#well the red one is still falling on top of the green one...

[sabo-torao]

the official art for luffy's birthday is making me lose it everything about this is perfect... the beetles fight with usopp chopper and robin smiling as zoro is trying to catch the gifts from the mail birds franky in the background with his table-hair and luffy shining so brightly. the sun itself at the center of it all, doing nothing but being free and happy with his friends. his safest place. i'm going to cry forever

[withahappyrefrain]

The 5 Times You Flirted With Bob + The 1 Time He Picked Up on It

Summary: You've fallen for your friend and have decided to drop some hints that you're flirting. Unfortunately, Bob doesn't realize that immediately.

Warnings: Language, no y/n, female reader, reader has a callsign (Honey)

Thank you to @dissonannce for this amazing idea. Thank you @acewritesfics for the dividers!

"Your hands are so big."

It took Bob a moment to register that you were in fact, talking to him.

"Oh! Um yeah. My ma made me do piano because she felt I was given the hands for them," Bob wiggled his fingers for extra effect, "Y'know, since they're so long."

Yes, they were quite long. It was one of the first things you noticed about Bob. Well, after you noticed his beautiful blue eyes, his endearing lopsided smile, the way he was so considerate of everyone else, so gentle, and yet there was an underlying confidence about him. He was sure of himself, but he didn't feel the need to brag.

Who could blame you for falling head over heels for him?

You flashed him a smile, hand reaching towards his.

"It's just, your hand is so much bigger than mine. See?" You propped his arm up, allowing your palm to press against his, both your fingers spread out to showcase the difference in size.

"See? My hand is so small compared to yours," You giggled. Bob looked down at your hands. Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching, dying to entwine with his.

"Yeah, there is quite a difference in size," Bob said, giving you that small smile you adored so much. That smile gave you the confidence to entwine your fingers with his.

"I think they fit pretty well together, see?" He wasn't letting go. He was still smiling as he looked down at your hand holding his.

Maybe this was finally it, he'd finally realized that you liked him and would-

"I'm gonna go get some more peanuts, can I get ya anything?"

You mustered up a smile, trying to cover up your disappointment, "I'll take a water. Thanks Robby."

As soon as he left, you shot Jake a dirty look, "Seresin, you said that shit would work!"

Jake, who had been pretending to play a game of pool with Bradley, Javy, and Mickey, put his hands up in defense, "Because it usually does! Everyone knows when a girl compares hand sizes it means she wants you!"

"Everyone but Bob apparently," Javy muttered.

"Maybe you just need to be more obvious?" Mickey suggested.

You sighed. You knew Bob. The last thing you wanted was to be so blunt it would overwhelm him. But at the same time, you two had been doing this whole 'friends but also more than that and I'm pretty sure we're flirting?' for the last month and you were getting annoyed with it how seemed to be going nowhere.

Perhaps Mickey was right. You were going to have to be a bit more obvious.

"Bee? You ready?" Bob called out from your living room. Bob's nickname of your callsign (Honey) always brought a smile to your face, as well as heat to your cheeks.

"Almost! Can I get your thoughts on this top?" You asked as you walked in.

"Yeah, I'm sure you look-oh." Bob's eyes widened as he took in the green top you were wearing.

It was tighter than the shirts you normally wore, highlighting your breasts. The fabric stopped right at the end of your rib cage, showing off your stomach and bringing attention to your high waisted jeans, which according to Jake "did wonders for your ass".

"What do you think?" You clasped your hands together, the action causing your breasts to stick out even further.

"Um the uh, the color is really great on you. B-brings out your eyes," Bob said, his eyes looking everywhere except you.

With the way his cheeks were bright red, it gave you confidence to step forward, your body now inches away from his, "I was hoping it would bring out something else besides my eyes Robby."

"I mean you you look great in everything you wear! So mission accomplished," Bob said quickly, his hands fidgeting with his car keys.

"Anything else you want to say about the outfit Robby? I really value your opinion." You stood on the tips of your toes, bringing your chest closer to Bob's face.

It was the first time since you walked in that his eyes landed on your chest. He cleared his throat, as if he was gathering up the courage to say it.

"You should grab a jacket, it's supposed to go down to the low sixties tonight," He said, turning around to head out the door.

God damn it.

You grabbed your phone, quickly texting the group.

Honey: We need to go to Plan C.

Rooster: Plan C?! You're saying the top didn't work?

Bagman: Dude, your tits were like out.

Rooster: Maybe they weren't out enough?

Coyote: If they were out any more, Honey would be getting a public indecency charge.

Phoenix: Maybe we shouldn't use clothes to express our feelings? Just a thought 🤦🏽

Fanboy: Yeah Nat, that's plan C.

Payback: Can we not blow up the group chat tonight? The finale of Insecure is on.

Your right leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation, your eyes never leaving the entrance to the Hard Deck.

"You don't think this is too much, is it?" You asked your friends/coworkers.

"Nah, it'll be perfect!" Mickey reassured you.

"You and Bob are going to walk out of here holding hands by the end of the night, guarantee it," Jake commented as he lined up the balls for a round of pool.

It took all your strength not to jump out of your seat when you saw Bob walk in. His iridescent blue eyes scanned the room, landing on you. He always seemed to search for you, which had to be a sign that he wanted more, that he felt the same way as you did.

You greeted him with a smile, patting the empty seat next to him.

"Hey Robby! I got something for you!" You called out.

Bob just smiled as he sat down, "I see you got my signature: water and peanuts. Thanks Bee!"

You giggled, shaking your head, "Yes, but that's not just it. These are for you!"

Bob stared at the bouquet of flowers you were holding out for him.

"For me? These are for me?" He asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Yes! I was just thinking, like why is giving guys flowers not a thing? Because it totally should be! And no one deserves these flowers more than you Robby," You explained, a hopeful smile adorning your face.

Bob gently took the bouquet, admiring each flower.

"I thought they would go well with your eyes-that's why a most of them are yellow," you explained, trying to hide how nervous you were.

"These are perfect," Bob said before leaning down to smell the flowers.

"Really? Each flower has a different meaning," you began, hoping that by fidgeting with your hands, you'd be able to conceal your nerves.

Bob simply smiled, his face the epitome of saccharine, "Oh, I already know."

Your breath hitched, "You do?"

Bob nodded, "Oh yeah! Alstroemerias symbolize support, sunflowers are for loyalty, and violets stand for intuition!"

He wasn't wrong. You couldn't tell if you were upset by that or the fact that Mickey forgot flowers can have more than one meaning.

Time for Plan D.

"Hey Robby! You ready to watch hot people make poor decisions?"

"Ready as I'll ever-that's new," Bob said softly, taking in the new loungewear you had on for your biweekly Love Island watch.

"Oh this? I think I got it last week," you said as you let Bob into your apartment, "It's super comfy and it has pockets!"

It also was cut low, showing off your cleavage, as well as the tops of your thigh.

"Yeah, the uh, color looks really good on you Bee," Bob commented. The compliment brought a smile to your face. He noticed you, noticed you were wearing something new, and seemed to be noticing your now exposed skin.

"Well, let's go see if these folks gain any common sense," you grabbed his hand, practically beaming at how your hand fit perfectly in his.

"Somehow I doubt it," Bob chuckled.

When he offered to hold the popcorn for while you two watched, you weren't disappointed. Sure, it meant you weren't able to hold his hand. But it did mean you could move closer to him, your thighs practically touching.

"I really hope he doesn't take her back," Bob muttered, his eyes glued to the screen.

"He will. They always do," you sighed, gently moving your head so it rested against one of his broad shoulders.

If your action had any effect on Bob, he didn't show it. Which was the problem.

"I would pick you in the recoupling," You revealed, hoping that would be enough, would finally be enough.

Bob smiled, placing a hand on your knee, "That's kind of you Bee. But I think friendship couples go against the nature of the show."

It took everything in you not to scream.

The rest of the night was just a typical Love Island watch night, no touching, no initiating, no declarations of love, and ending with Bob giving you a friendly hug goodbye.

With a sigh, you flopped onto your bed to check your messages.

Bagman: Bee, please tell us it worked and you're marking sweet love to baby on board

Phoenix: you're disgusting Seresin.

Rooster: why would they stop fucking just to text you Bagman?

Bagman: so we can pop some champagne to celebrate

Fanboy: Why the fuck is would we do that?

Coyote: It's a big event! Bee told Bob how she feels AND Bob's getting laid!

Payback: Can I just get one night of peace? Just one night?

You: No one's doing anything bc it didn't work!

Rooster: Not trying to be rude, but weren't you like almost naked?

Bagman: Like 52% nude.

Phoenix: JFC, we're going to plan E folks.

Coyote: Is that when we just lock them in a closet?

Bagman: No that's plan G

"Hey Bee!"

The cheerful, charming voice always brought a smile to your face.

"Hi Robby!" You greeted him with a hug, the comforting scent of rosemary filling your nostrils, "You smell really nice."

"Oh um thanks," A hand flew to the back of Bob's neck, a nervous (and also adorable) habit, "Wanted to smell nice after doing all those pushups out in the sun."

"Well it worked, you smell great," One of your hands reached up to the nape of his neck, toying with the hair that had curled at the end, "Look great too."

The tops of Bob's cheeks were now a dusty pink, "It's just a white Tshirt."

You took a step forward, placing your hands on his chest, "It's a good look Robby. Shows off your muscles. I like it on you.

Bob's lips parted, then promptly closed.

"Uh, t-thanks Bee." He had to know now that you were flirting with him. It was clear as day.

Feeling confident, your hands trailed down to his, grasping them, "We should dance!"

You didn't wait for Bob to answer, dragging him out to the middle of the floor. The sounds of Bradley covering Frankie Valli (begrudgingly, as apparently Jerry Lee Lewis was better) filled the bar.

After a few minutes, Bob's shoulders visibly relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. You threw your head back laughing as he bust out a goofy dance move.

Everyone thought Bob was shy, but that wasn't the case. He was observant, determined to get a good read on someone so he knew how to approach the situation accordingly. Once he was comfortable, his personality shined and he was a sweet, goofy man who you adored with all your heart.

The grin you had was so wide, your cheeks were beginning to hurt. But you couldn't stop, not when he was twirling you around.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" You asked, having to say it into his ear so he could hear your voice above the music.

Bob shrugged, "I come from a big family. When you know you're going to a lot of weddings, knowing how to dance helps. That and my mom made me do cotillion."

"Well, all that practice paid off. You're a great dance partner Robby." You rested your chin against his broad chest, looking up to meet eyes bluer than the ocean.

In that moment, all you could do was focus on him. The way the corner of his eyes creased when he truly smiled, his comforting scent, his pink, thin lips that you were dying to feel on yours.

You wondered if he could hear your heart pounding, if he could feel it since your body was practically on his.

His hands found their way to your arms, gently placing themselves on your biceps. Was this it? It had to be.

So you stood on the tips of your toes, your lips now closer to his. Your eyes began to close as you leaned in to-

"I gotta go. Jake stuck his foot in his mouth again."

This wasn't a lie. But it still didn't dull your disappointment. Nor did it sedate your growing frustration at this whole situation.

Perhaps you didn't need Plan G or H Perhaps it was time to go with your original plan.

The next time you saw Bob was when Nat threw a small get together to celebrate the end of a long week.

He was wearing that damn white Tshirt again. Whenever he brought his cup of water to his mouth, the fabric stretched across his bicep.

Was he doing this on purpose? Did he know? Consciously or not, that you had fallen for him ever since you two first met at training?

Either way, you were tired of this game you had been playing for the past month.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

You simply nodded before taking a shot of vodka. A little liquid courage was always nice.

"Nat, he's oblivious. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't do this the first time," Jake commented as he took the shot glass out of your hand.

"Because we didn't expect him to be that oblivious," Mickey countered.

"Well everyone, wish me luck." You walked out of the kitchen to find Bob still sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a smile sweeter than honey. Your legs began to wobble, whether it was from that smile or your nerves, you couldn't say.

You walked over, making a beeline for him. Bob's eyes widened, his fingers gripping his cup. Your gaze was so intense.

"Hey Bee-oh!" Bob froze as you sat down in his lap, your thighs straddling his lithe hips.

"Hey Robby," your hands found his shoulders, fingers toying with the thin cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Uh Bee, there's um, there's a seat right there," Bob weakly pointed to the empty space next to him.

"I don't want that," you leaned forward, your forehead grazing his, "I want you Robby."

His eyes widened once more, as if he just saw an incoming train, "M-me?"

"Yes. Wanted you ever since that first day of training, when you offered me a mint," you told him.

"I uh, you looked sleepy and mint is known to wake you up and," Bob paused, "Did you say since the first day of training?"

You nodded, smiling at how you were able to see him process this information.

"The first day of training?" He repeated.

"Yes Bob, all you did was offer me a mint and smile to make me fall head over heels for ya," your fingers now went up to the back of his neck, twirling the curled ends of his hair, "Been trying to tell you that for the last month."

Bob opened his mouth, then promptly closed it, his brain still processing everything.

"You good Rob-" You never got to finish your sentence, as Bob decided right then was the best time to press his lips against yours.

His lips were soft and tasted faintly of vanilla, no doubt from the chapstick you watched him reapply. His touch was gentle, his thick fingers ghosting over your thighs, trailing up to your waist. Every move, no matter how small, made your heart fluttered.

Being so close to him, you could smell his aftershave, a mix of eucalyptus and sage. It was intoxicating and you wanted to be surrounded by it all the time, wanted to kiss him all the time.

When he broke away for air, you had to hold back a whimper, your lips desperate for more.

"FINALLY!"

You turned your head to find Bradley, along with Mickey, Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Reuben standing by the doorframe, in perfect view of you and Bob.

You smiled and opened your mouth, ready to make a quick remark. But Bob's fingers hooked underneath your chin, turning your head back to meet his lips again.

Unlike the first kiss, this one was bolder. His lips moved against yours with more confidence. Your whole body felt warm, as if you were floating. His hands now cupped your jawline, which is how you learned that Bob's hands practically covered your whole neck, a discovery that sent you reeling.

Your hands trailed up to his head, desperate to feel his sun kissed locks, desperate to find out if they were as soft as they looked. But just before you could, Bob broke away.

"What?" Anxiety came rushing back, dragging you away from Cloud Nine, your previous location. Did he regret it?

"Let's go."

He moved your body to the empty space on the couch, quickly getting up. You took his hands, allowing him to help you get up. You held onto one hand as he led you to the front door.

"Bob! What are you doing with my backseater?" Javy called out.

"Making up for lost time!"

Maybe you should be a little embarrassed. But how could you? You had finally kissed the man of your dreams, he kissed you back. He wanted to leave with you.

The sounds of the house party fainted, becoming soft background noise as you went outside.

Bob stopped, turning around to face you. Before you could get out a sound, his lips were on you again. His hands pulled your body to his, closing the gap in-between.

You couldn't help but moan when you felt his tongue slide against your bottom lip, immediately granting him entrance. You could hear Bob's breath hitch, his hands roaming across your body, touching your soft skin.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you desperate for more.

"Why do you keep doing that?!"

"I...." His face was flushed, "I meant to ask you if if you drove yourself here. But you looked so kissable. You still do, God I just wanna kiss you again."

"I'm not stopping you Robby," you grinned, stepping towards him, "I'm not stopping you at all."

"Oh don't tell me that darlin'" his Midwestern upbringing laced his words. You always loved his accent, having found it not just unique but also comforting.

Somehow, despite his lips pressed against yours, Bob was able to walk you back to his car, your back meeting the cool metal.

His broad body draped over yours, his tongue frantically exploring your mouth. Your fingers reached up, grasping his hair. It was soft and much thicker than you expected.

What else was there about Bob you had yet to learn? What kind of toothpaste he used, if he drank tea or coffee in the morning. Did he fall asleep to rain sounds or silence? How many pillows were on his bed?

You wanted to know everything.

But right now, you just wanted to kiss Bob.

Your fingers tugged on his hair in an attempt to pull him closer to you. Despite his chest being pressed against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted all of him.

"We should get in the car," He said, voice breathless. With the way his chest was rising, one would think he had just ran ten miles.

Bob began moving towards the driver's side of his truck, but he stopped, turning back to you.

"I want to take you home," He stated. It sounded like a confession with the way guilt laced his eyes.

"I would love that Robby."

Instead, he just shook his head, "But I shouldn't because you deserve more than that. You deserve a nice date, like that Italian restaurant we always pass when we go to Bradley's. You deserve that and flowers and a lovely dinner with candles and wine that's older than both of us-"

You cut him off by gently pecking his lips, "It's okay Bob. You could take me to that diner up the room from your place tomorrow morning and I'd be elated because I would be with you."

He shook his head, clearly torn between continuing to talk and continuing to kiss you, "But....it's the least I should do. I mean, after all the hints you were dropping. I thought you were just being friendly and-"

"What friend asks another friend to look at their chest?" You asked incredulously.

"I thought maybe we were just really close! That you were really comfortable around me, which is why I didn't think anything regarding what you wore when we watched Love Island. I mean," his face reddened, "I did think about it. Um I thought about it a lot and if you ever want to wear it again, I would not mind-"

"Bob," you stepped forward, placing your hands on his chest.

"I mean, you got me Violets! Those mean loyalty and devotion, as well as delicate love! And believe me I wanted to kiss you at the Hard Deck, but that is entirely Jake's fault-"

"As most things are."

"And looking back it was so obvious and I can't believe I didn't pick up on it," He paused, "Sorry, I I had to get that out. I can take you home or back to my place, whatever you want."

You giggled, delighted by his ramblings. You wanted to hear more of it.

"And now I just want to kiss you. Like all the time," He confessed, his lips moving closer to yours.

"Robby, get in the car," you instructed.

"Oh, um, okay," Bob unlocked his car, moving towards the driver seat.

"No Bob. Get in the back of the car," you instructed.

Bob's brows knitted together in confusion, "But then how will I drive-oh!"

Who knows if you were going to make it back to his place or yours. All you cared about was getting your lips and hands back on Bob Floyd.

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows Au Pt 6

Part 5

Warning for very brief flashback implying vivisection

It is highly amusing to float to Red Robin's rooftop and see up close how intensely vigilant he's being. He looks like if a pigeon took off halfway across the city he'd fucking notice, but the ghost standing next to him and trying not to snicker goes undetected.

Poor guy. He really seems like the type to drive himself up a wall over a mystery - he's certainly been driving himself up a wall over Danny.

Danny has to force himself not to tickle the back of the guy's neck just to watch him flail.

He likes Red Robin, he really does. He didn't set out to torture the poor guy - Red did that all by himself, all Danny has been trying to do is help. 

They can't pursue him the way they have been and expect him not to try and get some entertainment out of it. It tempers the annoyance, making their obsession with finding him a game.

Danny considers the box in Red's lap.

He's been doing the same thing with each box they leave him from the beginning: grab box, open pocket dimension, yeet.

Not even Bat trackers can transmit from an entirely different plane of existence, it would seem.

And the thing Danny has discovered about having died when an entirely different plane of existence opened on top of him and merged with his DNA?

He is a pocket dimension, in a way. 

In other words, no need to expend energy to tear the fabric of reality to deposit his loot - all he needs to do is phase things into himself.

So Red will definitely notice when the box disappears from his lap and seemingly blinks out of existence, but at least he won't be seeing any neon green tears in reality open up in front of him.

That seems like a good deal to Danny.

He steps forward and reaches for the box-

NA NA NA NA NA NANA

Danny and Red Robin both curse and flail as the Ghostbusters theme rings out across the rooftop.

Red Robin nearly falls out of his lawn chair launching himself away from the sudden sound, almost dropping the lockbox in the process.

Danny frantically searches his pockets for his goddamn phone, pulls it out, has the fear of God struck into him at the idea of hanging up on Sam Manson and thus shoves it into his chest to go to voicemail somewhere where nobody can hear it ring.

In the dead silence that follows, Danny finds himself in something like a startled cowboy standoff where only one of the participants is actually visible.

