuffle. Anything to tell her what's happening on the other side of this barrier. A barrier that was never there before. She's on the outside, and the thought that you're moving on, building a life sans her, is terrifying.

It's a cruel irony, she realizes. Here she is, just a few inches from you, yet completely and utterly in the dark. And so, she sits, hoping against hope, that at some point during the night, she'd hear the door creak open, and you’d scoop her in your arms and take her back.

She waits, because that's what love does—it waits, even in the darkest of times.

The next morning, Wanda wakes up, surprised to find herself in a bed instead of on the hard, cold floor. She doesn't recall making the trip, but the idea that you cared enough to ensure she slept on something warm and comfortable almost makes her heart leap out of her chest.

However, her happiness is short-lived as she opens the closet and discovers that some of your things are missing. To a stranger, the differences wouldn't be obvious, but she knows which shirt and trousers you chose, and she understands the implication. It means you won't be returning tonight, and perhaps not tomorrow either. When she goes to the bathroom, she finds only one toothbrush, and that's enough to make tears well up in her swollen eyes once more.

“Thanks for picking up,” Wanda says, her fingers gripping the phone tight, holding onto it like she’s drowning and it’s her only lifeline.

“Well, you've called enough times. Figured I'd give you a break,” Natasha's voice, though distant, is biting, as frigid as the coldness that Wanda has been feeling in her bones these past days.

“I need to know where she is. Please.”

A sigh on the other end, followed by a chilling silence. “You think after everything, you still have the right to know her whereabouts?”

“She's still my wife,” Wanda counters, but it’s weak.

“She was your wife,” Natasha fires back, unrelenting. “The last I checked, people who love their partners don't sleep with college kids.”

The words hit Wanda harder than any physical blow could. She's taken aback, gasping for air as if she's been sucker-punched.

“I—”

“She loved you,” Natasha continues ruthlessly, “more than you ever deserved. And you threw it away, for what? Some fleeting thrill?”

Loved? Past tense? Had Natasha just assumed—

Or was that word coming directly from you?

Pushing down the slightest twinge of sympathy that threatens to surface, Natasha picks up on Wanda's faint, broken breaths on the other end. She can tell Wanda's on the verge, and it's familiar, too familiar. It's almost exactly the sound she caught when she was on the phone with you the other night.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Wanda barely manages to say.

“Well, it did,” Natasha snaps, her voice cold. “Intentions don’t change actions. And actions have consequences.”

Wanda’s voice comes off a little strong this time, thick with conviction. “Maybe I deserve this, Natasha. Maybe it’s my time to pay for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

“You think?” Natasha scoffs.

“But you... you’ll never get it. You’ll never understand why I can’t just let go, why I can’t give up on her,” Wanda says.

“And why’s that?”

Wanda's voice trembles with the knowledge that what she's about to say is a cheap blow. “Because you've never been married. You've never committed yourself to someone in the way I have with her.”

That stings, and Natasha can feel her own anger rising.

“Don’t think for a second that just because I’m not married, I don’t understand commitment, pain, or betrayal,” she says, voice low and measured.

Wanda swallows hard. “I didn't mean to—”

“Of course you didn't. But here we are, yet again,” Natasha cuts her off. She sighs, leaning back in her chair, “I’m not telling you where she is. She needs time, Wanda. Time away from you. If she wants to talk, she’ll find you.”

That's the last thing Wanda wants. She worries that distance will solidify your resolve, turning her from an immediate regret to a distant afterthought.

“I need to see her, Natasha,” Wanda pleads, “Just tell me where she is.”

“Why? So you can make things even worse?”

After a tense pause, Wanda plays her last card, “Remember that night after we all went out? The night you and Bruce...” she trails off, not needing to complete the sentence.

Natasha stiffens, instantly knowing where this is headed. “Don’t you dare, Wanda.”

Wanda forges on, “I never told anyone, never used it against you. I kept your secret. You owe me, Natasha.”

The feeling of Bruce's hand against her cheek, the humiliation, the denial—all of it comes rushing back. She never thought Wanda would throw that night back in her face.

“You're really going there?” Natasha laughs hollowly.

“I’m desperate, Natasha. I love her. I can’t lose her,” Wanda’s voice breaks.

The line goes quiet, stretching seconds into what seems like hours. Finally, Natasha exhales heavily, the weight of the decision clear in her tone. “I'll give you an address. Show up, try to talk to her, but if she asks you to leave, you respect her wishes. Understand?”

Wanda swallows dryly. She knows Natasha can enforce her terms if she wants, which means she has no other choice but to comply. “Understood.”

Natasha's parting words would later linger in her mind for hours.

“This doesn't mean I've forgiven you or that she ever will. But you get your shot. Make it count.”

Wanda’s been standing outside the diner for what feels like a long time. She hopes her outfit—a parka over a crisp white v-neck and high-waisted jeans—makes a good impression. A glance in the reflection of the diner’s window confirms her red hair looks glossy and radiant, cascading in waves down her back.

Time and time again, Wanda had turned over every conceivable strategy to win you back. But in the end, they all hinged on the one thing she feared most: agreeing to a divorce. The very thought threatened to break her from the inside, but her desperation to make things right, to show you that she's changed, made this painful decision a necessary one. Wanda had taken so much from you, taken everything you had to offer and discarded it carelessly. Now, it was her turn to give something back, even if it meant letting you go, legally.