Red Robin stands with feet braced shoulder width apart, lockbox in one hand and bo staff in the other. He is visibly bewildered and ready to throw hands.

He's staring at the space a little to the left of Danny's head, so at least he hadn't dropped his invisibility in panic.

Welp. No use trying to change plans now.

Danny lunges forward and grabs the lockbox, relishing in the squawk of shock and indignance Red Robin makes as it abruptly leaves his hand and blinks out of sight.

He doesn't anticipate how fast Red Robin will recover or move.

A hand wraps tightly around his wrist and jerks him back in an impressive estimation of where Danny might be occupying space.

Danny almost goes ghost right there. Not because he wants to, but because for a moment there are restraints around his wrists and ectoplasm on the table and bright lights and sharp blades and pain-

He swallows the growl that wants to well up in his throat as he turns and looks at Red Robin, teeth feeling a little too large and sharp in his mouth before he forces himself to calm down.

Red is staring him straight in the eyes despite Danny being able to see he's still invisible. Red’s hand looks to be wrapped around nothing.

“You're not going anywhere,” Red Robin says, voice low and slightly feral with the high of perceived victory. That, paired with the crooked smirk on his lips is kind of, uh- well. Hoo boy, that's all Danny has to say about that.

Well, he does have one other thing to say.

“Bet.”

The way Red Robin's face falls in disbelief when Danny phases out of his grip is nothing short of glorious. Danny's already floating off the roof and out of grabbing distance before Red finishes buffering.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Danny cackles, tossing him a salute he can't even see.

“Better luck next time, Angry Bird!”

“Son of a bitch!”

Masterpost

[amourane]

falling for you

pairing: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

genre: fluff, college au

w/c: 2.6k

summary: in which soonyoung struggles to ask you out on a date.

warnings: none!

a/n: if you saw the first post u didn't cuz tumblr made a mess of it and now i gotta repost it TT

"Jihoon!" A voice hissed from behind him. "Jihoon, here! Behind you!" He spun around to face...a bush. 

"When did plants learn how to talk?"

"It's me you idiot!" A hand shot out grabbing Jihoon's arm, pulling him into the bush. Soonyoung had twigs, leaves and something that looked like a ladybug but no one could ever be so sure. He was fiddling with the hem of his sweater, his cheeks bright red. “I just saw Y/n!” 

“So?” Soonyoung’s eyes bulged incredulously like Jihoon was supposed to know why his best friend looked like he had been living in the wild for a week. 

“Jihoon, you don’t just reply with ‘so’ and make it some question. You should know this!” Soonyoung shook his friend by his shoulders, squishing his cheeks painfully. “Obviously it’s because I saw her walk by and obviously I went up to talk to her but obviously I fell. I don’t even know how I fell and I was going to stand back up and continue to talk to her but she was already gone. And I have this huge stain.” He pointed to the brownish green patch on his white cotton sweater. “Everything’s just a mess!”

“Okay first of all, calm down Shakespeare.” Jihoon rolled his eyes, picking his best friend up. He tugged the sweater over Soonyoung’s head. “You could’ve just taken this off, you’ve got a shirt underneath anyway. And it’s been a week and you still haven’t asked her out?”

“Well, it’s hard alright.” Soonyoung nibbled his bottom lip. “Also Mingyu’s always around her and I can never seem to get her alone.”

“Now you’re just making excuses.”

Jihoon knew his best friend. He knew Soonyoung. If Soonyoung wanted something he’d probably fight the world for it. He remembered that one time he’d been so desperate to win Mario Kart against Jihoon that he’d dumped his water all over him. Jihoon was positively fuming, not because he’d lost but because Soonyoung had gotten his favourite shirt wet. 

Needless to say, Kwon Soonyoung would eat avocados for the rest of his life if it meant he’d get to ask you out. That was why it was weird that the guy who could probably fight zombies single handedly in an apocalypse couldn’t ask a cute girl out. 

“Hey what’s this?” Jihoon reached for the piece of paper hanging out of Soonyoung’s pocket. The boy flushed red, trying to grab the paper back from Jihoon. When he realised it was no use he slumped back a pout evident on his face. 

“You’re not allowed to judge me-”

“You really are a dork.” Jihoon snorted, examining the A3 piece of paper with ‘ASKING Y/N OUT’ scrawled on the top in big black marker. The page was filled with annotations and little diagrams that were all coloured in neatly. All the possibilities were drafted out, some more silly than others. “You were thinking of taking her to NASA?!” 

Soonyoung’s ears burned. He squirmed. “I mean it’s always a possibility but I think that would kind of ruin me.”

Jihoon watched as his best friend avoided his gaze, fingers anxiously fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smiled. He’d never seen Soonyoung this nervous to ask a girl out. It was oddly endearing. He continued to scan the paper, a little shocked that Soonyoung had put so much effort into this plan. 

So this was definitely not a little crush. 

//

“Okay listen.” Jihoon grabbed Soonyoung’s shoulders. They were currently outside the classroom you were in. He had devised this plan perfectly so that Soonyoung would actually ask you out without embarrassing himself. “Y/n’s going to come out here in approximately five minutes. You’re going to walk up to her and say ‘are you free this Saturday?’ and then she’ll say yes and then BAM instant date!” He clapped his hands together for exaggerated effect. 

“Jihoon, where are my flowers? And I can't be wearing this!” Soonyoung grabbed his black hoodie. “I can’t ask Y/n out like this. We need a suit and I need roses and some type of confectionery to win her over!”

Jihoon blinked like an owl. C-Confectionary?! Who the hell speaks like that anymore? Clearly Soonyoung had been watching too many romance movies. “You don’t need flowers or some fancy clothes to win Y/n over. You just need you, she likes you, not some dolled up Barbie.”

“It’s actually Ken who’s the main male-”

“Oh look here she comes.” He pushed Soonyoung hard. The poor boy stumbled clumsily, promptly bashing into you. He had to stop doing that. “Go get her!” Was all Soonyoung heard before he felt his soul die. 

You held Soonyoung steady. A small giggle left your lips. He blushed. You were even cuter today. Which was normally impossible but you were obviously special. The sweet smile you gave him nearly had him fainting. 

What was it Jihoon had said again? Oh yes, ask you out. He could do this.

“Did you need something Soonyoung?” 

Your voice was gentle and soft like a marshmallow. He could feel himself melting just at your words. Nope can’t do this. Soonyoung nearly spun around but when he caught sight of Jihoon’s deadly glare he retreated. Jihoon wasn’t someone you wanted to get angry. Guess he was going to have to do this.

“I...um…” He waved his arms around pathetically. It didn’t help that you were looking at him so innocently. “T-This Saturday you free...?” Soonyoung wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His cheeks burn bright red and he coughs. Not only did he completely butcher the English language but his voice cracked. Cracked! 

“I’m free this Saturday.” You grinned, eyes twinkling. Soonyoung felt his heart flutter. “I’ll text you okay?” You tucked a piece of paper into his hand before waving at him as you caught up to Mingyu. He watched as the two of you talked, you bursting into a fit of giggles, blushing.

The whole situation had happened so quickly it had made his head spin. A loud smack on his back brought Soonyoung back to reality. Jihoon stood behind him with a proud grin on his face. 

“Now we’ve just got to get you through this date.”

//

Soonyoung checked his watch for what felt like the upteenth time. It read, 11:13. He had said to meet him at 11 o’clock but maybe he was just early. Maybe you were stuck in traffic or something. He had spent about half an hour picking his outfit, with help from Jihoon of course because he could never decide on anything. 

It did look a little pathetic. Soonyoung sighed. Did you stand him up? You wouldn’t be that mean, would you?

“Soonyoung!” You were panting behind him, looking as if you had just run a marathon. Your chest heaved. “I'm so sorry. I lost track of time and everything kind of just went haywire-”

“I-It’s okay.” Soonyoung squeaked, wringing his hands. His eyes tried not to drift towards your chest. You were wearing a bright yellow sundress that hugged your body, little flowers dotted all over. The thin straps on your shoulders were tied in little bows at the top. He swallowed. 

“You’re not upset?” Your eyes were wide. The familiar scent of your jasmine perfume wafted to Soonyoung's nose and he shook his head. He could never be upset with you, that’d be ridiculous. You smiled. “Well, where are we heading?” 

He gave you a small grin. To say that Soonyoung has connections with people was an understatement. He had connections with everyone. That sounded a bit weird but everyone knew Soonyoung. It wasn’t like the town was small or anything, he was just known by everyone. Even the grumpy old lady that sold newspapers knew him.

Now normally he would have a plan for this, it was all written down. Sadly, Jihoon had ripped it up and threw it in the bin. Apparently having a plan was lame. Totally untrue, it was great to be prepared. 

“It’s a surprise.” 

//

“Oh my god!” You nearly tumbled to the ground at your shock. “How did you even manage to get in here? Isn’t this the Hong’s?” 

In front of you were rows beyond rows of strawberry bushes. The field seemed to stretch on forever. There was only one family in town that owned so many acres of land, the Hongs. You’d met their son, Joshua Hong, a couple of times at campus but everyone knew their strawberry fields were off limits. 

“My mum’s friends with Mrs Hong, used to go over to hers every week with apple pie. Me and Shua were friends for a while but then he got caught up in music and me, dancing. We still talk and I was lucky enough to get us in.” Soonyoung shrugs. “And it’s strawberry picking season.”

“Most boys would bring their date out to a fancy restaurant.” You picked a strawberry, popping into your mouth, savouring the sweet taste. “I have a feeling I’m going to enjoy this.”

Soonyoung tried not to smile too wide. He couldn't contain his excitement. At first he wanted to take you to a lot of places in one day but Jihoon had said it was impossible to take you to the cinema, zoo, aquarium, ice cream shop and laser tag in 24 hours. So he settled on strawberries. Everyone loved strawberries, plus it was free because he knew Joshua. 

You slowly intertwined both of your fingers, holding his hand. Soonyoung felt his cheeks flare an embarrassing red as his eyes trailed down to both of your clasped hands. He felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest. There wasn’t a lot he could do but try not to faint. 

A small smirk crept up on his lips as he handed you a basket. “We’ll make a deal.” 

“A deal?” You looked at him confused, taking the basket. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say, whoever picks the most strawberries decides where we’re having lunch and they pay as well.”

“Chivalry really is dead.” You rolled your eyes. If Kwon Soonyoung wanted to bet that he would pick more strawberries than you, then he best be prepared for war. You contemplated the thought. If you were to win you’d probably empty his pockets but if he won he would empty your pockets. It’s a 50/50 chance. 

You must have stayed silent for a tad too long because Soonyoung grew worried. 

“W-We don’t have to if you don't want to-” 

“Fine. No rules, just as many as we can pick.” You shook his hand, a playful grin on your face. “Be prepared to lose Kwon.” You dashed away.

“Hey, you’re cheating!” 

“No rules remember!” 

Soonyoung stood still, mouth open like a goldfish. He finally snapped out of it, chasing after you, determined to win. There was no way he was going to let you beat him. 

Or maybe he will. 

//

Soonyoung grasped his basket tightly. It was already nearly full with ruby red strawberries. No doubt they were sweet and juicy. He hadn’t seen you since you left him and it was slightly worrying. Hopefully you were fine. Hopefully.

"Y/n?" He calls over the bushes. No reply. Soonyoung trudged forward, still looking for you. A twig snapped from behind him. "Y/n?" He spun around only to see you reaching a hand inside his basket plucking a strawberry and stuffing it into your mouth. 

"They're really yummy, I should thank Joshua when I see him." You giggled, turning to flee again but this time Soonyoung grabbed your hand. A small squeak escaped your lips. 

"Don't you dare run away." His tone was light and teasing. You shrieked when he popped one of your strawberries into his mouth. "No rules remember." He smirked, playfully flicking your forehead. You threw a strawberry at him which he dodged. You pelt another and another. One hits him and you stifle your laughs. 

Soonyoung pulled you forward and you shut up. He leaned forward, breath fanning your face. You instinctively fluttered your eyes shut. 

"I'll see you later." He whispered, causing you to snap open your eyes, mouth dropping to the ground. You watched dumbfounded as he ran away. What happened to the shy Soonyoung?

//

“I only lost because you ate all of mine.” You pouted, folding your arms defiantly. It wasn’t your fault that he was so devastatingly cute that you just had to offer him some of your strawberries. He stole them from you, even if he insisted that you gave them willingly. 

“You’re in denial Y/n.” Soonyoung skipped happily next to you, swinging his full basket. Your pout deepened. “Now where’s the most expensive place to have lunch?” He pulled his phone out, tapping a few times before a smug grin took over his face.

“You’re going to empty my pockets.” You whined. 

Soonyoung grinned. “Come on we’ve got to catch the train otherwise we’ll be late. I’ll pay for the tickets.” A small smile flitted across your face before it reverted back into a pout. You huffed, letting Soonyoung clasped your hand as the two of you walked away. “If it makes you feel any better, you can have my strawberries.”

“I just wanna know what was with the personality change back then?”

His cheeks flushed bright red. “I can be confident too…”

���Don’t doubt it. I’ve seen you dance.” The look he gives you has you rolling your eyes. “You’re a totally different person when you’re in the studio.”

His cheeks flushed bright red again causing you to burst into a fit of giggles. 

//

“So what you’re saying is that the bill is too expensive and right now you’re hiding in the bathroom and, might I remind you, you left poor Soonyoung to fend for himself.” Mingyu said through the phone.

“It sounds worse when you say it aloud.”

“You can’t just ditch him Y/n, what are you going to do, climb out a window and escape?” He hissed. You stared at the tiny window at the back. If you did it right you could squeeze through. “If you’re thinking about climbing out of a window I will stop feeding you my brownies.”

“Hey hey hey. No need to deprive my need for brownies Gyu, have some respect.” He snorted, muttering under his breath. “I can still hear what you’re saying.” 

“Good.”

Okay maybe running inside the bathroom and hiding in a stall wasn’t going to solve all of our problems. But the bill was hefty and you would probably land yourself in prison if you did manage to pay for it. Also you couldn’t climb out of the window because you really did need those brownies. 

“I want you to go out there and say you can’t pay for it and ask Soonyoung to pay for it.”

“Gyu are you crazy?”

“You’re the one in a bathroom stall, not me.” And with that he hung up leaving you alone. You could do this. It was not that hard, not that hard.  

Soonyoung was still sitting at the table where you left him but this time all the plates had been cleared and he was staring at his phone. He looked up and smiled. “Thought you were gonna do something illegal. Don’t worry, I paid for everything.”

“D-Did you rob a bank before we came here?” Your mouth was hanging open. That was the only option, unless he really did have enough money but everyone your age was practically broke so…

Soonyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t actually think I was going to let you pay for all of that? You’re cute.” 

You were left gaping as he took your hand. What just happened? He said your line, your line. You were meant to call him cute. Soonyoung seemed to sense how confused you were because he shot you a dazzling smile.

“Told you I can be confident.”

[oakgreenoak]

Something I've always found kinda interesting about Red and Green in gameverse is how they turn some of the Stock Shōnen Protagonist/Rival tropes on their heads.

This is really long character analysis of these two and various media counterparts of theirs, so I'm gonna stick it under a cut.

In some ways they fit their roles quite well - aside from the obvious colour associations, you have Red as the hero whose sense of justice is stronger than his sense of self-preservation, and you have Green as the privileged rival who cares about beating Red above all else.

But, if you look at it another way - Green's got the light spiky hair, the hot-headed and boisterous personality, the drive to Get Better And Win. He's designed to read as really open and chipper, yet snarky. Sure, he isn't dumb, but he's arrogant, and he's got something of a one-track mind; the guy finds himself in the middle of a hostage situation because he's just that hellbent on fighting his rival, and does not seem to be thinking about anything else. He's also got a motivation - given how the Professor talks to him in the championship room and supplementary material like his Generations appearance, it's not a stretch to think the reason he's so driven to Get Better And Win is to prove himself to his grandfather. It's shown in later games and supplementary works that he's become somewhat of a mentor as he got older and wiser.

Red, on the other hand, is a quiet loner whose only motivation seems to be to get stronger for the sake of getting stronger. He's level-headed and dark haired, his cap rounding off his edges and obscuring his face. He's heroic, but not really sociable, as evidenced by the fact he spends the Johto games alone on a mountain without having told anyone where he went. He seems isolated in a way that later games' protagonists really don't. He may have always been a step behind Green, but he's always better.

Equally fascinating to me is how other adaptations have changed the base designs around and rewritten personalities to suit different purposes, while still being visually recognisable as counterparts to their game-selves.

For example: Red and Green's counterparts in Special slot WAY more neatly into their stock shōnen roles, with Red as the boisterous hero and Green as the broody rival, and it's reflected in their new designs.

Red's hair becomes spiky to reflect his more excitable nature. His hat, in turn, never obscures his face; it's always either tilted back to accommodate his fringe or turned backwards. Green's hair, on the other hand, is not quite as spiked upwards and instead falls into his face, frequently obscuring his far eye in the same way game!Red's hat does.

And then, of course, the anime balanced them in a totally different direction.

Instead of scrapping Green's personality wholecloth, it's become exaggerated in Gary. He's not the broody antihero rival, he's the arrogant, privileged, better-than-you rival. He's always ten steps ahead of Ash, always pisses him off, and is ALWAYS better until the end of his run. The anime also emphasises his intelligence far more, with him doing things like rattling off dex info and the speed of light in mph off the top of his head, to further contrast him with Ash.

Ash, who is of course THE shōnen protagonist. He's dumb, but determined, and always ready to help people in need. Unlike game!Red, the power of friendship (with more than just pokémon) is central to him; any given season of the show is defined as much if not moreso by his travelling companions and interpersonal relationships as it is by whatever he's actually doing.

It's funny to me, though, how most adaptations seem to find the fact that gameverse Red and Green have swapped some stock roles as something to fix. Even Origins, which is probably the closest a high-profile adaption has come to game-accurate, made its version of Red louder and more standard-hero-esque.

I'm not knocking any of these things, of course, just observing. I adore both Special and anipoke. I just think that the way the game characters are written could lead to some interesting dynamics were it to be explored more.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Twenty

Steve gets dressed fast, his brain kind of fixating on the memory of Eddie’s...penis? Wriggling it’s way across his skin. The way the head or...face, had slowly started to open up.

Jesus Christ.

They can just never have sex. Or be naked together. Ever. That’s fine. That’s absolutely the most normal and logical way to play this. Steve stops, one leg in and one leg out of his pants...what if it bites?

“Stee love?” Eddie’s still wrapped in a towel, wearing it kind of toga style, wrapped firmly under his armpits. He already has his hat back on. He’s fidgeting with the edge of the material.

Eddie used to be half fish anyway, so it’s not like Steve was expecting an involved sexual relationship when...when he thought Eddie was going to die. Steve feels like absolute shit for thinking it, but there was never any commitment before, their relationship had a very definite end. Which, yes, okay, had the positive effect of Steve just...completely by passing any kind of sexuality crisis.

Or species crisis.

But now...now he’s in it for the long haul. And Eddie may want intimacy. Hell, Steve would quite like some intimacy. When Eddie just had a...well, a parting, like a girl, Steve hadn’t given it much thought really, Eddie’s only just freshly legged. Eddie only just now has a real life span. Steve just kind of figured they'd...work something out at some point.

They are probably still going to have to do that.

“Stee love?” Eddie asks again, more quietly this time, uncertain. Steve hates that he’s probably the cause of that.

He still wants the defense of pants though, right now, while he...processes things.

“Right, Yeah,” Steve forces his brain back on line; whatever that was, Eddie was fine with it. And it’s a part of Eddie, clearly...so. Steve needs to just get over this real fast, “what do you want to wear? You can choose.”

“Choose,” Eddie goes to the closet, pulling out some draw string sweat pants and the sweater Joyce made for him.

He takes the towel off, leaving it on the bottom of the bed. The slit is clearly closed; Steve can’t see any evidence of anything. He’s so entranced, staring at the space between Eddie’s legs, that Eddie manages to get a leg in before Steve thinks to intervene, “wait, baby, boxers first.”

Steve gets them, Eddie pulling his leg out, turning the pants inside out in the process. He puts the boxers on backwards, but Steve figures it doesn’t matter since he’s got to sit to pee anyway. Eddie’s clearly confused by one leg being inside out, so Steve helps him fix it.

Watching Eddie put on the sweater is a bit of an experience, it starts off going on over his head sideways, one arm hanging from Eddie’s chest, so Eddie twists and sticks an arm in there, forcing it to straighten before he puts the other one in.

“Uhm,” Steve says, staring at the fully six inches of belly buttonless exposed midriff Eddie’s left with, “maybe we should put a tee shirt on underneath.”

“Underneath,” Eddie cocks his head.

Steve gets him a shirt, helping him back out of the sweater, into the tee shirt, then back into the sweater. The shirt is pastel blue, the sweat pants gray, the sweater red and green. It’s a bit of a look, especially with the bobble hat, but Eddie grins big as Steve finishes dressing himself. Eddie watches closely as Steve puts his socks on, and then goes and gets himself a balled up pair from the drawer.

He sits on the edge of the bed, next to Steve, unballing the socks, one immediately falling to the floor, Eddie clearly not expecting what would happen as he unraveled them. He gets them on okay, apart from one being upside down, so the heel is on the top of his foot. He’s pulled both of them up over the top of the ankle cuffs of his pants.

“My boyfriend is a fashion disaster,” Steve comes to terms with it pretty fast; it’s just Eddie being...Eddie.

“Called boyfriend? Called...fashion disaster?” Eddie sounds the words out carefully.

“Oh boy,” Steve sighs, “here, let me at least fix the socks,” Steve kneels, twisting one sock the right way around and then pulling the cuffs of his pants out so they’re over the top. It reminds him of the ring, kneeling in front of Eddie like this; Steve touches it, where Eddie’s hands rest on his thighs. He might not of exactly intentionally put the ring on that finger in the moment, but now that he realizes what he’s done he definitely likes it. “Boyfriends means I love you, and you love me.”

Eddie nods.

“It’s not the same as friend love...so I love Birdie, but it’s different, to how I love you...I won’t kiss anyone, except you, you understand? I love Birdie, and the kids, and Nancy and John and Joyce and...Hopper, I guess. I love them and I care about them, but…”

“Love Eddidie more good.”

“Yeah, yeah baby.”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie love Stee. Perfect love. Kiss Stee. Not kiss not Stee,” Eddie’s so earnest as he looks down at Steve. His eyes are much better, only vague traces of where they were bloodshot, the lids no longer red or swollen.

Steve snorts a laugh, “so you won’t kiss anyone else,” he says slowly, “you won’t kiss other people.”

“People. Stee. Eddidie. Kids. Hopper. El. Joyce…”

“All,” Steve makes a large encompassing gesture with his hands, “all people.”

“Not kiss all people. Kiss Stee,” Eddie tells him, almost desperate, “love Stee.”

“Love you too baby.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment, and for that horrible second Steve thinks Eddie’s going to cry, he certainly looks on the verge of it, big brown eyes liquid, when he says, “Eddidie sorry.”

“Sorry for what baby?” Steve rubs at Eddie’s thigh through the material of his sweat pants, trying to comfort him.

“Eddidie different.”

“I...yeah. Yeah but it’s okay, it’s fine-”

“Not. Stee scared.”

Steve sighs, well fuck, he thinks. “I was just…you are different, okay. But it’s fine, okay, it’s good, I was just...surprised. Okay? Not bad. Not bad I promise.”

“Perfect true? Promise? Eddidie not bad?”

“You’re not bad. I promise okay, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Touch more? Kiss?” Eddie asks uncertainly, and for the first time ever, Eddie won’t look at Steve when he speaks. He’s staring down at his own knees instead. It guts Steve a little.

“I...yeah. Yeah...later?”

“Today?” Eddie looks up, so earnest still.

He clearly needs reassurance and Steve feels like an absolute shit for making Eddie feel this way. He really didn’t mean to, his response was pure instinct, he really had no control over it, “maybe today...maybe tomorrow? Soon, okay. I promise soon.”

Eddie nods in agreement, but he looks...wilted.

“Come on, you wanted cobbler? And we can watch ‘Splash’?” Steve knows it’s distraction through bribery, but he just needs a little time to process.

Eddie brightens immediately, nodding, “cobbler many good.”

Tom Hanks is under a table, trying to dry Daryl Hannah’s mermaid tail away with his dress tie. Eddie is fascinated. He’s sitting forward in his seat, watching, enraptured.

The phone rings, but Eddie barely registers it, so Steve leaves him to it.

“Hey kid it’s Hopper, you still want a ride to your appointment tomorrow?”

And actually, Steve had more or less forgotten, “uhm...no, I think I’ll be okay,” Steve’s pretty sure he’s up for driving, he can get a shoe on no issue now as long as he’s careful.

“All right, I’m going to need some I.D. photos of Eddie for his documents, think you can manage that?”

“Yeah, yeah Hop, should be able to do that tomorrow. We need groceries anyway.”

“Right, well don’t forget he can’t wear that hat in the photos.”

Shit, Steve thinks, “might have to wait then, I mean his ears are kind of pointy.”

Hopper hums, “what about a wig? Like a fancy dress one that looks like his hair, just for the photos?”

“That...could work, but where-”

Hopper sighs down the phone, and it sounds like it pains him to admit, “I might have something.”

“Again?” Eddie asks, the second the film finishes, “Madison good.”

“Later baby, Joyce is coming over.”

Eddie immediately perks up, “Christmas food?”

Steve laughs, “no, something else, but are you hungry?” Eddie nods, “okay, I can make us something quick.”

“Here honey, sit down,” Joyce indicates a chair for Eddie, “I’m not sure how well this will curl, but if I just spray it down and twist it up, it might be curly tomorrow.”

Eddie sits, letting Joyce fit the wig on his head. It’s obviously false, and nothing like Eddie’s real hair, but the transformation is still immediate. It makes Eddie look healthier, more like himself. Joyce hums to herself as she brushes it out, Eddie fiddling with the ends.

“And why do you have this?”

“I told you kid, no questions.”

“Oh don’t be such a grouch Hop,” Joyce chastises him, smiling, “we went to a costume party for Halloween, we were Sonny and Cher.”

Steve can’t help the shit eating grin he turns on Hopper, “of course you were,” Hopper just rolls his eyes and mooches a beer out of the fridge.

“Eddie I’m going to cut some off this okay? I’ll try and get it about right for you okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, sounding bemused, “thank you Joyce.”

“Such good manners honey, you’re very welcome.”

“Called manners?”

“Oh...well it mean you always remember to say please and thank you.”

“Please and thank you.”

Steve watches them chatting away, vaguely listening to them talk as Joyce asks Eddie which were his favorite parts of Christmas; she seems genuinely thrilled that Eddie is wearing the sweater she made.

Hopper’s leaning against the counter with his beer, “kid we gotta do something about the pool.”

For a moment, the words resurface a truly horrific set of memories that bring Steve up short. Just for a second, he almost can’t breathe, and then it passes, “look Hop, that day, I’m...I shouldn’t have shouted, the way that I did-”

“Kid, I’m old enough to know when I was wrong,” he looks over at where Joyce is snipping bits off Eddie’s ‘hair,’ “and I was wrong.”

Steve looks out the window with Hopper; it’s cold out there, a thin layer of fresh snow decorates the lawn with patchy white splotches. Steve can see what Hopper means though; Steve’s pool chair is nearly black with vines. Hopper moves, clearly intending to head out there; Steve heads into the hall, slipping on his sneakers carefully and grabbing a jacket and some gloves.

He meets Hopper, looking down at the vines and the shitty murky crap in the bottom; Hopper flicks his cigarette end into the muck.

He sighs, “what you got in the shed?”

They had drained the pool as much as they could, but the pump soon started to protest the sludge, so they turned it off and then Steve ran it through with buckets of clean water from the hose. Hopper’s in there, double layers of trash bags taped to his thighs and a bandana mask over his mouth and nose. Joyce and Eddie have a shovel and a fork between them, standing on the pool edge, scraping the vines off the edge and the tiles so they drop into the black muck at the bottom. They’re dead and brittle, snapping and breaking off easily, leaving little puffs of grey dust to float down after the chunks fall.

Steve runs back and forth, sneakers dirty as he goes as far in as he dares, shoveling and moving buckets and then the wheelbarrow to Hopper’s instruction. There’s a clear set of footprints and wheel marks across the lawn and snow, into the trees where Steve’s been dumping all this is in the hopes the melting snow and rain will wash it all away.

They work for a couple of hours before the dark finally drives them back inside, but the pool does look much improved. Steve figures if he can get out there in the day and spend a good few hours on it, he could definitely clear the worst of it. It’s gross, but no where near as deep as Steve feared it would be.

“Once we get near to the end we can put a couple of feet of water in, then just get in and scrub and the pump should do the rest,” Hopper tells him, “you got your appointment tomorrow, but I’ll drop by the day after?”

“Thanks...thanks so much Hopper, I really really appreciate this.”

Hopper shrugs, “I’ll bring Jon, he can help.”

“Thank you Hopper,” Eddie tells him, too.

“Kid, really, it’s fine. No pine cones necessary.”

Part TwentyTwo

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part One

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, Johnny is a flirt, Simon is a basketcase. You meet your new patient, and his ghost.

“Johnny.”

He blinks. 

There’s so much noise now, an overload of sensation ringing between his ears. Ripping and tearing, shouting, booming. The night lights with blue and green explosions, whistles of rockets singing through the sky. 

He blinks again. 

“Johnny, stay with me.” Simon’s calling to him, hands firm against his belly. “Eyes open, Sergeant.” There’s fear there, terror drenching each syllable. White-hot, mind-numbing pain radiates from where a palm presses against his wound, gaping hole torn through his stomach, river of blood spilling from his body. Pint by pint flows freely from him to the dirt. 

He’s never seen Simon like this before, the whites of his eye gleam like bone. Terrified. Frantic. 

It must be bad. He must be dying.

As he blinks, Simon slowly disappears, morphing into someone else, eyes and nose molding into another’s, Price’s face taking the place of his partner’s without preamble. Fire douses the air, red and purple explosions dancing above his head like a halo. Angelic light, falling from heaven to earth, just to take him away.  Fire and blood. Fitting end for a Catholic, he supposes.  Gaz yells something into a radio. A fruitless effort. 

“Si.” He tries to reach, tries to pull him close, but his arm is dead weight, along with the rest of him. “Ah love ye. Tell- tell her, Ah love-” 

“Stop.” The word is barked over another ricochet. “Lay still. You’ll tell him yourself.” 

“Simon.”

“No, Johnny. You don’t get to say goodbye. Not yet.” 

Hospitals are dreadful places.

For most people, hospitals hold the memories of the worst moments in their lives, loss of loved ones, loss of self, painful injuries, frightening medical procedures, or mistreatment by medical professionals. The sanitized, whitewashed walls and off-white linoleum even have a certain scent, a smell that people associate with fear, discomfort, pain. It's globally accepted that hospitals are not well liked. They're not popular or particularly enjoyable. No one wants to go to the hospital.

But to you, the hospital is everything.

It’s where you spend a large amount of your time awake, willingly choosing to be here over anywhere else. Picking up odd shifts on different units, offering to cover for coworkers, staying late or coming in early whenever it's needed. It's your place. Your only place. It's where you make connections, where you're good at something, where you can be seen but never noticed. It’s what you dedicate your life, your time to. It’s what you cling to. It’s where you find your own peace, your own solace. Where you can let go of everything at home and focus on what you’re good at, caring about your coworkers, honing your skills, taking care of your patients. It’s yours. A place where you’re sheltered, where you can be yourself and not have to look over your shoulder, or keep your voice down, or mince your words. Somewhere you know what to expect, where you can predict, most days, the outcome of most things. Where you can feel in control. Its consistent, solid. It’s your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here.

It's everything to you.

The elevator dings, announcing its arrival, and you curl your hands around your coffee out of habit, warming your palms.

“Good morning?” The friendly face inside greets you, nodding towards your tall mug, steam wafting from the top, hot and fresh from the café. They're a rad tech, you're pretty sure. Day shift. Parker, maybe?  The elevator is always the same. Hellos, goodbyes, floor to floor. No one bemoans their outcomes or tallies their losses here. No one celebrates their successes or accomplishments either. It stays void, unfeeling, unknowing, except for the comings and goings. 

“Hey, yeah. Good morning. Good night?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” They agree, and you bounce on your toes, stretching the front of your new sneakers, trying to get the bridge across the tops of your feet to loosen a little.

“Have a good rest of your day.” You give them a smile, and then hop off, ready to start your morning, as most of this side of the hemisphere gets ready for bed.

“You too.”

“And room two sixty-eight is stable, sedated, for now, but he bottomed out less than hour ago, so keep a close eye. I haven’t had a chance to orient him either, so give it a go, if you can.” Mal taps her passcode into the tablet with one eye closed, spine slowly relaxing downward with exhaustion. “Thank you again. For covering. I wasn’t about to be stuck on another long swing because Alexis decided not to grace us with her presence.” She rolls her eyes, and you incline your head in response, shrugging her off. Mal saved your ass six ways to Sunday when you were a new nurse here, and you’d do just about anything for her, and coming in when your coworker decides she wants to be a slag doesn't even count, considering you prefer to be here anyway. 

Shift change bustles down and up the floor, night shift coming on, days and others leaving. You make polite small talk with everyone, since you don’t know them as well. It’s their Friday. Tomorrow is your Monday; you’re just picking up. Everyone is thrilled to have you though, including the charge nurse, and you allow yourself to sink into the ups and downs of their conversation, back and forth about weekend plans, their kids, their relationships, their issues. 

In a group like this, you're seen. Not noticed. 

Just the way you like it. 

“Oh!” Mal calls out, breezing by the pit with her bag slung over her shoulder, watered down iced coffee in her grip.

“Go home.” You chide, and she sucks in a breath before opening her mouth again.

“I am, but one last thing-“

“Malaya. I got it.”

“I know, I know but this isn’t in the chart. Two sixty-eight, he���s military. There are three others here with him, two kind lurking in the hallway, and his partner is in his room, refusing to go home. He’s…weird. Got special permissions to bypass visiting hours.” She raises an eyebrow. “But they’re all quite fit. Caused a bit of a… stir.” Great. The last thing you needed in the ICU is a stir of any kind. You needed it calm. Peaceful.

“Okay, got it. Thanks. Now shoo.”

You check your email, skimming with speed, skipping over anything HR related, starring skills updates to look back at later, and casually replying to a request for a float to the PACU another day this week- Hi! I’d love to pick up a few hours if I can arrange it. What time are you needing? Before moving onto checks for your patients (too many, if anyone asked your opinion- which they wouldn’t, because why would administration want to ask a nurse their opinion on anything, right?) ensuring that everyone is in good shape, stable, relaxed, resting, or even better, fully sedated. Two of your patients are on vents, and you check in with the RT on shift before heading down the hall to your last, first stop of the day.

Two sixty-eight.

Two men are slumped over and asleep in the hallway chairs outside the room, arms folded, thighs spread wide, chins tucked to chest. One of them younger, probably closer to your age, chiseled jawline akin to Adonis, the type of rich beauty that would make anyone do a double take, and an older, albeit not by much, muscled, broad chested man with a distinguished moustache curling above his lip, eyes hidden beneath the rim of a hat.

These must be the guys causing the stir.

You stop outside the slider of two sixty-eight, drawing a deep breath before knocking and then pulling the slider, fogged glass parting to reveal your patient asleep, sedated, in the bed, and his partner, a hulking mass who sits at attention by his side. He’s broad, clad in black sweats, heavy arms and straight back showcasing his size- massive. The sweatshirt hides definition but judging by the appearance of the two in the hallway and your patient, you’d guess this guy was just as fit. He looks uncomfortable, body too big for the chair, brow creased with worry overtop the black cloth mask that covers his nose and mouth.

There’s something, in his eyes. Something devastated. Something you’ve seen before, in people who sit vigil like this, preparing for the worst, praying for the best, and something else, something that you recognize, but rarely see inside these walls. Something dark and severe, foreboding, even with part of a handsome face peeking out over the mask. 

He's already half lost to his grief.

He could be a ghost.

“Hi.” You whisper your name with a small smile and point to your identification tag. “I’m the overnight nurse.” You imbue the words with sweetness, kindness, but he doesn’t respond, just traces you from head to toe and gives a perfunctory nod. It’s not abnormal for a patient’s loved ones to be less than warm, especially to the graves nurse, the one who ends up interrupting their sleep at odd hours of the night, the one who’s usually here when the worst happens. You never take it personally. You’ve sat in that chair before. You’ve known the pain of this heartache, the way their hearts are cleaving in two, one half desperate to stay beating, the other begging to be lowered in a grave alongside their loved one.

You give the silent man an opportunity to speak when you step up to your patient’s monitor, and then motion to the man in the bed.

“This is John? Mr. MacTavish?”

John MacTavish. 

You’ve already read his chart back to front, memorizing his labs, his last vitals check, going over the scope of his procedure from this afternoon, and the tentative plan for the morning.

He’s a mess. Collapsed lung, hemothorax. Broken ribs, internal bleeding. Perforated liver. Broken wrist. Lacerations all over his body. Third degree burn on the entirety of his lower right quadrant. Shattered femur. Fractured hip. Triaged and treated in the field with less than stellar medical care. Came off the medevac and went right into surgery that lasted nearly ten hours long.  

Lucky to be alive. 

“Johnny.” He corrects, his Manchester accent sharp, rough. You type it into the chart, making a note that Johnny is the preferred name, over John, and duck down to check the bag that’s attached to his foley catheter. The man across from you tenses but doesn’t say anything, tracking your every movement like he’s nervous you might harm your patient.

“I’m just going to check this dressing. I would prefer not to wake him, so I’ll be as gentle as I can, okay?” You explain, motioning to the wrapped portion of his body. He doesn’t respond, just sits still as stone as your fingers nimbly move his gown to survey the would and it's dressing before putting everything back in place. You’re quick once you’re satisfied that it looks okay, tucking the blanket back in around him, careful not to jostle where his leg is immobilized, wrapped in gauze and elevated. “I know this has probably been a very frightening and difficult time for you.” You tell the man in the chair with a whisper. “If you need anything, have any questions, concerns, I’m here. For both of you. I’ll be here at least four, five nights a week as long as he’s on this floor, so we’ll get to know one another.” When he still doesn’t say anything, you try to fight the awkward feeling that’s vibrating up your spine. Okay, he clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. That’s fine. 

Your patient groans. His partner startles, body jolting, and then he’s on his feet, leaning over the bed, eyes searching, anticipating. He looks so… unsure. Worry etches across his face as he waits, and his hand hovers without purpose above the bed, flailing in the air like he doesn’t know what to do.

You stand back for a moment. Your patient, Johnny, will mostly likely be lucid for the first time in who knows how long, and you’d like a chance to orient him, let him realize his partner is here with him, tell him he’s going back in for surgery in the morning, before giving him some more pain medication.

The monitor beeps, signaling an increase in his heart rate, respiration, spiraling upwards until-

“Johnny?” The question is hopeful, nervous, and your patient grunts, tongue darting out to lick his lips before they crack open.

“Simon.” The name is a whisper, heavy with relief, and you make a mental note. Johnny and Simon. Room two-sixty-eight. “Whit happened?”

“You’re in the hospital.” Simon explains, anxiously glancing at you. “Can I… can I touch him?”

“Of course. Carefully.” He lowers his face to Johnny’s so slowly, so gently your heart skip a beat, tapping their foreheads together cautiously.

"Yer here." Johnny whispers, the fingers in his good hand barely lifting, reaching out to try to touch Simon, even though his body won't cooperate. "Thought Ah dreamed ye." You can see it, the heavy burden of love that lays between them, the thing that's brought them to this point, the thing that shines in Johnny's eyes as he tries to drink in the frame of Simon's face, tracing his features over and over, painting a picture to take with him... wherever he goes. 