She tells herself, repeatedly, that their love story isn't defined by a marriage certificate. They won't end just because their marriage does. She had to believe this; it was the only way she could find the strength to move forward.

Steeling herself, Wanda takes one step forward. Another. Until finally, she’s there.

“Hey,” Wanda greets, doing her best to sound casual as she slides into the booth opposite you.

You give a nonchalant nod, mouth full of your Reuben sandwich. “Hi, Wanda.”

The scent of your cologne is the first thing that hits her, and it’s... different. This one's sharper, crisper, with a hint of citrus, perhaps. It's as if you're purposely shedding parts of yourself that she's grown accustomed to, distancing yourself in the most elemental ways. There's a new watch on your wrist, sleeker than the one she gifted you on your last anniversary. Even the way you hold yourself seems altered, shoulders squared and posture more rigid. Every detail screams of a transformation, a conscious effort to morph into someone she wouldn't recognize.

But why? To hurt her? To move on? To forget? All of the above? It's been just a week, yet the differences are already evident. Wanda dreads to think how much more will change if she goes months without seeing you.

This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s putting it mildly. “Sorry for cornering you like this. You rarely return my calls and it’s been almost impossible to match our schedules,” Wanda admits.

You concentrate on chewing your food, trying to appear perfectly disinterested in what she’s saying. As you take another bite of your sandwich, Wanda studies her intently, looking for any fleeting sign of emotion, but there’s nothing there but a chilling detachment.

“Natasha told me you’re already talking to divorce lawyers,” she continues. She's woken up next to you for more than a decade; she’s not easily deterred by the display of indifference. “If you’re decided that it’s what you really want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll cooperate.”

“Okay.”

Wanda notices the fleeting moment your eyes dart to her left ring finger before you quickly look away.

“I, uh, got something for you,” she says.

“No, thanks.”

Wanda’s heart sinks as you dismiss her before even knowing what it is. Determined, she pulls out the small ring box and places it on the table, feeling a pang in her chest. “But it belongs to you,” she murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your wedding ring,” she says, pointing out what you already know. Your expression darkens, frustrated that she misses the underlying meaning of your question—not about the ring itself, but rather its significance right now.

For a split second, Wanda harbored a fragile hope that seeing the ring might stir something within you.

But then you're shaking your head, beginning to say, “I don’t want—”

“I understand,” she says, her shoulders sagging as she leans back into the booth. “But I'm returning it to you, and I’m keeping mine. What you decide to do with it is up to you. However, holding onto it on your behalf isn't something I can do.”

The ring she slipped onto your finger five years ago held all her promises, all her devotion to you. So it hurt that you no longer accepted that, no longer recognized it as yours. And she didn't want to be the guardian of that pain anymore.

“Fine,” you say, reaching for the tiny box and Wanda releases a heavy sigh of relief.

“So, you've got your ring back, and I'll sign the divorce papers once they're drawn up,” she says, mustering all her courage for what she's going to say next. “And then, I'll come for you.”

She watches in surprise as you nearly spit out your coffee, a few droplets escaping past your lips. As you hurriedly reach for a napkin, Wanda can't help but offer a gentle smile, always finding your occasional clumsiness endearing even in the middle of breaking her heart.

Your wide-eyed stare meets hers, speechless.

Her smile fades slightly, replaced by a melancholic self-awareness. “I didn’t want to believe you when you told me that night that you hated me. But I guess that’s better than indifference.”

“I don't hate you, Wanda,” you say. She can tell you're telling the truth, and she smiles a little at that.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” she laments. “Thank you.”

She takes a deep breath, knowing she needs to be clear, to lay everything on the table. “I’m not going to give up on you, Y/N. On us. What we have, and I’ve thought a lot about it, is something I’ll never find in another.”

“I’m not telling you this to get a reaction out of you,” she continues, “I know you’re not exactly thrilled at the idea of me pursuing you, but,” she falters, the first sign of her vulnerability. “This time, I want you to know everything. I don’t want you to be blindsided by my intentions, so I’m giving you a heads-up.”

“Wands,” you say, the nickname slipping effortlessly from your lips, and she has to fight the instinctual urge to reach for your hand across the table. “You can’t torture yourself like this.”

“I’m not,” she assures you. “I just refuse to give up on my dream.” She senses the skepticism in your eyes, and she can't blame you, not after everything that happened in the recent weeks. You’re my dream, Wanda had confidently and lovingly written in her vows. The memory of that day, with the weight of those words, is as vivid in your mind as it is in hers.

She's always been the type to hold onto what she loves, never letting go without a fight. But seeing the dark circles under your eyes, the sunken weight of your cheeks, she knows the very sight of her is taking a toll on you. And so, she’s leaving, for your sake.

“I'll see you soon,” Wanda says, getting up to leave. She hesitates for a moment, considering whether to go for your cheek, if you'll allow her. However, the lack of response from you pushes her to take small, shaky steps toward the door and out of the restaurant.

It isn’t over. Wanda’s made up her mind: she won't give up on you. Maybe she's the villain in this story; and hell, there's probably someone out there, all primed and polished, perfectly poised to love you without the scars and rough edges. Except, she doesn’t care, even if she knows she’ll be diving headfirst into the storm.

She swears that someday she'll be on her knees, asking you to marry her again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x vision #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #my writing #category: angst #iss #my fic #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha romanoff #vision

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