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected? 

You had no idea, but these two did. Just one look, and you knew these two had something people all over the world would kill for. 

“I'm here. I'm right here." Something wet and desperate is caught in Simon's throat, and Johnny’s lips tug into a weak smile before it fades away with a grimace, his partner straightening with a wide hand tight on the bed railing, knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. 

“Hi.” You tell Johnny your name quickly, eager to get the less important stuff out of the way and start working towards getting him some relief. “I’m your overnight nurse. How’s your pain?” He frowns in consideration before groaning.

“’s alright.”

“Don’t be brave.” Simon says, and you nod in agreement.

“I’d like to get you some relief now so you can sleep, if we can.” Pain management can be a delicate conversation with patients, and you never truly know how they’re going to respond until you get to this point for the first time. You smile down at him, and he gives you one back, sleepy and sweet, bright blue eyes peeking out beneath drooping lids.

“Bad.” He croaks, and Simon glances at you in expectation. You nod to reassure him, reassure them both.

“Alright. Let’s get you something, yeah?” You log his vitals with a few taps on the tablet. The order’s already in the chart, and you ready the dosage, turning your back to give them some privacy.

“Where’s-“

“At the Price’s.” Simon murmurs, voice low, it’s deep rumble vibrating around the room.

“Ach.” Johnny groans something out, but it’s lost to his discomfort, and you wince in sympathy, wiping the hub of his port with an alcohol swab.

“Okay. So, this should go a long way with your pain.” you tell him, disconnecting his line to replace it with the flush. Simon tenses, again, practically flinching in the chair when you approach Johnny with the first syringe of saline. His eyes crease in concentration, watching your fingers, trying to keep up with your movements. “I’m flushing the line.” You explain gently. “Then I’ll push the medication, like this,” You’re quick with your hands, swapping the syringes and then slowing down to administer the medication at the correct push rate. Simon visibly relaxes, only a fraction, after the explanation, and once you’re done, you attach a new flush. “It’s saline. Compatible with the body, we use it to make sure that all the medication is moved through the tube.” He’s focused on your movements, and you reattach the fluids line before patting Johnny’s shoulder softly. “There, all done. He should be feeling much better here in a moment or two.”

“Cheers, bonnie.” Johnny slurs, and you huff a laugh.

“I’ll be back in a half hour for a vitals check, and then after than I’ll leave you be for a while. You do have another surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning, early-“ you glance at Simon, hoping that someone came by to already talk to him, and he nods. “So, I’ll see you before then too. I’m always a click away, if you need something.” You point to the button on the side of the bed. “If either of you need anything, I’m here. Okay?”

“Whit surgery?” Johnny grunts. Simon’s jaw flexes behind the mask, but he hesitates. It’s long enough that Johnny tries to rouse himself, and you rush to answer, to settle him.

“You have a broken hip, and your femur is shattered.” Nothing like ripping the band aid off. “Orthopedics will come by in the morning to talk about the plan, but they have to go back in to continue to work on the repair.” You don’t mention that his leg is still partially open, packed for reentry in six hours, that the damage to his lung and liver took priority when he came in, and by the end of that, the swelling in his leg was too severe to continue. You’re not the doctor, so it’s not your job to advise your patient or his family of his prognosis, really. You need to keep him calm, comfortable. Alive. Advocate for him, for both of them. That’s the job. Simon can tell him what he wishes, when he’s lucid.

Johnny’s lashes flutter, and he mumbles something, fingers curling in Simon’s grip. You take your cue, checking your watch. “I’ll let you get some rest.” You enter a quick vitals check, and then turn to leave.

“Thank you.” Simon murmurs to your back, and you pause half step, head turned over your shoulder.

“Of course.”

Six hours later, you’re slipping back into the room to say good morning to a groggy, but still somewhat alert patient.

“Good morning.” You whisper, and then frown a little at where Simon is still sitting in the same spot, upright with heavy eyelids and mussed hair peeking out from the black hood. He looks like he hasn’t slept for a single moment, blue black circles shining under his eyes, stiff and uncomfortable in the too small chair.

 Maybe we could get a recliner in here. 

A big recliner. 

“How’re we feeling this morning?”

“Alright.” Johnny grumbles.

“He’s in pain.” Simon snaps at you abruptly, insistent, and irritated, and your muscles tense instinctively before you forcibly relax them, un-bunching your shoulders from beneath your ears.

Deep breath. 

Simon’s head cocks, just slightly, and then his attention is back on Johnny, two hands cradling one another, fingers intertwined like they’re afraid to let go.

“Okay, let’s see if I can get you a little bit of medication.” You pull out your phone, flicking open your work app to message his doctor. “They’ll probably order a small dosage of dilaudid, have you ever had that before?”

“Na.”

“Might make you a bit loopy. I’ll have them give it to you when you get upstairs.” You glance at Simon. “Did you get down to the café, grab something for breakfast?” He shakes his head no, and you briefly considering encouraging him before realizing it will probably go over like a lead balloon. You smile at Johnny instead. “Your partner tells me you prefer to go by Johnny?”

“Does he?” He blinks, blue eyes alight behind sleepy lids, looking over to Simon like he’s caught a kid in a cookie jar. “Aye, ah jalouse ye kin ca' me Johnny, bonnie.”

“English, MacTavish.” Simon murmurs, stroking a soft semi-circle into his arm with his thumb.

“Ye can call me Johnny, pretty girl.” He speaks slowly, dragging his consonants and vowels until he gets to the last two words, an impish smile twisting his lips.

Pretty girl.

It’s suddenly incredibly warm in this room.

You roll your eyes on instinct as you’ve trained yourself to do whenever a patient lobs a compliment or a flirtatious quip at you, but it’s usually only ever old men. Or women.

Not beautiful, sculpted Scotsmen with sleepy smiles, stunning blue eyes, and mysteriously handsome, brooding partners.

You clear your throat, self-conscious, and startle just a bit when you hear the door opening, OR team sidling through to bring him upstairs.

“Alright, well. This team will take great care of you, and I’ll see you tonight when I’m back.” You pour positivity into your words, a practice you’ve maintained during your career, thinking good things for your patients, being positive for your patients. A good attitude can go a long way, especially for patients who may have a long road ahead of them, like Johnny.

Slipping out the door, you turn your head to where Simon listens to the surgeon intently, brows lowered, nodding occasionally, and splitting his attention between the (what you’re sure is) a one-sided conversation and where Johnny is half awake in bed, a nurse and two techs busy around him, prepping for the walk and elevator ride, their hands still clutched together. 

Johnny looks over, small sigh expanding across his chest, locking eyes with you for a moment. You freeze, taken aback by the clarity in his gaze, his face shifting from uncomfortable and pained into a small smile, lopsided and sweet.

You give him one back and disappear down the too-white corridor, new soles squeaking against the floor.

Badging out always twists your stomach with the same kind of dread. It's Tell-Tale Heart kind of dread, something that starts in your mind and spreads through your bones, a symptom of malignancy, sickness that ties you in knots, tips you over into dark waters with waves that break too close to the shore. It keeps you rolling your neck and shoulders over and over to release some of the tired tension that’s been building in your back, trying to relax and ease the anxiety that's building up inside you like a tea kettle.

You’re half sleepwalking, mind already wandering when your shoes squeak to a halt outside of two sixty-eight on your way to the elevator, in front of the door parted to reveal Simon sitting in the chair by Johnny’s empty bed, arms crossed, head tipped backwards.

Is he asleep? 

You purse your lips and tap against the glass with your knuckle.

“Hi.” You call to no response. Probably asleep. “Simon?” you whisper his name, and once he doesn’t respond, you turn the dimmer all the way down, satisfied that he’s getting some rest. You set your uneaten banana and protein bar on the little table by the bed before sneaking away, sliding the door shut with a satisfying click.

The weather this morning, this evening, is gorgeous. The sun is a golden orange orb peeking over the horizon, spraying a myriad of colors ranging from pinks to yellows across the rooftops of the city, dipping the morning commute in an effortless glow. It feels good on your face, the warmth, and you roll the long sleeve shirt that you wear under your scrubs up to your elbows to soak it in through your forearms too, stopping to stand still for a moment, for the first time in hours, in front of the back entrance to the hospital. 

In the sun, in the light, it's easy to close your eyes and pretend that you're something, somebody else. Easy to tilt your face to the light and let it wash over you, bathe you in fire, burn you clean like a witch on a pyre. 

Your watch beeps, dragging your focus to where it displays the time, a stark and devastating reminder that you have to get going, and you give the hospital one last look before beginning your trek to the train. 

See you tonight. 

[ncis-nerd]

first day

boss wanda maximoff x college student reader

about: y/n, a college student starts her new internship. she is off to a rough start but don't worry it gets better.

secrets untold au

You loved the fall, watching the leaves fall to the ground. The quiet simplicity of birds chirping, how they’d wake you up each and every morning. Every morning was a good morning in your head.

You were in on your way to work, a part time job as you were a college student. This “job” as you called it, was a paid internship with one of the most well-known film companies. Today was your first day there, you still couldn’t believe it.

Your heart raced as you approached the bold red stairs that led up to the tall building. You stood there for a moment, was this really happening? You thought to yourself as a woman with auburn hair bumped into you, causing you to stumble. You fell to the floor, your knee bleeding slightly. You groaned softly, looked at your skinned knee.

Your eyes glance up towards the tall woman in heels who had a frown on her face, you could tell she didn’t mean to do that. “Oh, I am so sorry honey.” She spoke, helping you off of the ground.

Her eyes trailed down to your bloody knee, she winced. “I have a first aid kit in my office, if you want?” She asked. You nodded, following behind her as she led you into the building.

Your eyes scan the room, there were a bunch of cubicles and a break room. This building didn’t feel like professional place of business though, the decorations felt homey in a sense. There were a bunch of pictures in frames, a lot of scenery and sunshines.

One photograph really caught your attention, you stopped in your tracks when you saw a picture of a really beautiful red-headed woman with green eyes. The woman hovered behind you, smiling at your interest in that specific image.

“You like that one?” She husked, her voice startling you slightly. You nod in response, “It’s such a good photograph, not just the quality but the woman in the picture as well.” Your eyes focused on all the little small details that could be missed by another’s eyes. Like the sparkle in the green eyes or the small grin in the photo that is hidden by an obvious frown.

“My wife. That’s my wife, I took that photograph myself. You think she’s pretty?” The woman smirked at you, your eyes notice the very obvious wedding band on her finger that you had not seen before.

You turn red, slightly embarrassed that you were fangirling over her wife, and her photo. You were impressed though, because it was such a good photo. “Aw, you getting shy on me sweetheart?” Her eyes burned into yours, it felt like she could see right into your soul.

Her eyes fall back onto your bruised knee, “Ah right, let’s go get that cleaned up.” She nodded, leading you to her office. Her office was huge, she had her own leather couch, fairy lights and even a wall mounted television. Your attention fell onto her shelf of cameras, which made sense since she said she took that photo from earlier.

She pulled a first aid kit out of her desk, “Come over here, will you dear?” She asked, digging through the bandaids and such. You sat on the couch, near her. Her hand brought your leg up, on top of her lap.

“This is going to sting a little” She hummed before wiping your knee with an alcohol pad. You groaned, feeling the intense sting. You were never one for pain, even the slightest amount would send you spirling. Which is why you were surprised that you were able to remain your composure before. But it’s like the woman could see right behind your wall, as tears started to form in your eyes.

She placed a bandaid on your knee, sealing the bruise after putting antibiotic cream on it. “All better.. Do you want me to kiss it better?” A warm smile creeped up on her face. You nodded shyly. That didn’t sound too bad, you thought.

The woman gently removed your leg from her lap, placing it back onto the ground. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as to how she was going to kiss your knee if it was on your ground.

That’s when she stood up from the couch, crouching right in front of you as she made direct eye contact. As she got on her knees and kissed yours.

You could feel her warm lips on your knee, her hot breath tickling your knee. You groan softly, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t lie that she didn’t get you all flustered. She arose, helping you up.

“Well, you’re all fixed, sweetheart. Excuse my matters, I didn’t catch your name earlier? My name is Wanda Maximoff.” The auburn haired woman smiled.

You felt your heart drop when you came to the realization that this was THE Wanda Maximoff, as in your BOSS, Wanda Maximoff? This was not good..

“Y/N…. Y/L/N.” You mumbled softly, your eyes fell to your floor as you felt your gut drop.

"Oh? You’re Y/N, ah I was wondering where you were. You are my new intern. I bet we’ll be having a lot of fun together.” She chuckled, taking a seat at her desk.

Your eyes read her gold name plate on her desk. It read W. Maximoff.

[lonelystarrs]

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟! 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Toji didn’t think he’d ever change for a woman again, turns out he did for a pretty little thing like you, he just wasn’t expecting it in this way —bet you really thought the joke about him being a werewolf was funny now.

Warnings 18+ MDNI seriously. Kinktober + extremely descriptive + monsterfucking + werewolf Toji + knots + breeding + size kinks + dubcon + mirror +

Tbh this was pretty rushed and basic, but let’s be honest only here for the smut when it’s kinktober 😂🫶🏻

It started over a year ago, all over a simple wound that Toji had from what he assumed was a curse at the time.

The claw marks had ran so deep across his back it exposed bone, the blood loss was life threatening but his ignorance took him towards his home, not towards help.

That’s when you came into the picture, pretty little you.

An off duty nurse who’s happened to be walking home to meet a stumbling Toji bleeding out near the building where he lived. Being ever so loyal to her duty as a nurse you helped. He remembered your eyes, your hair, how warm and soft your hands were and he remembered how you smelt. It stood out from the cold air, the smell of fresh rain and it was weirdly comforting, a clean yet sweet smell.

You’d stopped the bleeding, getting him to hospital for treatment and all you were was a memory, some pretty thing leaning over him slumped in a way that wasn’t dignifying what so ever and especially not how he usually met women.

He healed faster than expected, way faster than anything they’d ever seen before. Within two days he was healed with nothing but a large, clawed scar down his back, from his right shoulder to his left side under his ribs.

He took himself home, a bag of take out in hand as he stood in the elevator taking him up to his floor. The other hand shoved into his pocket staring mindlessly at the ceiling panel.

When it dinged and the doors opened he stepped out, colliding with someone much smaller than him and that someone was you.

Falling back into your ass from colliding with sheer force that was Toji Fushiguro, and in true Toji style he didn’t aid your fall he very much let it happen. Looking down at you and tilting his head, green eyes staring at your incredible legs long and toned leading straight up to those pretty black lace panties you had on under the shorter loose leather skirt that had rode up.

The little lace top you had on left little to the imagination, denim jacket a little ruffled from your fall, and nice black strappy heels on with red bottoms —which he didn’t expect.

Your hair framed you, thick and wavy, all done up for your little night out. Tits pushed up and face with light make up.

It was the second time he’d ever seen you and the first time he made contact with you, lazily reaching out a hand but not bending to you —he only done it because you helped him a few days ago.

You took it letting him pull you up with such force it thrusted you into his chest and he smirked, tilting his head giving you another once over because you really were such a pretty little thing.

“Oh! You’re uh- well you’re looking much better, it was only a few days ago and they’ve released you?”

“I left.”

“You’re moving well, what are you a werewolf?”

“A werewolf?”

Toji snorted a laugh at you and you laughed waving your hand around flippantly from your goofy joke. You thought he was one who those shitty dog looking things in classic old horror films?

“I was joking, y’know? It was a big claw mark and you’re out of hospital in days with a wound that went bone deep…”

“Just a real man doll, I ain’t howling at no moon.”

It turns out you lived in the same complex as him having rich parents but still studying as a nurse, once Toji found out the money he started taking an interest because even in his late thirties he wasn’t going to change.

He thought he wasn’t anyway but you made him feel something rare —and that was feeling a lil bad about taking advantage of you. He knew from past experience with his deceased wife that he maybe had a second chance of redemption, because that’s how he started feeling with her.

Your caring nature was a given, you were a nurse, so when Toji suddenly came down with a full blown fever you’d been there again, your hands feeling colder this time on his hot skin, your voice soothing him and that smell of you was lulling him. He’d pulled you in and buried his nose into you, inhaling like an animal as he started to grope every inch of you desperately, it gave him some relief.

Apparently he was changing in more ways than just seeing you as a source of money and sex, because it turned out that in fact, Toji was howling at full moons nearly four weeks later.

It started with restlessness and a mild fever, nothing too out of the ordinary in your line of work, but it wasn’t normal for Toji —he didn’t get sick. But something was crawling under his skin, his cock throbbing under his joggers and no matter how many times he fucked it into his fist he wasn’t cumming. His hand ran through his sweaty hair, pushing it out his face as he looked down at his far above average cock, an angry red and drooling precum with his hand curled around it.

It was throbbing, rock solid, he could feel the pulsing in it and he was burning from over stimulation, the rage in lack of release was only adding to the feral feeling biting across his skin as he felt his patience all but slipping.

Then his nose caught a whiff of something, something that made his cock flex in his hand and drive an instinct he didn’t know he had. Green eyes scanned the room, landing on a top of his you’d been wearing. When he lifted it to his face he moaned, eyes rolling back into his sockets and the pleasurable pulse sent to his cock was euphoric… that sweet smell of you was opening that door he was banging against.

His hips rolled into his fist, cock sliding into it smearing the overload of precum to make a wet hole to fuck into and his pace was feral, heaving in air between inhaling the scent you’d left over it. His mind too clouded to realise what exactly he was doing but chasing only a feeling.

You didn’t last a second when you returned home after your shift in work, he’d jumped on you and fucked you like you were his life line, a feral, blind pleasure that burned under his skin, only feeling it cool when you pressed against him. Burying his face into your neck and breathing you in like oxygen.

And he felt fucking incredible, fucking you felt unworldly.

Day two he’d been running such a high fever that wasn’t going down, reaching a temperature that was almost inhuman. He’d crashed into a sleep and you’d used the opportunity to shower. The towel was ripped from you as soon as your feet entered the bedroom and you were pressed against the wall, legs thrown over his shoulders as he lifted you.

But it wasn’t Toji.

His coat was so black he blended into the darkness of the room, silver teeth bared and green eyes illuminated like the full moon.

With your back pressed to the wall and werewolf! Toji lifting you on his shoulders as your thighs tightened around his head. Your hands gripping and pulling at his black fur as that long tongue worked its magic, so long it was fucking your dripping hole and rubbing against your clit at the same time. It didn’t take long for spit and cum to run down your ass and legs as he was edging you towards cumming on him again and you bucked wildly against him.

It should be wrong —holy shit this should be wrong.

But those glowing green eyes below you were feral, those jaws so large that you literally fit between them as he ate you out. His clawed hands under your thighs to prevent him from piercing you with those almost silver-white teeth.

You couldn’t breath as your body was driven into over stimulation and he wasn’t letting up on his restless attack with his tongue.

He was growling under you, something rumbling in his chest and you could feel it vibrating on his tongue. When you tried to pull away, tried to lift yourself from him his ears flattened, his lips curled and he bared his teeth with a snarl.

The only reason you calmed were his eyes and you knew it was him, even if you wanted to fight you couldn’t but you just needed a break to breathe. He looked silly in the apartment despite how big it was, Toji was a huge man regardless but this added to the huge form that he was.

“T-Toji I ca-fuck- I can’t anymore you gotta s-stop-“

Your body thrashed with each harsh lick of his tongue, drool dripping down his chin into his coat finding the taste of your cum irresistible, the smell of you was addicting. Toji was an asshole so it wasn’t hard to ignore you begging him to stop as you couldn’t handle it anymore, he was selfish and greedy naturally but when it came to eating you out like this?

Fuck-

The tip of his tongue buried in you felt you clenching again in little pulses as you got closer, he slanted your body to one claw keeping under your thigh, the other resting on his shoulder keeping you spread open against the wall. He reached down grabbing his cock, feeling the knot forming at the base —it felt different, besides the size difference.

He fisted himself and his hips started to move in time with it.

“M’gonna cum- fuck, hah, T-Toji s’good -holy shit-“ you were slurring words that meant nothing, weightless as your vision went white and stars appeared and with perfect timing he lifted from your clit and let his entire length of his tongue fill you roughly, he looked up to see your eyes roll back and your head rolled against the wall.

“Fu-Fucking hell,”

He stroked his dick steadily as you came around his tongue, hips stuttering as your body was slack against him and the wall. Withdrawing his tongue and head he pulled back, the taste of you filling his mouth, mouth watering again at the sweetness you gave.

He literally shrugged your thighs off his shoulders, his hands gripping your ass as you slid down the wall catching you with your legs falling over his thick forearms. He angled you so his hard, upright dick pressed against your entrance, your hands gripping his biceps, lacing under the black coat and your eyes widened as you realised he wasn’t letting you catch your breath.

Regretting looking down to see he wasn’t his body that had just change but the size of his already worthy dick had doubled, pre was drooling from the slit and it was flexing angrily.

“W-wait Toji that’s too big you-“

He pressed the tip to you and pushed, panting as his green eyes watched his cock start to stretch you out and it was tight. Toji bullied his way in, his forming knot pressing against your clit, your jaw slacked and no noise left you. The stretch was painful, but with how he was pressing against your spread open clit was just enough to distract you.

Toji growled when he eyed the bulge in your stomach and he flexed inside you watching it move. Clawed hands planted against the wall behind you, either side of your waist with your legs still over his forearms, the position was awkward being wedged between the wall him like this.

“T-Toji p-please g-go easy, it’s too big I’m-“

His hard thrust back into you cut you off as your breath hitched in your throat, nails digging into his chest and your toes curled. 

“You’ll take it how it comes,”

your eyes widened as you looked up at him with worry, finally hearing him speak, his own voice mixed with something else thrown in. Your body contradicting your worry, his words made you pulse around him and he chuckled, green eyes meeting yours.

Shifting an arm to snake around your waist to hold you in place as he pulled back his cock, watching the slick glistening on it and he slammed back into you, starting a pace that was cruel. Your arms wrapped around his long nose and jaws clamping them together, pulling him into your chest hugging him and pressing your forehead to his.

“Holy shi-hah, it’s too big, it’s too- I’m gonna cum, I’mgonnacum!”

You sounded panicked but all he focused on was the wet plap, plap, plap of his inhuman dick spreading you open cause it was fucking beautiful to watch. Slick and cum coating his knot as it formed a sticky link everytime it touched your clit.

And he lost it.

You only made whimpering and strangled noises as he fucked you hard, every other thrust trying to push his knot in to plug you, failing drew a pissed off snarl from him that made him pull away along with his cock.

He threw you across the room to your bed and you tried to crawl away, his grip on your ankle slid you back down the bed and in his desperation he pinned you to it, rutting clumsily against the back of your thighs and ass trying to find your pussy.

“Stay, brat-“

He snarled into your ear and you groaned into the bed as he snarled in your ear and arched your hips back, a dull ache in your cunt from being stretched so much but pulsing to have it again.

Unhappy with the position he shifted, green eyes catching himself in the huge floor length arch mirror, he gripped the backs of your thighs and pulled you up. Your back to him you reached back to grab him to balance yourself. His cock slapping against your exposed pussy as he walked to the large mirror, spreading you out. He nuzzled his nose into your neck.

“Put it in before I force it-“

You reached down pressing your fingers to the underside of his head, pressing it against yourself as he lifted you until he felt your swollen hole, impaling you on his cock, watching the bulge appear in your stomach again and he let you watch, let you see what he was seeing.

Green eyes flickering from your face to his knot bouncing against you, begging to plug you, he could feel it resisting less in this position and when he’d just had enough he paused and forced you down to take it.

Your pained whimper only spurred him on, his thrusts switching to short but hard, your body bouncing off each thrust as you went crossed eyed, drooling with only noises leaving you as he made you watch him fucking you dumb.

He gave no warning when he came, only some whine that left his throat. His hips jolting up into you as his knot swelled locking him in you.

“S’too much- m’full, no more -Toji I can’t-“

“Cum it out then,”

You were shaking against him, your whole body struggling to keep up with him like this, but it was so hot watching him plug you, fill you up and seeing that bulge in your stomach.

So you reached down, one finger rolling over your buzzing clit and your hips jolted in reaction to how sensitive it was, your nerves burning with each circle and swipe on your clit, watching your hole clenching and pulsing around him.

You came with tears streaming down your cheeks, pushing so hard his softening cock pulled from you followed by the ridiculous amount of cum he’d fucked into you.

He nuzzled into you, gracing his teeth over your neck as you came back from seeing stars, tranced by the sight of the mess he’d made of you, holding you up like you were nothing as his green eyes glowed.

“We ain’t done, doll.”

©pharix/lonelystarrs 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

Dividers all on my side blog for credits as per 🫶🏻

[keerysfreckles]

cheer up baby — LN4

pairing: lando norris x gn!reader

summary: when lando comes home to his partner, he wants to do nothing but take care of you.

warnings: pretty short, i just dont have the ideas for a plot to make a longer fic 😞😞

a/n: LANDO P2 IN IMOLA IM SCREAMING HE'S GONNA WIN IN MONACO TRUST 🙏🙏

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

the minute you woke up you could feel it. the pounding headache starting to form. the slight scratch in your throat after swallowing. the sniffle echoing in your empty bedroom.

you took your temperature anyways, and groaned after seeing the red numbers, 102.1.

you didn't remember how you could've gotten sick, but that didn't matter anymore as your brain felt like it was going to explode.

in the matter of seconds your headache had gotten worse, making you groan again. you rummaged through your bathroom cabinet until you found a small pack of pills for a fever and cold. you swallowed them dry before shuffling back to your bed.

as soon as you felt your eyes fully close and the silence around you become comforting, the front door lock started rattling.

shit, you thought. suddenly remembering your boyfriend texting you late last night that he was on the plane back to monaco, after his victory in miami.

lando looks around the quiet apartment leaving his things by the door before his feet carry him through the kitchen and living room.

"love?" he calls out. he was sure you'd still be home when he landed.

"in here lan," you sit up slightly, watching lando open the bedroom door. however the smile instantly falls from his face.

"hey, what happened?" he notices your red nose and congested voice.

"i have a fever," you explain while wrapping the white comforter around you, "so don't even think about coming near me. i don't want you getting sick."

lando just smirked while sitting on the edge of the bed. "what if i wanted to get sick?"

"why would you want to get sick?"

"just to be with you," he shares a dorky smile with you, one you can't help but giggle at.

"can i get you anything?" he asks sincerely, placing his hand over your blanket covered ankle to rub his thumb over the material.

you thought for a moment before responding, "can i just have a hug?"

lando smiles again, a small blush covering his cheeks. "i thought you said i couldn't come near you?" he leans forward anyway.

you wrap your arms loosely around his neck, as his come around to rub your lower back.

"well that was past me, who was an idiot," you mumble after resting your head on his shoulder.

lando chuckles, before kissing the top of your head. your eyebrows furrow when he moves away from you, only to hold his hands open in front of him.

you put your hands in his, regardless of how confused you are.

"we're going to have a very relaxing movie day, yeah? you can pick all your favorites while i run to the store and get snacks and drinks."

you laugh at his eagerness, as he's practically dragging you to the sofa.

"lan, we have food here," you laugh more at your caring boyfriend rushing back to your bedroom, only to come back with one of his hoodies.

you silently put it on, watching him grab his car keys and a hat.

he hands you the remote before kissing your cheek.

"i'll be right back love, just call me if you want anything specific."

before he can leave the living room, your hand grabs his wrist. he turns, slightly caught off gaurd at your action. your hand runs down slightly to hold onto his, and you look up at the green eyes you fell in love with two years ago.

"i love you," your voice fills his ears, and a smile breaks out on his face once more.

"and i love you," he leans forward to place another kiss on the top of your head, before finally leaving to the store.

[goldenatreides]

- training season -

[ paul atreides x reader ]

2.7k words, oneshot, smut, friends to lovers

summary: in a pinch, a dusty old weapons closet is just as good a hiding place as any.

content warnings: 18+ (minors shoo!) no use of y/n, all characters are over 18, f!reader, smut, religious imagery, mentions of violence, use of the Voice, implied consent, m/f pairing, fingering, PiV sex, semi-public unprotected sex, creampie, uhhhhh overuse of italics, gurney halleck jumpscare,

author’s note: you will pry my italics and religious imagery from my cold, dead hands. i need to be sedated. all feedback is appreciated and lmk if u find anything wrong, it’s my first time writing in a decade i think!! thank you to @earthshells for editing and teaching me about shrimping in bjj <3

🤍 masterlist 🤍 about 🤍 read on ao3 🤍

The clash of two blades resonates through the training room of Caladan.

Paul swipes at your side with his blade but you dodge, elbowing him hard in the ribs, catching him off balance. As you back away, he grabs your arm and pulls you down with him, pinning you against the ground; your face down on the cold stone floor, his legs straddling your back.

Your chest burns at the impact, flush against the floor. You feel his entire weight on top of you, heaving from exertion. His legs keep one arm locked at your side, under him, the other still caught in his grasp, pressed to the ground. Your blade scrapes against the stone.

“Do you yield?” His voice is much closer than you expect. His breath is close, tickling the back of your neck, too close, too warm—a shiver snakes down your spine.

(Why does it do that?)

Dark messy curls fall into your field of vision, some brushing the shell of your ear. A prickle against your jugular taunts you — his knife at your throat. Your shield buzzes with the contact.

(Ah.

He’s pressing it harder today than ever before.)

You make a small noise in answer, sound muffled by the ground.

Paul shifts his weight on top of you by sitting up, his legs still caging your back, knife at your throat. He relaxes the hand that holds yours bound.

(That’s new.)

Instead, Paul grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your neck, lifting your head slightly. It hurts — but you can’t lie and say it’s… entirely unpleasant.

(Oh.

That’s new too.)

“Well?”

You can hear the teasing grin in his voice. Years upon years of training with him and still, he knows your left side is your weakest. But you’ll be damned before you give Paul the satisfaction of beating you for the third time in a row this week.

You wriggle slightly under him, testing his hold — why is he still clutching your hair? — and finding it looser than you expect, you rotate, using your free arm to lurch back and upwards suddenly, knocking him off you. You hear him land to your side with a thud and a surprised grunt, blade clattering to the ground.

Fingers curling around the hilt of your blade, you spin around, hooking your legs against his to trap him. Now, you straddle him, your knife pressing against his throat.

“What’s gotten into you today, Paul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” he answers, still grinning.

His eyes are deadly, dark green.

Ignoring his choice to play stupid, you hiss: “Do you yield, Atreides?”

His holtzmann shield buzzes a bright red at his neck.

Your pulse buzzes too.

(Just the adrenaline.)

You want to wipe the smug grin off his face. He could have won so easily, you were distracted, why didn’t he?

Maybe he let his guard down too soon, or maybe — and you’ll never forgive him in this case — he’s going easy on you.

You feel the pinprick echo of his hands clutching your hair. A knot ties in your stomach, but you refuse to associate the two feelings.

(It must be close to lunch by now.)

Surely that must be it.

Paul laughs. It’s bright, airy — did your heart just skip a beat?

“Never.”

He reaches for his blade — that he shouldn’t have lost in the first place, he knows better than that — and as you lean forward to stop him, he uses your momentary distraction to free his other hand.

Which he promptly knots into your hair again, pulling you down by the back of your neck. Your legs slide out from under you against the slippery stone floor. Curse whoever built this castle.

Your own shield joins the buzzing, his knife finding your neck once more, yours still pressed against his, noses a hair’s width away.

His chest moves yours with each breath, every exhale waving strands of your hair that escaped his grasp.

You lie frozen above him for a moment or two. His eyes are so close you can count every individual lash, his pupils so blown you can see yourself reflected back at you.

Something about them is different today.

You’ve been staring at those eyes your whole life. Countless wishes cast on those same fallen lashes, gold flecks sparkling through a sea of forest green. You’ve seen them beam with childish mirth when you stole pastries from the kitchen, both your hands sticky from the bun you shared, giggling under a heavy oak table. You’ve seen them sorrowful and sullen, his under eyes as dark as bruises as he snuck into your room for comfort in the middle of the night after a bad dream, innocent adolescence.

Now, from so close, they’re dark, darker than you’ve seen—a raging sea, so bewitching it can drown you with no warning if you don’t tread with caution. You’ve caught glimpses of it before, in darkened hallways and after too many glasses of crimson Caladan wine, when he didn’t think you were looking—but never with such feverish intensity.

(Just the adrenaline.

He’s just caught up in the fight.)

Paul’s lips part slightly as his chest heaves up and down beneath you. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and a mirroring rosy blush dusts his high cheekbones. Few faint freckles dot his cheeks during the summer season and you see them now like clusters of little stars.

His eyes never leave yours, but his tongue darting out and slightly wetting his parted lips grabs your attention and you can’t help but stare. You trace your gaze along the dip in his cupid’s bow, the regal arch of his pointed nose, the cheekbones sculpted as if from marble of antiquity.

(Oh, Maker.

I’m staring.)

You cough to clear your throat from the thick silence that settles over the two of you, broken only by your mingled breaths. His mouth closes, lips curling into a coy smile as he sees you flush more under his stare.

“Something wrong?” his voice comes out husky, deeper than you’ve heard before. Why was the room suddenly so hot? The castle’s heating never worked so well.

You refuse to meet his piercing gaze again, mortified at the situation, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy below you. The boy —your childhood best friend, you remind yourself in an attempt to clear your head of whatever is happening—is different today.

(And whatever is happening is definitely not happening.

It’s just Paul.

He’s just messing with you.)

Still avoiding his eyes, you sit up, excuses already tumbling from your mouth—cut off by Paul tightening his grip on your hair, sending electric sparks tingling at the roots of your scalp.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his voice comes out not fully his own—distant, many echoing voices folding in his own all at once, commanding your undivided attention and acceptance:

“Look at me.”

Your stomach falls through the floor as your eyes snap to meet his. Maybe all those lessons he skipped to hang out with you were not so useless after all.

You feel every point of contact with him a thousandfold. His hand in your hair, yours on his chest, his toned waist between your ever-so-slightly trembling legs. His other hand drops his knife, and slides up to rest on your waist, lithe fingers delicately brushing the stitches of your clothing.

“Paul—” Your voice comes out more of a whispery mumble than you expected.

(Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me whole.)

The hand in your hair relaxes, and his palm slides down to the back of your neck, fingers light as a feather. They hook your jaw, cupping your cheek. You think you’ll suffocate under the weight of his gaze on you.

Paul breaks the stare first, his eyes clinging to your mouth.

His thumb gently traces the outside of your lips, teasing your bottom lip. You hope he can’t feel how your pulse thunders against your neck, your heart threatening to escape your chest at his very touch.

(He definitely can.)

Heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside break the spell and you both freeze in a moment of panic. A familiar voice calls out for Paul, as you jump off him and he scrambles to his feet.

He looks around the room quickly, and seeing an old and dusty weapons storage closet, he grabs your hand and pulls you into it, shutting the heavy door as quietly as possible behind him.

Not a moment too soon, as you hear Gurney Halleck’s voice coming from the training room.

“Paul?”

After a beat of silence, Gurney sighs in frustration and you hear the training room doors click as he leaves.

You and Paul breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve both skipped out on one too many tutors this week, but the consequences can wait until…later.

Your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the closet. In the inky darkness, you feel Paul standing in front of you, so close in the cramped space that with each breath his chest flushes against yours. He smells of cedar, of bergamot, of honey. Comforting. Familiar. Paul.

What the hell just happened in that training room? You’re not willing to break the heavy silence first. Neither is he.

Instead, he kisses you.

Your mind goes blank as you feel his lips, softer than a pillow, press against yours. The kiss is gentle, shy, nothing like the fierce training you were practicing earlier, nothing like the commanding voice of the Atreides heir.

(Oh, fuck it.

Maybe it is happening.)

As Paul starts to pull away, you open your lips and kiss him back—feverish, hungry, devouring—your heart hammering out of your chest.

It was as if a rubber band had snapped, releasing whatever was holding either one of you back. He deepens the kiss, and you melt into it—his lips crashing against yours, his tongue tracing against your own. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls, wrenching a deep moan from you that he stifles with his lips.

His hands find your waist and he pushes you back against the wall, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his middle as he presses into you, his hips slotting perfectly between them.

The sudden movement sends a rack of old weapons crashing down, a cacophony of metal and plasteel, undoubtedly ancient and expensive, startling you both.

He pulls back from you for a moment and breathes heavily, both of you straining to hear if anyone noticed. As you relax, he presses his forehead against yours. A stray curl brushes your lashes. If someone were to find you here, like this, you’re both good as dead for the foreseeable future.

In the darkness, your labored breaths intermingling, his voice comes out as barely a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

Your head spins and you think if you don’t have him right now, immediately, you might die.

Instead of answering, you grab Paul’s face and pull him back in for a kiss. He moans into you, a deep guttural groan, rolling his hips forward, starving hands roaming against breathless skin.

Heat pools in your stomach as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his lips plush and addicting. You knot your fingers into his unruly curls, gently tugging and the groan that leaves his lips is more holy than a hymn.

(Maybe you could stay like this forever.)

He peppers desperate butterfly kisses along your lips, along your jaw, along the length of your neck. As he presses his lips to your pulse in the crook of your neck, you hear him chuckle as you feel the thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud of your racing heartbeat.

His hands fall from your waist to cup your thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along your pulse, leaving barely a mark. The heat between your legs only grows, electricity shooting upwards with every push of his hips. Even through the layers of cloth you can feel him against you and every cell in your body screams more, more, more.

Paul’s hand slides up your inner thigh, and grazes a sensitive spot through the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you arch into it, but he stops and pins your back harder against the wall until you can’t move an inch, trapped by his arms and his presence.

You know he’s grinning like a devil in the dark. You don’t want to wipe it away this time.

He toys with the waistband of your underwear, slipping a finger behind the fabric, teasing in lazy, languid strokes. You whine softly, unspoken begs for more of his touch that set your cheeks ablaze and your head whirling.

“What is it?” Paul asks, lips at your neck, kissing at a delicate spot right under your jaw.

“Please,” you groan.

His breathing is ragged as he continues toying with your waistband, a teasing finger occasionally traveling down between your legs.

You think you’re going to die waiting.

“Please what?” He’s toying with you, his voice laced with honey.

If you do die, you’re going to drag him to hell with you.

But in between bruising kisses, all you manage is a whimper that Paul swallows with his kiss.

“Use your words, my star.”

His lips trace the shell of your ear sending electric shivers down your spine. His teeth tug slightly at the lobe and the world echoes until the only thing left is him and his hands and his voice.

“I need you, Paul,” you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you even think of them, pulled out by his Voice, “Please.”

A lithe finger finally slips under the fabric, pushing it aside. His thumb traces hurried circles around your clit, everything already slick from his relentless teasing.

He presses his lips to yours again, silencing his own groans. Just as the knot in your stomach starts to build, he slides a finger down your slit, and you sigh at the loss of his rhythmic movement.

But you don’t have time to voice your discontent—you feel him slide one of his long fingers inside you and you press into his touch. You don’t even have time to think before another finger slips in and you feel the slight burning stretch. Your head falls back against the cold wall as you pant, and his hands work in and out, chasing your pleasure.

You dig your nails into his back. His hand works faster and faster, and in between whispered curses and pleading prayers you find your release.

Through the haze of your high and waves of bliss, you’re vaguely aware of Paul’s belt buckle falling to the ground, somewhere. In the tangle of roaming hands, messy hair and skin plastered with a thin sheen of sweat, Paul’s shirt buttons come undone — likely by your doing — and your own soaked underwear gets lost in the dark — definitely Paul’s doing.

However, you’re very aware of every inch of Paul as he slides himself into you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer over and over again.

“You’re doing so good for me, my star,” Paul sighs into your ear, his hips flush against yours, fully inside. “You’re doing so well.”

With every thrust of his hips, you welcome the feeling of fullness as your nails rake down his back, leaving delicate red marks and half-moon indentations. Every push, he reaches a deeper part of you, his hands guiding your hips to meet him again and again, goosebumps covering your skin at his feverish touch.

Through half lidded eyes, you see his silhouette in the dark, tousled dark curls haloed by a sliver of light from the doorframe, strong shoulders and toned arms keeping you pressed against the wall even as his hips stutter in his desperate rhythm inside you.

He falters and you feel him twitch, consequences be damned, as he sinks completely inside you, hands bruising your hips and voice groaning as his own release catches up to him.

He looks almost holy this way, completely undone inside you, and whispering your name as if it can save him.

(Maybe it can.)

[starsofteal]

Daylight

Halsin x Tav // Halsin x Reader

Summary: Tav misinterprets Halsin’s declarations, thinking he must not want her as much as she wants him. Can Halsin convince her of his love? A/N: Well, my first Halsin fic is here! Based off this dialogue from the game, featuring a classic miscommunication trope. When I first came across this dialogue, I found myself rather disappointed by Halsin’s declaration, and I realized I was focusing on all the wrong parts of it. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we have a scenario in which Tav has done the same. This fic is so self-indulgent it should be a crime. Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (emphasis on the comfort—I promise all’s well that ends well). Pretty spoiler free, except for the opening dialogue if you’re romancing Halsin and you want all that to be a surprise. 

“Relationship?” A deep chuckle rumbles in Halsin’s chest. A sinking feeling settles into your gut. You weren’t sure what to expect when you broached the topic of a potential relationship, but a laugh? A direct blow from an enemy sword would have hurt less. 

“Such terms belong to civilization—a little unfamiliar to my lips.” His words continued, but that soft smile, those kind eyes, the strong, steadfast shape of Halsin, it all begins to shift, distorting just slightly as traitorous tears prick at your eyes. A quick bite of your inner cheek reminds you to hold steady, to not let the tears fall—by every star in that gods damned sky, you are not going to let him see you cry. 

“…you and I should each seek happiness wherever it lies…”

He’s still going on? You think to yourself. How long can one rejection take? You bite your cheek even harder, a coppery tang bursting on your tastebuds. 

Halsin’s words echo in your mind, despite the fact that his monologue seems to continue, piercing your heart again and again, the pain stealing the breath from your lungs. You will yourself to take in another breath.

“Let others know the happiness of being with you.” Halsin smiles down on you, not an ounce of malice in those soft green eyes. The staunch difference between his kindhearted gaze and the red-hot pain radiating in your chest was nearly laughable. In fact, at that very moment, you were unsure if your next steps would include crying, laughing, or launching an all out assault on the mountain of a man before you—an action that would surely not work out in your favor given the comical size difference between you two. 

In the end, it was all you could do to offer a small, meager, “I see.” It’s a notable effort to keep the emotion from your voice, but you’re proud of the attempt all the same.

A frown breaks out across Halsin’s face, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Have I said something wrong, my heart?” 

Those two words are a slap to your face. You don’t trust yourself to speak, not again, so without a word you turn and make your way to your tent as fast as your feet can take you. 

The fabric barely has time to fall in place behind you before the warm tears finally break free. 

_________

Two days had passed since the incident. While you wanted nothing more than to mope about on your bedroll and avoid Halsin altogether, your situation doesn’t exactly allow for such luxuries. 

Which is how you find yourself in the woods with Shadowheart, foraging for ingredients to top off your party’s supply of potions and tonics. Though you left early in the morning, the sun glares bright overhead now. Wiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you crouch low beneath a bush and scan the area for the bright violet blooms Shadowheart had you scouting for. 

“I just don’t understand why you had to drag me out for this,” you fuss at your friend as thorns from the underbrush prick your side. Your clothing offers little protection against natures most irritating defenses. 

“Surely there’s…someone more suited to this than I.” Your following scowl can’t be entirely blamed by the literal thorn in your side, not as thoughts of Halsin flash through your mind once more. 

Shadowheart hums absentmindedly. “Yes, this is true. Halsin is more in tune with the forest,” she mutters, collecting something from the earth too small for your eyes to make out. A soft clink tells you the specimen makes it into the glass bottle. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about that,” Shadowheart continues, popping the cork back on the bottle and tucking it away. 

“About what?” You hiss as another thorn embeds itself in your palm. You toss a scowl her way before distracting yourself from the conversation as you fiddle with removing the thorn. You’re not sure which hurts worse, the abrupt change in conversation topic or the wound in your hand. Impervious to your dirty looks, Shadowheart makes her way over to you. 

“Well, you two were nearly inseparable. Absolutely enamored with each other—anyone could see it.” She takes your hand into her own to assess the damage.

“And now, well, if I’m being completely honest dear, you’re rather dour, you seldom leave your tent, or you’re looking for any excuse to get away from the party—sorry this’ll only hurt a second.” You wince as she pulls the thorn free and presses hard on the wound to stanch any bleeding. “And, well, Halsin’s been…unusually forlorn. Like a poor dog that’s been kicked in the stomach.” 

With a scoff you withdraw your hand, taking care to apply pressure to it just as Shadowheart had done. 

“I couldn’t care less what Halsin’s been doing.” The lie is ash on your tongue. 

Shadowheart looks at you then, really looks at you. You try your best not to fidget under her assessing gaze. 

“What happened?” 

“I—“ 

“And don’t bother lying to me,” she’s quick to interrupt. “Save it for someone else. I know something has been bothering you.” 

Resignation floods you. Leave it to Shadowheart to see right through your bravado and into your heart. 

“I was a fool for thinking he could ever be happy with me.” The words are soft as they fall from your lips, but they burn your heart all the same. A firm weight falls on your shoulder as Shadowheart offers an encouraging hand. 

“Tell me everything.”

_______

Halsin’s voice calls out your name from just outside Shadowheart’s tent. His low timbre still brings a tightness to your chest, but you will yourself to breathe normally. You’d been doing your best to avoid him since getting back to camp with Shadowheart, but you suppose now is as good a time as any to rip that particular bandage off. 

“Yes, Halsin?” You ask matter of factly, not even looking up from the array of ingredients you’re currently sorting through. You pointedly ignore his gaze as he steps into the tent, taking up a majority of the albeit limited empty space. 

Halsin clears his throat, clearly uncertain how to proceed. You two had always shared such an easygoing openness between you,  but the last two days had left him scrambling for purchase. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” Halsin smiles down at you, undeterred by your clear avoidance. 

“Mm, we are talking.” You collect up one of the empty potion bottles, wiping at a smudge spot with the edge of your tunic. 

Halsin forces a chuckle, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course we are, but, erm, perhaps we could go for a walk? Enjoy some of nature’s company for the evening?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Your tone is sharper than you’d intended, but the guilt passes over you in a second as you replay his words in your mind, his scoff when you so much as mentioned a potential relationship. 

Halsin sighs. He had hoped that his 300 odd years of experience would give him a leg up in navigating this prickly conversation, but—as is usual when you’re involved—his heart and his tongue seem to be tripping over one another. 

 “My heart,“

That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps up to his, laced with venom. 

“You do not get to call me that. Not anymore.” 

Halsin feels his own chest start to cave in as the hurt flashes across your face—you master it a moment later, but the damage is done. 

“I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset you,” he starts, but you interject again. 

“It’s fine. I’m not upset,” you force some neutrality back in your voice. “You weren’t interested in things continuing between us, and that’s fine. Nothing to apologize for.” You gesture to the flap of the tent. “You can take your leave now.” 

Halsin does the opposite, braving another step closer. 

“Of course I need to apologize. It appears my words have caused some confusion. Worse yet, I fear they’ve caused you pain.” 

At that, you still, finger pausing over the bottles set up in front of you. 

“You must know that I would never intend to hurt you.” Halsin’s tone was bordering on pleading. “Even now, it physically pains me to know that I’ve hurt you so.” He draws a hand to his chest, moving as if to soothe an ache that’s nestled beneath the surface there. 

You glance up to see the hurt now reflecting in his eyes. It’s enough to bring forth a sigh from your lips, your shoulders caving in as resignation takes over your body. Even now, you can’t find it within yourself to hate him, no matter how much easier it would make this. 

“You’re not responsible for my feelings, Halsin,” you sigh. “They are my own.” 

“No, but I do take responsibility for my words,” he counters. 

“You don’t want a relationship with me and you said as much. There’s nothing left to be said.” Despite your best attempts, your voice breaks on the last word. You close your eyes, clinging to the blunt words, mentally rebuilding your armor to power through the rest of this conversation. 

“There is so much left to say, my heart.” Halsin’s gentle words caress your face like the sun’s rays on a warm summer day. “I have so much left to say.” 

You keep your eyes closed, focus on taking another breath, keeping your heart steady. “Then speak.” 

“I love you.” 

Your eyes spring open, and Halsin is before you, close enough to touch. A large, tentative hand reaches up to cradle your face. You don’t pull away, and that’s enough to bring relief to Halsin’s heart. 

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, afraid your mere voice would crack the perilously thin ice you suddenly find yourself on. “You said—“ 

“That I would not keep you to myself,” Halsin is quick to finish the thought. 

“That we should seek out other people,” you correct, a touch of anger shading the words as you step out of Halsin’s grip. 

At that, Halsin’s eyes widen. “No.” His voice holds more sharpness than the druid had ever shown with you before. “I said no such thing.” 

“Well, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment was there,” you grumble, the frustration seeping through at your hazy memory. 

“That ‘sentiment’ is misguided.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but you do it anyway. 

“Well, forgive me if I don’t have it memorized word for word—I was a little busy having my heart broken,” you snap. 

Halsin pauses for a heartbeat and you watch the pain shine in his pale green eyes at your words.

“And I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused you these last few days. But listen to my words now. I beg of you.” 

Another heartbeat passes. He takes your silence as permission to continue.

“I don’t abide by these conventional rules set in place by society. My home is in nature, and I follow the path the Oak Father has set before me. These ideals of what relationships should or shouldn’t be, you’ll have to forgive me if they're all but foreign to me.” 

Another wave of disappointment washes over you and you close your eyes in a futile attempt to deter the familiar pinpricks of tears. A warm, familiar hand caresses your face before tilting your chin up to bring your gaze to his. 

“But trust me when I tell you that I have never met someone like you. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does for you. What I feel for you pales in comparison to those who came before you.” 

There is no doubting the sincerity that lies in those soft verdant eyes. 

"It feels as though I have been asleep in a centuries long dark night, and now I am finally seeing daylight,” Halsin’s deep voice soothes, each word repairing the aches and tears of your heart.  

“There is no one else for me, my heart. Call it what you wish; you are all I want. Nothing would make me happier than to have you by my side for the rest of my days, if that is what you desire as well.

My love for you runs deep and true. Never doubt it, my heart.”

And then his lips are on yours, and every thought eddies out of your head, but one: Halsin loves you. 

Pure joy and relief floods your body and you don’t even bother trying to stop the tears of joy that follow. Halsin pulls back from the kiss just enough to swipe the tears from your cheek.

“I love you, too, Halsin,” you whisper in the space between you as Halsin presses his forehead to yours. 

“Forgive me, my heart. For the pain I have caused you.” 

You smile up at that handsome face you’ve grown to hold so dearly. Your slender hand  reaches up to caress his cheek, tracing the swirls of his tattoo. “Only if you’ll forgive my foolishness for doubting you.” You feel the shame rise up, bringing a heat to your cheeks.

“My heart, there is nothing to forgive,” Halsin murmurs before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

[randombush3]

(extremely talented, creative) stalker

alexia putellas x reader

based on this and a poem from when i was little. i chose alexia because she fit the character more and i rushed this immensely because i was being pestered for attention by multiple creatures. oh and i went for something decently light-hearted bc these hozier fics have been affecting my soul and ruining my spotify daylists.

happy monday people x

p.s. not proof-read because it's lunchtime and i'm hungry (edit: i just did my proof-read now and i've realised that it was in fact not lunchtime??? it was past lunchtime and i was just zoned out!)

Alexia doesn’t care much for art. Sure, she admires the effort, the time such talent sits behind a canvas and marks something that was once blank until others begin to value it. She agrees with the masses about the beauty of quaint watercolour paintings of the coast, and she lets Mapi rave about charcoal and graphite and oils as if she understands what is so special about the varying media. 

She knows she is only here today because the art is about sports. The gallery seems almost reluctant to allow the athletes in, worried they have brought with them their football boots and cones to dribble around, but it would be bad practice to prohibit the muses from the collection. She isn’t an idiot, though, and she knows that no amount of forced reading about the artist and other sophisticated matters will slip her seamlessly into the crowd. 

There are lots of people; people she has never heard of, but make it clear they are far superior to her by the way in which their eyes politely drop to the tattoos inked onto her calloused hands. Their skin is soft, accustomed to the stems of crystal champagne flutes, and the drawings that hold so much personal meaning to the footballer are scrutinised to the point of silent… offence.  

So much for appreciators of art, she thinks to herself, counting down the minutes until it is acceptable for her to leave. 

With a huff and a vow to never – no matter how much she earns – forget where she has come from, Alexia staggers, uncomfortable in these particular heels, towards the painting she deems easiest to understand. 

It is the largest in the room: deep, crimson reds on top of familiar greens, streaks of gold falling out of a ponytail. 

Call Alexia egotistical, but anyone would be drawn to a painting of themselves. 

The artist has done a good job, she guesses, not entirely sure if there is a deeper meaning behind the grass stains on her socks or the crumpled shading of her Spain jersey. It is a little creepy that someone she does not know has captured her likeness so expertly, so practised. 

“The nose isn’t quite right,” a voice says beside her. 

Alexia turns in surprise, amused enough by the stranger’s observation to examine her painted face, eyes not drawn from how majestic her image is beginning to seem. She sees no obvious issue, and so she replies, “I think it’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

She is still staring at herself, now impressed by the grandeur of the painting; its size, its quality. “Well, I am unsure how someone painted me so accurately when I was never called in for a… I don’t know, a consultation? And it seems a little weird to me that my hair is loose, because I tend to slick it back so it doesn’t fall out of my ponytail, and, you know, I always have something written on my boots, but otherwise, it’s fine. I doubt anyone here has ever watched a football match, so none of this will matter to them.” 

“It doesn’t bother you that someone might pay millions for a painting that you have deemed not-quite-right?” 

The voice is somewhat too interested, and suddenly Alexia swivels around to face its owner properly, worried she has spoken her mind to a journalist. 

“Those millions go to a charity that will improve women’s sports every–” 

You are definitely not a journalist, although once, when art really wasn’t paying, you had off-handedly typed out a few articles for one of the bigger galleries. 

Alexia knows you are not a journalist because you are dressed to be in front of the cameras, not behind them. 

Your hands hang by your sides, but in a rather unnatural manner as though you are itching to do something else, and she is briefly overcome by the horror that you seem elegant enough to be a potential buyer. Has she put you off? 

“Oh,” you interrupt, “don’t be so profound. Sometimes you footballers sound like change-making machines.” 

“There is change to be made,” she responds indignantly. 

“Hence the exhibition,” you allow with a little smirk, nodding towards the rest of the room. Although the biggest of the collection, you had asked for your painting to be displayed in the corner; a filter, in a sense, to ensure no one throws money at the largest thing in the room just because they can. “It creeps you out to be painted?” 

The question is curious, but Alexia no longer feels like she has been caged in an interrogation room. 

She thinks about her answer for a moment, torn between returning to gaze at the expanse of the scene in front of her or staring at you, wondering if you count as one of the works of art on display. 

“I have never met the artist,” she explains neutrally. You laugh, and it sounds infused with champagne and nervousness. “What? It’s like having a stalker. An extremely talented, creative stalker, but someone who studies me in secret nonetheless.” 

“No, I understand. She must have researched you until the ends of the Earth.” 

“The artist is a woman?” She isn’t sure she is surprised, but she asks you anyway, wanting to anchor you to the spot. 

“Alexia, this is an exhibition for women’s sports.” Your point is valid, but you have said her name and she is far more intrigued by the way that had sounded to praise you for your intelligence. You let out an airy breath and click your tongue. “I’d even say, given by the way she has painted you from the back, that the artist fancies you.”

“It’s the squats,” she easily replies with a giggle. “Who is the artist?” 

You take a step towards her, the sharp points of your heels clacking against the concrete floor. She follows your index finger to the white plaque beside the canvas, reading the name written in small, black letters. 

“I haven’t heard of her.” 

Alexia sounds so thoughtful that you have to hide your smile behind your palm, coughing to provide an excuse for the action. 

“Because you’ve heard of quite a few artists, haven’t you?” 

“I know the main four.” 

“The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” 

“No.” 

Again, you laugh, and it is melodious and rich and Alexia wants to hear it for the rest of her life. Which is not normal, she tells herself, because you are some loaded stranger and she is only here for another hour before she can escape back to the pitch and her teammates who like her tattoos and admire her and respect her hard work without seeing her as some tacky social-climber who scrounged an invite to an area of society where she is institutionally unwanted. 

“Picasso,” she then offers, rather petulantly, looking at you with a childish frown. In her head, she estimates the distance between your bodies, noticing how you have not returned to your original position. 

“Ah, well done. He’s quite niche.” She doesn’t appreciate the teasing, and so she steps sideways to… put a stop to it somehow. Obviously, the plan had never truly been formulated, and it comes across as a half-lunge to push you away, but then you are swinging your arms as though the conversation is boring you and she desperately wishes you’d stay put. 

“What do you think about the painting?” she fires into the shortened space between you, the question wrapping around you like a rope that ties you to the spot. 

“It’s boring.” She scoffs, because after all, it is a painting of her. “The poor artist must have been tortured by the task, having to force her eyes to stay open while watching football matches.” 

And if Alexia were not so distracted by the way your swinging hand has begun to brush against her own, she would probably catch you out there and then. 

(But your touch is electric and she is otherwise engaged.) 

“Like, come on, can’t the sports photographers just get their pictures blown up? No one needs such an outrageously huge portrait of Alexia Putellas in their home, or stadium, or whatever. I reckon the artist is now regretting the angle she painted from, anyway, in case some pervert with more money than sense bids for it and hangs it up in his bedroom.” 

“Bedroom?”

The tips of Alexia’s ears go red, a stark contrast to the expensive silver hoops she sports, and you stop your fidgeting, hand resting on top of hers – perhaps unintentionally – as her misunderstanding wedges an awkward pause into the middle of your rant. 

“Sorry,” you apologise, “that was probably not the best thing to say, considering it’s a painting of you.” 

Alexia runs through what you have said, hoping her subconscious has caught it while her mind was preoccupied with what your sexual orientation might be. “Why have you come here if you are so against the principle of it?” 

“I was required to,” you explain, through half-gritted teeth and a jaw that tenses with leftover annoyance from a conversation you had with the coordinator. 

Seizing the opportunity to get a humorous punch back, Alexia quickly fumbles out a, “someone’s important.” 

She’d celebrate her victory over you, the way you blush in embarrassment, if you hadn’t started anxiously playing with her fingers. Suddenly, the air that bridges the gap between you is set alight and Alexia stares at where you are connected. 

You hastily pull away. “Sorry,” you say for a second time. “I have to sell this, and I’m nervous.” 

“Sell wh– The painting?” 

“No, Alexia, I’ve been sent by Real Madrid to hold you hostage so I have to sell this act.” Briefly, fear washes over the footballer’s face, tanned skin paling at the idea that you have a weapon concealed in the satin folds of your dress. Then, your hand makes a decisive movement and your fingers are intertwining with hers before she can run to safety. “I thought it was best to lure you in by flirting with you.” 

“You’ve been… flirting with me?” 

“God, imagine if I actually were here to kidnap you.” You hold up your joined hands so that she can see for herself. “Is your weakness women who bully you?” 

She blushes again, unsure how to handle what you have insinuated. 

Alexia grasps onto what little dignity remains and straightens herself, shoulders rolling back as she emulates the confidence she has been painted with. “Only pretty women,” she drawls. 

She is about to use whichever line appears in her mind first, completely unashamed by it because she has guessed you would tease her no matter what leaves her mouth, but some evil, cruel person clinks a small fork against their glass, clearing their throat, and your hands quickly return to your body, your attention drawn away from the conversation. 

“Thank you all for coming,” announces the event coordinator, clearly gearing up for a speech. “There will be time for more chatting later, but I cannot resist showing off our most talented artist any longer.” 

You roll your eyes. The expression is directed at Alexia, who chuckles privately, sunshine blooming in her chest that you have spared a silent comment just for her. 

“Y/n, darling, where are you?” 

An authoritative gaze searches through the crowd and lands on you.

The dots connect, Alexia begins to feel like an idiot, and you are sashaying away before she can ask you to stay.

[morganxwritess]

Your new Carlos fic!! I’m obsessed💕 If you ever did a part 2 for it there would be no complaints lol. Will definitely be checking your other works out! Keep up the good work and thank you as well.

⋆｡°✩ 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭.

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜!𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: once again, you can't resist capturing carlos's beauty, leading to some spicy photos you never would have taken if you had known your brother would stumble across them.

warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, cute fluffy smut, p in v sex, voyeurism, camera in the bedroom, oral sex (female receiving), essentially porn with plot

note: pt. 2 of picture perfect, and might i say i think it’s better than the original

word count: 3.3k

This Saturday was just another pulse-pounding race weekend, but with a touch of mischief that made it unforgettable. You woke up in Carlos's bed, the soft morning light spilling through the curtains and the lingering scent of his cologne mingling with the sheets. As you gently slipped out of his embrace, your heart fluttered with the thrill of the secret rendezvous. You crept back to your hotel room, the excitement of the morning still buzzing through your veins as you prepped for the day's work.

The circuit was alive with a crackling energy. Fans' cheers, engines roaring, and the palpable anticipation of the races electrified the air. You dove into your work, your camera capturing the raw intensity of Charles’s steely gaze and Carlos’s fierce determination. Each click of the shutter told a tale of competition and camaraderie. Between P3 and Qualifying, you navigated the paddock like a pro, snapping photos that showcased both the heat of the competition and the warmth of the drivers' friendships.

As the sun set, painting the sky in a mesmerizing blend of orange and pink, you headed back to your hotel room. After a quiet dinner, you felt the day's adrenaline begin to wane, replaced by eager anticipation for the evening's escapades.

You had wanted to go to Carlos’s room now, but you knew to wait for either his text to come over or Charles’s text letting you know he was going to bed. While you were really starting to fall for Carlos you didn’t want your relationship with him to affect your work or your relationship with your brother.

While you waited for the green light to go see him, you slipped into the matching red lace set that always made Carlos's eyes light up, layering a fluffy white hotel robe over it for that extra touch of mystery. With at least an hour to kill, you dove into editing the day's photos.

As you scanned through the shots uploading onto your computer, you couldn’t help but smile. The way the light danced off the red cars was simply breathtaking, and you knew the team would be just as impressed. But there was one photo that stood out among the rest: Carlos, fresh off setting pole in Qualifying, captured in a moment of pure intensity.

He was beside his race engineer, pouring over stats and data, with the top half of his race suit draped around his waist, revealing his fireproofs beneath. His powerful arms were crossed over his chest, sweat gleaming on his face and through his thick black hair. And then there was that secretive wink he shot towards the camera—an undeniable hint of the personal connection you shared.

Even though this shot was by far your favorite of the day, you knew you’d have to keep it under wraps. Sharing it with the team would be like accidentally sharing a love letter, and you weren’t quite ready for that plot twist just yet.

As you got lost in your photo edits, a sudden, assertive knock jolted you from your focus. Curious about who might be seeking you out at this late hour, you tiptoed over to the door with the grace of a cat on a mission. Peeking through the peephole, you squinted to make sure you knew exactly who was on the other side.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes with a smirk when you saw Carlos making a goofy face at the peephole, clearly hoping to make you laugh. With a chuckle, you undid the safety lock and swung open the door, letting him in but feeling a bit puzzled.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him in your room—far from it! It was just that it was usually simpler for you to head to his place, given his busier schedule during race weekends. Plus, his room was generally a lot nicer than yours. So, seeing him here now, looking like he was up to something, added a touch of delightful confusion to the evening.

As soon as you clicked the door shut behind you, Carlos didn't waste a second. He leaned in and delivered the sweetest, most tender kiss you’d ever felt, like a warm promise that everything was going to be just fine.

“How are you this evening, mi amor?” he whispered, his voice a soft caress.

Your heart skipped a beat at the endearing nickname he reserved just for you. You grinned and rose on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders like a warm, affectionate embrace.

“So much better now that I’m with you,” you murmured. “I thought you were going to text me when you wanted me to come over.”

Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I got impatient and decided I couldn’t wait to see you any longer.”

Before you could even respond, his gaze darted to the desk in the corner where your camera and computer were set up. Noticing his own face on the screen, he grinned and made a beeline for it.

“Is that me?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You darted in front of him, trying to shield the screen. “No, Carlos! I’m still editing these. They need a lot of work.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his lips. “My face doesn’t need any editing, mi amor. Let me see your masterpiece.”

Despite being very protective of your work, you let Carlos by. You knew that if you really didn’t want him to see your photos he would respect that, but you also knew that if you’d let anyone look through your unfiltered shots, it was definitely him.

Carlos leaned closer, his eyes widening as he took in the photo on your screen. You could practically see the sparkle of admiration in his gaze.

“This is great, princessa!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine awe. “You really capture my essence. I wish I could take photos like this.”

You grinned mischievously, giving him a playful nudge. “Well, if your ‘essence’ is how badly you want to fuck me, then yeah, I’d say I nailed it.”

Carlos laughed heartily at your remark and zoomed in on his face, examining the playful wink he’d given the camera. “I was actually thinking about what I’d do to you later,” he confessed, his grin widening. “Come to think of it, I’m always thinking about what I’m going to do to you later.”

You couldn't help but giggle, giving him a playful shove. “Well, lucky for you, Mr. Pole Position, you've got my full attention now. So, what’s the plan?”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer with a teasing glint in his eyes. “The plan, mi amor, involves a lot less editing and a lot more kissing.”

Carlos's arm around your waist felt warm and secure, pulling you in closer. His eyes twinkled with mischief and anticipation, and you could feel the electricity in the air between you.

“You think you can just waltz in here and distract me from my work with a few sweet words?” you teased, your voice playful.

“Absolutely,” he said, his tone confident. “And I’m pretty sure I’m succeeding.”

With that, he leaned in and kissed you again, this time with more intensity. His lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and passion, making your heart race. You melted into the kiss, forgetting all about the photos and the long day you’d had. His hands found the edge of your robe, slipping inside to feel the lace beneath.

“Oh, mi amor,” Carlos groaned, his eyes devouring the sight of the red lace that hugged your curves, “Who takes photos of you when you look this good?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving him a teasing smile. “No one ever takes photos of me. It’s the curse of being the photographer.”

Carlos's expression turned mischievous as he pulled you closer. “Well, that’s a tragedy we need to fix immediately.”

Before you could react, he snatched up your camera and started snapping playful photos of you in your lacy ensemble. “Strike a pose, princessa!” he commanded with a wink.

You laughed, throwing in exaggerated poses and goofy faces, fully embracing the moment. “You know, you’re not half bad at this!” you teased, twirling around.

Carlos grinned, lowering the camera to look at you with a gleam in his eye. “Let’s just say I’m inspired by my subject.”

He set the camera aside on the night stand and pulled you into his arms, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Now, let’s see if I can inspire you.”

As Carlos's arms wrapped around you, his lips found yours in a deep, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. The intensity of his embrace and the warmth of his body against yours made everything else fade away.

He gently guided you toward the bed, his hands tracing the curves that the red lace accentuated so perfectly. His touch was both tender and electrifying, sending waves of anticipation through you.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, “I think that might’ve been my favorite photoshoot yet.”

You giggled, your hands exploring the firm muscles of his back. “You always know how to make things interesting.”

With a playful growl, Carlos gently pushed you onto the bed, following you down and hovering over you with a look of pure adoration. “I aim to please, mi amor.”

As Carlos began to kiss down your neck, he moved his hand between your legs touching your most intimate spot over your red lace underwear. Your head falls back as a loud moan escapes you. 

As Carlos began to kiss down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire, his hand slid between your legs, his touch teasing and tantalizing over the red lace. A shiver of pleasure ran through you as he found your most intimate spot, his fingers moving with expert precision.

Your head fell back against the pillow, a loud moan escaping your lips as waves of sensation crashed over you. “Carlos,” you gasped, your voice a mix of surprise and delight.

He grinned against your skin, his breath hot and enticing. “I love hearing you like this, mi amor,” he murmured, his fingers continuing their mesmerizing dance.

You squirmed beneath him, the lace adding a delicious friction that heightened every touch. “You’re driving me crazy,” you managed to say between moans, your body arching into his.

“That’s the idea,” he chuckled, his voice low and husky with desire. His kisses trailed lower, matching the rhythm of his hand, each touch sending you closer to the edge.

The intensity of his touch and the passion in his eyes made everything else disappear, leaving just the two of you lost in a moment of pure, unfiltered bliss.

As he kissed lower, his lips ghosting over your hip bone, an idea struck him that made him moan quietly into your skin. 

“Grab your camera,” he said breathily, his mouth leaving hot marks on your hips and lower stomach.

At first, you thought you misheard him, so you didn’t move, not until his fingers paused their tantalizing motions, making you groan in protest. He repeated, “Grab your camera.”

“My camera?” you asked, eyes wide as your chest rose and fell with anticipation.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice a mix of urgency and desire. “I want you to capture my essence again.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking he was joking. “Your essence still being how badly you want to fuck me?”

He nodded, a mischievous glint in his eye as he bit down gently on your skin, drawing a moan from you. “Nothing will capture my essence better than a picture of me eating your pussy.”

His boldness sent a thrill through you, and with a mix of excitement and curiosity, you reached for your camera. As you positioned yourself to snap the photo, Carlos resumed his ministrations, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony. The click of the camera captured not just his essence, but the raw, passionate connection between you two. It was an intimate moment frozen in time, a testament to the electric chemistry that sparked between you.

With your camera in hand, you adjusted the focus, your breath hitching as Carlos continued his sensual exploration, pulling your panties off giving him easy access. The sight of him between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours with a mix of hunger and adoration, was almost too much to bear.

He paused just long enough to give you a wicked grin. "Ready, princessa?"

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you aimed the lens. Carlos's lips found your most intimate spot, and the sensation was so intense that you nearly dropped the camera. But you steadied yourself, snapping photo after photo as he worked his magic.

The combination of his skilled mouth and the act of capturing this intimate moment was an intoxicating mix. Each click of the shutter seemed to amplify your pleasure, your moans and gasps echoing in the room. Carlos's hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he continued to drive you wild.

"You're doing amazing," he murmured against your skin, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through you.

You couldn't respond, too lost in the sensation and the sight of him through the camera lens. The photos were raw and unfiltered, capturing the pure, unbridled passion of the moment.

As you neared the edge, you dropped the camera onto the bed, your hands flying to Carlos's hair, tugging him closer. "Carlos, please," you begged, your voice breathless and needy.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "I’ve got you, mi amor," he whispered before diving back in with renewed intensity.

The combination of his skilled tongue and the memories of the photos you'd taken sent you over the edge, your body trembling with release. Carlos didn't stop, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you were utterly spent.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening and his eyes filled with satisfaction. You couldn't resist snapping a photo of his face, covered in your wetness and sporting that sweet, smug smirk. God, he was perfect.

“Will you fuck me? I want a photo of you inside me,” you begged, your voice as casual as if you were asking for the time.

Carlos nearly lost it right there. Sure, the camera idea was his, but he hadn’t been sure if you’d go along with it. Now, he was certain that this camera play was about to become a regular event. The thought of having these intimate photos to look back on whenever he missed you was thrilling.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, his voice husky with desire.

He quickly positioned himself above you, the anticipation in his eyes mirroring your own. As he entered you, the connection between you both was electric, a perfect blend of passion and intimacy. You managed to grab the camera, snapping a few photos of him lost in the moment, his face contorted with pleasure.

The sight of him inside you, captured forever, was intoxicating. You set the camera aside, your focus entirely on the sensations building between you. Carlos moved with a rhythm that drove you wild, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice strained with pleasure. You met his gaze, the intensity of his eyes almost overwhelming. “I want to see your face when you come.”

His words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out his name, your body trembling with release. Carlos followed soon after, his own climax shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you.

Breathless and spent, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. You both lay there, tangled together, the camera forgotten for the moment.

“That was incredible,” you whispered, your head resting on his chest.

Carlos smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re incredible, mi amor. And these photos... they’re our little secret, our private memories.”

You nodded, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “I can’t wait to make more.”

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The next morning, Carlos was up before the crack of dawn, slipping out of the hotel room with the stealth of a ninja. While he was never one to shy away from public displays of affection, he knew you preferred a little discretion, so he made his exit early.

Before he left, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, made sure your alarm was set, and left a sweet note telling you to have an amazing day and that he would see you on the track.

When your alarm buzzed, you stretched luxuriously, savoring the lingering ache between your legs—a delicious reminder of the night before. As you sipped your coffee and slipped into your Ferrari red blouse, you began to feel the press of time against you. Just then, you heard a knock at the door.

Assuming it was Carlos, you flung open the door without a second thought, blissfully unaware that you were still in your underwear. Your surprise turned into confusion as you were met with your brother Charles’s puzzled face.

“Charles? What are you doing here?” you asked, slightly mortified.

“More importantly,” Charles raised an eyebrow, “Do you always answer the door in your underwear?”

“I’m getting dressed,” you replied, hurriedly searching for the black dress pants you had planned to wear. “What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you took that picture of me, Alex, and Leo yesterday. I want to post it on Instagram after getting it edited.”

You nodded, recalling yesterday’s events. “Yeah, it’s somewhere on my camera. Just grab it and show me which one you want.”

As you rummaged through your stuff, it completely slipped your mind that along with Charles’s family photo were some very intimate snapshots of you and Carlos from the night before. You headed to the bathroom to do a last-minute touch-up on your hair and makeup.

“What the fuck?!” Charles’s voice rang out, filled with shock.

Thinking he must have accidentally dropped your camera, you sprinted back into the room, heart pounding with fear. “What?! What happened?!”

Charles, looking like he’d seen a ghost, turned the camera toward you. “Why did you take photos of yourself in lingerie?”

Your heart sank, and you stammered, “I can explain.”

Charles waved a hand dismissively. “You know what, it’s none of my business. I’ll just find the photo of me and Alex and get out of here—”

Realizing he was about to see everything from last night, you panicked. “Wait! Stop!”

But it was too late. Charles’s eyes widened in horror as he saw Carlos’s face between your legs on the small screen. “Is that Carlos?!”

And just like that, your secret was out. Charles knew about you and Carlos, and you had a feeling that the rest of the Ferrari garage wouldn’t be far behind. While you’d tried to keep your relationship under wraps, it was clear that hiding it was becoming a losing battle.

Carlos had a way of making you fall for him faster than you could keep up, and it showed in every photo you snapped of him—and in every snap he took of you. The connection between you two was undeniable, a radiant energy that even the best camera couldn’t fully capture.

You were head over heels, and it was more than obvious. From the way his eyes lit up when he saw you to the way you practically glowed whenever he was around, the love between you was as clear as day.

So, while the secret might be out, you decided to embrace it. The thrill of your relationship was too exhilarating to hide away. With a cheeky grin, you prepared for the day, ready to face whatever came next—knowing that with Carlos by your side, every moment was bound to be an adventure.

"Yeah, that's him." You replied, proudly.

[mrkis]

the best man. (m.l)

PAIRING: mark x reader GENRE: smut, fluff WORD COUNT: 6.5k

SYNOPSIS: meeting the one for you at your best friend's wedding wasn't exactly how you imagined this day turning out, neither was fucking him in the bathroom of the venue.

CONTENT WARNINGS: plot with smut, explicit content, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, bathroom sex, riding, big cock mark, marks a lil goofy

You can remember the first day you met Jieun: her soft hair curled in waves down her back, the rosy red tint of her cheeks from the cold weather, how her smile and eyes gleamed when she introduced her twelve-year-old self to you at the playground, dressed in a sage green sweatshirt and some jeans. It was a simple outfit choice, but you couldn’t deny how gorgeous she looked in it.

You can remember the first day you experienced Jieun suffer through heartbreak: her hair thrown up messily with strands falling in front of her face, eyes puffy and wet, lips curled into a frown with a sage green blanket wrapped around her form, shoving her nose in endless of tissues that were scattered in her room, leaving a trail from the door to her bed. It’s crazy, you think, she still looks gorgeous.

You can remember the first day Jieun met ‘the one’: her hair tied back into a sleek ponytail, glittery makeup decorating her eyes and glossy lips, sage green jewellery dangling from her ears and around her neck. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink as she met the eyes of the barista that was taking your coffee orders, mouth shifting into a shy grin as she kept her gaze locked on his, completely mesmerised by his appearance. Her voice was soft, her boldness sizzled into nerves and shyness, but yet again, she still looks gorgeous. 

Today will be another day that you will remember in the future𑁋her wedding day. You’re starstruck by her absolute beauty: her hair is curled in waves down her back just like the day you first met her with some strands framing her face, her makeup is light and gentle, eyes shining with excitement in the reflection of the mirror as she patiently waits for the makeup artist to apply the finishing touches, how her body is adorned in the most beautiful sage green wedding dress you have ever seen.

“Are you going to cry?” Jieun's voice teases you as she meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying”

The makeup artist tuts, pointing her brush warningly at you. “No crying”

“I’m not going to cry” You laugh as you gently pat under your eyes, hoping to not feel any moisture. “You just look gorgeous, that’s all”

“Thank you” Jieun smiles softly, giving another quick thanks to the makeup artist who had finished touching up her face. Jieun leans towards the mirror to take a good look at herself, pleased with the results. “My mother wasn’t too happy about me switching out a white wedding for more of a coloured theme”

“It’s your wedding. You do whatever you want” You tell her, taking a quick peek down at your silk cream bridesmaid dress, hands rubbing over the material. “Sage green has always been your colour anyways. I would’ve been surprised if it wasn’t included in your wedding”

Jieun beams at that, “Right? But on top of that, my dad wasn’t happy that we weren't going for a traditional wedding in a church… He’s not exactly thrilled to be invited to his only child greenhouse wedding”

“This wedding is for you and for Johnny, not your parents” You say with a straight face, clearly not impressed with her parents thoughts towards the special day. “If anyone needs to be happy and satisfied, it’s you two”

“Well, I would be even more happy and satisfied if you brought a date𑁋”

“Are you seriously bringing this up again?!”

“It’s my wedding!” Jieun whines, turning around in her chair to face you with a pout. “How could you not bring a date? What happened to the guy you were speaking to on Tinder? I thought things were going well with him”

You scoff, “He was obsessed with talking about himself, was freaking out over the fact that his untrusting roommate had to cat-sit his cats and he refused to eat dessert because it had fruit in it… You know, for a guy called Ten, I rate him a fucking zero𑁋maybe a three because he had nice teeth”

Jieun purses her lips together in deep thought, fingers mindlessly playing with the end of her curls and you watch as the cogs turn inside her head, immediately shaking your head when you see the wide smile creep upon her face as she meets your eyes. 

You know that look all too well. She’s got an idea brewing in her head, or maybe she’s already got something planned for you and you’re ready to disagree with everything that’s about to spill out of her mouth until the door to the room you’re in slides open, revealing Jieun's mother who gasps at the sight of her daughter.

You take this as your cue to leave, wanting the two to be alone to talk and experience this moment together. You mumble to Jieun that you’re going outside for some fresh air before giving a quick greeting to her mother, rubbing her arm gently as you slip past, allowing the door to slide shut behind you.

The exhale you breathe out is deep, heels clicking against the marble flooring of the house as you make your way outside and into the sun, using your hand to cover the bright beams as you stare over at the greenhouse conservatory where some of the guests linger outside while others are already seated. 

You smile when you see a few people you recognise, waving at a few old classmates that Jieun had invited and you go to walk towards them to give them all a proper welcome until your right foot twists beneath you, your heel getting caught on the concrete below you.

A panicked ‘Oh my god!’ yelps from your right as a hand reaches out to curl around your upper arm, tugging you upwards and steadying you before your clumsiness could cause some real damage. You hiss through your teeth at the slight twinge of pain in your ankle, enough to cause a little discomfort but you’re grateful to see nothing was broken when you glanced down, cursing wildly under your breath for wearing heels that you weren’t used to walking around in.

You turn your head to thank your saviour, expecting to see them staring at you while laughing at your mistake but you’re surprised when you see a boy with messy light blue hair staring at you with a startled expression, deep brown doe-eyes wide and round with his mouth agape. 

You’re immediately taken back by his attractive appearance and with him being such an unfamiliar face, you’re intrigued𑁋curious to know who this boy is and who he might be in relation to at the wedding. But before you can even open your mouth to even speak a single word, he’s the one that breaks the silence between you both.

“You almost died”

Your brow raises in amusement. “That’s a little dramatic”

“No, I’m serious. That was a Final Destination moment waiting to happen. Ankle snapped in half, face smashed to the ground, blood everywhere… I had the visions, dude”

“You have an interesting way with words”

The corner of his lips quirk upwards into a smile. “And you have an interesting way of walking”

“Touché” You purse your lips together, looking down at the heels with a soft hum. “I blame the shoes. They’re difficult to walk in”

“I’d offer you to swap but, uh, I don’t think they’d go with the outfit”

“I don’t know…” You tease as your eyes take him in, using this opportunity to really check him out. His white dress shirt is tucked neatly in the waistband of his black trousers, accentuating his pretty little waist. His black blazer is left unbuttoned and the matching coloured tie lays clean and ironed against his chest. You grin, “I think you’d look pretty good in a pair of heels”

He splutters out a genuine laugh, a slight pinkish hue casting over his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck before his hand shoots out in front of you, introducing himself as Mark. You smile as you take his hand in your own and you introduce yourself, and the sound of Mark repeating your name softly is enough to have you weak in the knees.

Mark tells you that he’s close with Johnny and that he’s his best man to which you then fill him in on how you know Jieun and that you’re her bridesmaid. 

He’s smiling so gently at you as you explain your long friendship with Jieun, nodding as he listens to you intently, even adding his own little comments to when he first met Jieun and how well she and Johnny are matched and you immediately agree.

The conversations between you both flow so easily that you’re almost shocked, unable to understand how you can feel so comfortable and click so well with somebody you just met𑁋you more or less wish you had met someone like him on Tinder instead.

“The ceremony is about to start,” Mark announces as he takes a quick glance at his phone that he pulls from his pocket, checking over the time before pocketing it back. He wets his lips as it curls into a grin, offering his arm out to you. “Can I walk you inside? Just in case you, you know, trip over your heels again”

You surprisingly feel a little shy at his offer and you can’t help but grin back as you nod, sliding your arm through his, pressing your hand to his bicep. “Yeah… Just in case”

The ceremony was the most beautiful moment you have ever witnessed.

Having Jieun walk down the white carpet of the greenhouse arm in arm with her father and a beaming smile spread across her lips was enough to set off the first wave of waterworks, subtly patting beneath your eyes as you take in how gorgeous she looked.

The second wave of waterworks came when you saw how happy and in love Jieun looked when she and Johnny whispered their vows, holding each other close as they shared a loving kiss and the guests cheered with boisterous claps and hollers. 

The third, and thankfully final, wave of waterworks happened when you heard Mark say his best-man speech, claiming how in the many years he has known Johnny, he has never seen him this happy and that a permanent smile was on his face all thanks to Jieun and how eternally grateful Mark would be to her for giving his best friend his happiness.  

You weren’t going to cry again, although the food you were all served at dinner tasted like pure bliss and you were so close to getting on your knees and praising the chefs for their hard work and tasteful dishes, but you kept your emotions steady and thanked them as they came across your tables to clear your plates.

“You know, I always knew Jieun would be the first one out of our class to get married” Soojin states as she stares over at Jieun mingling with Johnny’s parents, embracing them tightly with a grin. Soojin smacks her painted red lips together and takes a sip of her wine before nursing the glass in her hand, “She’s always had this aura about her. Meets the perfect guy young, loved up and married in her twenties, ends up living in a fancy home surrounded by a white picket fence with her husband and kids𑁋maybe a dog too. God, I would love to have my life planned out like that”

“Nothing is stopping you” You point out, taking a gulp of your own drink. “How are things going with you and Chan?”

“Do you see a ring on my hand?”

“Not yet” A chuckle leaves your lips, pushing Soojin’s hand out of your face as she teasingly waves it in front of you and she laughs, retracting back to tuck her hair behind her ears. “What about you? Have you been seeing anyone recently?”

“No” You can’t help but sound a little bitter as you give your answer, not particularly in the mood to remember your failed tinder dates and endless hookups that have left you unsatisfied and annoyed. “I’m going to live a miserable single life. Maybe I’ll get a dog to make me feel less lonely”

“The last time we spoke you were seeing Jieun's cousin right? Was it Jaehyun?” His name makes you grimace and Soojin snorts, covering her mouth to conceal the rest of her amusement. “That bad?”

“To be fair, he did warn me that us fucking in his apartment would be risky because of his roommate being there”

“What? Like he never leaves the apartment?”

“No. They share a room. The end of their beds are literally pressed together, toe to toe!” You wail with a frown and Soojin’s unable to control her laughter, almost spitting her wine across the tables as she splutters but you take no notice, shivering at the memory of the beds. “They turned the perfectly capable extra bedroom into a makeshift gym. It was scarring”

“Your dates can’t be all that bad” You almost broke into the story of your recent date with Ten until a soft call of your name grabs your attention, shifting in your chair to see who had called for you and you’re surprised when you see Mark standing behind you with a boyish yet kind grin.

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to realise that he had asked if the chair beside you is free for him to take and you dumbly nod, giving him your best smile as you expect him to lift the chair and take it to wherever he needs to go, but your brows raise in surprise when he slides the chair out from beneath the table to sit beside you. 

“Johnny and Jieun are talking with his family” He explains to you despite you already knowing and he folds his hands in his lap. “Feeling like a third wheel over there so I hope you don’t mind me joining you?”

“Not at all” You smile. “Your speech was amazing by the way”

“She cried” Soojin joins in almost immediately with a teasing tone and you roll your eyes, nudging her with your shoulder as Mark laughs. “She’s right though, your speech was incredible”

“Thank you” Mark smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks tint a slight pink and you mentally awe at the sight, wanting to reach out and pinch his flustered cheeks but you keep your hands to yourself respectfully, keeping them busy with holding the wine glass in your hand. 

It doesn’t take long for Soojin’s boyfriend, Chan, to join the table and he instantly makes Mark feel even more welcomed and comfortable, indulging with him in all sorts of conversations that has him laughing loudly and unable to keep his body up straight as his shoulder continuously brushes against your own, it makes you feel a little bit flustered when you feel his body warmth radiating to yours. 

You are so touch starved. 

Chan excuses himself to go buy the entire table a drink and Mark tags along, quickly asking you what’s your preferred drink but Chan’s already clamping his hand down on Mark’s shoulder and boasting about how he’s already got the drinks memorised, tugging him towards the bar. 

“He’s cute” Soojin states, watching after the pair with a smirk before she turns her gaze to you. “He’s cute” 

“I’m aware” You nod, chuckling lightly. “I met him earlier, actually. Saved me from tripping over these heels like an idiot”

“Wow… you literally fell for him”

“Funny” You snort, downing the rest of your wine and placing the empty glass on the table before swallowing, patting the corner of your lips with a napkin. You watch him at the bar laughing along with whatever Chan’s talking about and you can’t help but smile at the sight. “Fuck, he is really cute”

“Ask for his number” Soojin smiles. “Or bring him home with you later, keep your bed warm”

“This is a wedding, I’m classy today” You tease.

“I’m far from classy” Soojin scoffs, sending a sultry look over to Chan who meets her eyes from across the room and sends her a wink. “I almost fucked Chan in the bush outside when I saw him dressed in the suit”

You don’t have time to fully comprehend and laugh at her words as the pair are already returning to the table with a tray of drinks, each handing them out to their respective person and you wait for your turn, grinning up at Mark as he takes his seat back beside you with two red wines in hand.

He passes one with a gentle smile, “You cool with red wine?”

You snort, taking the glass between your fingers, “I’m cool”

Mark grins at that, cheeks tinting a slight pink. “Cool”

The drinks start to flow through your system and it doesn’t take long for you to become tipsy and chatty, conversing with the table about different topics and even about the wedding as Jieun and Johnny finally join. Mark seems to be on the same boat as you𑁋tipsy and chatty with a hint of touchiness. 

It doesn’t bother you when you feel him unintentionally lean against you to listen to what Jieun was saying, hanging onto her every word and laughing when Johnny pipes in with a joke or flirty commentary that has Jieun nudging him while blushing. 

You notice during this interaction how much Mark uses his hands when he speaks, explaining various things with his hands flying around or clapping them when someone says something too funny. 

But it's when Mark sighs dramatically at Johnny’s teasing jokes towards him and drops his hands down that catches your full attention, feeling slightly taken back when you feel the heat of Mark’s hand splayed across your thigh, fingers mindlessly tapping against your skin.

He hasn’t noticed𑁋maybe he’s too tipsy to notice what he’s just done and you’re unsure of whether to subtly let him know or leave it be seeming as you wasn’t exactly opposed to him touching you. It feels nice, comforting… and a little hot. 

You bite back any type of response or comment, hiding your grin behind the rim of your wine glass as you take a sip, ignoring Soojin’s lingering eyes on your lap and how she teasingly nudges your side. 

Jieun catches on quickly too, wiggling her eyebrows in your direction before she leans into Johnny’s ear to whisper. You wanted to roll your eyes when Johnny looked back at you.

The attention is finally brought off of the two of you and back onto the conversation topic which makes you let out a sigh, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Mark and he leans in close, his breath fanning across your ear as he whispers.

“You good?” He asks you with concern. “Did you have too much to drink?”

“I’m okay” You tell him, turning to face him with a smile and he immediately smiles back. He goes to say something else but you accidentally shift in your chair, causing his hand to move slightly and Mark’s head shoots down to see his hand on your thigh, choking on a cough.

“Oh shit” His eyes are comically wide as he slowly moves away. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry, I didn’t𑁋”

“It’s okay” You tell him once again and you make a brave move to place your hand on top of his, causing his hand to drop back down onto your thigh and you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, cheeks dusting a light shade of red as he looks back up at you. You decide to remind him again, “It’s okay”

“You sure?” Mark asks and despite wanting to make sure you were fully okay with what you were doing, he turns his hand around beneath yours, palm against palm, fingers twitching against your own as he was desperate to lace them together, but it was you who took that initiative. 

You interlace your fingers together and hold his hand tightly in your grasp, causing him to shy away from eye contact as he looks down at the table, unable to hide the goofy grin that spreads across his lips as his own grip tightens around your own hand, his thumb grazing across your knuckles comfortingly. 

“I love this song!” Jieun gasps loudly as a familiar song blasts from the speakers, her guests already standing up to dance. She pulls Johnny up with her and looks over at you, “Do you want to dance with us?”

You’d like to, but you also don’t want to let go of Mark’s hand just yet. You feel a little selfish. “You go dance together. I’m going to finish up my wine”

“Okay” Jieun smirks, sending a sly wink your way as she pulls Johnny to the dance floor.

“Mark, Do you want to come dance with us?” Chan asks this time as he stands up from his seat with Soojin on his arm, grinning down at Mark who licks his lips nervously.

“Uh, you go first. I’ll join you guys later” Mark tells him and you don’t miss the way his hand subtly squeezes yours.

“Suit yourself” Chan shrugs as he, Soojin and the majority of the table head to go dance together. You smile as you watch the couples on the dance floor, how happy and in love everyone looks, especially Jieun and Johnny who are holding each other close, whispering sweet little things into each other's ears while sharing a few kisses.

You’re too focussed on the couples and the music to realise Mark is speaking to you, voice hushed due to the volume of the music. You struggle even more to hear him so you lean in close for him to whisper in your ear, shivers running down your neck as you feel his breath fan across your skin as you listen to him shyly if he can have your number. 

You’re not sure why you’re stunned, but you are for a brief moment until you immediately nod your head, watching as he fumbles to grab his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, not wanting to let go of yours that he’s still holding in the other. 

He hands you his phone, unlocked and ready to have your number and you can’t help but smile, typing in your number with your name and jokingly adding a heart to which he chuckles upon first seeing. You’re surprised when he shuts off his phone and puts it back into his pocket, not bothering to get rid of the heart or change it to a completely different emoji. 

It’s silent between you both for a while as you enjoy each other's company, listening to the music, watching others dance and mingle. Usually you’d be the first on the dance floor amongst your friends, letting the music take over your body and feel the base through the speakers but you’re surprisingly content right now sitting beside a cute boy with your hand locked in his. 

“So, why didn’t you want to dance?” You dare to ask Mark, glancing over at him as you take a sip of wine and he looks a little flustered.

“Oh, I, uh… I’m fine right here” He replies, chuckling awkwardly. “Why didn’t you want to dance?”

You smirk, “Because I didn’t want to let go of your hand”

“Jesus” Mark laughs, face reddening up as he shakes his head, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip as he struggles to hide a smile. “You make me feel so nervous, man…”

You quirk a brow, “A good nervous or a bad nervous?”

Mark exhales deeply, meeting your eyes. “A really good nervous”

“Interesting” You state, feeling a little more confident as you lean in close to him, fully pressing your side against his and he laughs, allowing you to do as you please as he squeezes your hand again, the close proximity making him feel a little nervous but hot under the collar.

But he forgets he’s nursing his glass of wine in his free hand as he’s looking at you fully now, biting down on his bottom lip as your face is merely inches from his own and he accidentally loosen his grip on the stem of the glass as your nose brushes his, causing the contents inside to spill over his lap.

He makes a noise of shock and reels back in surprise, letting go of your hand to grab the now half empty glass of wine and stare at the mess he’s created.

He’s obviously embarrassed, sitting in shock and not muttering a single word as he assesses the damage and you’re already gasping loudly, hand flying to your mouth in shock. 

You blurt out multiple apologies, regretting having made a move and occupying his attention which resulted in causing this mess and you quickly reach for a napkin off of the table. You’re patting his lap, hoping to dry his expensive looking pants as you still whisper countless apologies. His pants are black, so no stain will be shown yet you’re still feeling bad and entirely at fault. 

Mark’s silent as he stares at you with wide doe eyes as you pat the napkin around his crotch, body frozen and mouth unbelievably dry as he feels you press against his cock. He’s unable to move, unable to tell you to stop what you’re doing until you begin to wipe and that’s when he reacts, snatching your wrist in his grasp as a choked groan leaves his lips.

“I’m fine” He strains and you pull back almost immediately once you realise how you were touching him. You wanted to apologise again, but you remain quiet due to your own embarrassment and look away from him, unable to meet his eyes although the thought of making him hard just from some mere touching leaves an ache between your legs and you press your thighs together, clearing your throat.

“Do you want another drink or something?” You ask him, quickly glancing at his half empty glass before looking at the bar. “I can get you another”

“No, no it’s okay” Mark coughs, shaking his head. He clears his own throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably, pulling at his blazer to hide the obvious bulge in his trousers. “I’m… sorry, by the way”

“You don’t need to apologise” You quickly tell him. “It’s my fault for distracting you and causing you to spill your𑁋”

“I wasn’t talking about that” He cuts you off and your face immediately heats up, fully aware of what he’s meaning and you shake your head, wanting to tell him that it’s okay but he’s already continuing. “I don’t… It just happens, you know, and when you touched m𑁋”

“It’s flattering, really” You admit, letting out a slight chuckle. “It’s fine, I promise. I get that it’s totally normal though so don’t worry. It's cute”

It’s silent for a moment until he speaks with a lighthearted tone, “Did you just call me getting hard cute?”

You grimace, “Pretend you didn’t hear that, I don’t know what I’m talking about”

Before you can even begin rambling and make up your excuses, you’re already being cut off as you feel Mark’s hand slide back into your own, fingers interlacing and you bite back a shocked gasp when you feel him pull your intertwined hands to his lap, pressing the back of your hand to the bulge in his pants so casually that it makes your head spin. 

You need him. You want him. The thoughts that run through your mind and needy ache between your legs has you desperate to be touched, to be fucked, all by him. 

“I need to go to the bathroom” You announce, catching on to the disappointed sound Mark makes as he loosens his grip on your hand but you tighten it almost instantly. “Do you want to come with me?”

Mark’s confused now, “To… to the bathroom?”

“Yes”

“Do you…” He’s unsure of how to word his next words. “Do you need help peeing or something?”

“No, I don’t need to pee” You can’t help but laugh and Mark flushes red. You look at him fully this time, eyes dark and tone sultry. “I just really want to go to the bathroom”

“Oh” Mark blinks, brows pulling together as he’s even more confused. But then it all seems to dawn on him as his eyebrows raise up, hidden by the blue locks of hair that's across his forehead, his eyes widened in shock. “Oh”

“So, do you want to come to the bathroom with me?”

Mark nods quickly as his grip tightens on your hand, “Yeah. Absolutely, yeah”

You’re tugging Mark up from his seat the second he gives you the confirmation you’ve needed, weaving through the people on the dance floor and heading towards the bathroom area.

Mark’s hot on your heels, chest pressed against your back with his hand still locked in yours, almost tripping over his own shoes due to the speed you’re walking and him trying to keep up with you, not wanting to stray too far from you. 

You miss the way Johnny and Jieun are watching you both with smirks on their faces, giving each other celebratory fist bumps before Johnny’s arm slithers around her waist to bring her in for a kiss.

You finally reach the bathroom area and Mark lets out a yelp as you walk inside and yank him into a cubicle, slamming and locking the door behind you both as he stumbles and falls back, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.

“Dang…” Mark mutters as he takes in his surroundings, in awe at the white marble flooring and white walls with painted green vines. “Yo, this is a pretty expensive bathroo𑁋what are you doing?!”

Your fingers are pulling at the buttons on his pants as you simply state, “I’m going to suck you off”

“But… your dress,” Mark frowns as he watches you drop to your knees, your dress wrinkling and losing its pristine condition. 

“You’re worried about my dress? That’s cute” You can’t help but chuckle and once you finally free his cock out of its confinements, you wrap your fingers around the base which causes him to suck through his teeth at the contact. “I don’t care about my dress, Mark. All I care about is making you feel good”

“Okay” Mark slumps against the back of the toilet seat, licking at his lips as he looks down at you with hazy vision. “Do what you want”

The moment he says those words, you’re already taking him in your mouth and a string of curse words leaves his lips, raising his fist to his mouth and biting down on his knuckles to conceal the noises he wants to make. 

His cock feels hot and heavy on your tongue, and you’re taking him down your throat, sucking him and squeezing your hand around the base that you struggle to fit all the way in your mouth. He’s big and it drives you wild, the ache in between your legs becoming almost unbearable but you want to play with him a little longer, to taste him. 

With Mark watching you through lidded eyes, it fuels you to put on a show for him and that’s exactly what you do. You pull back and close your lips around his tip, sucking and using your tongue. He’s panting above you, cursing in his fist, moaning when you take him back deep into your mouth, jerking him off with each twist of your own fist.

“You can touch me” You tell him, a string of spit connecting from your lips to the tip of his cock. “Touch me”

“You’re insane” Mark laughs lightly, his free hand coming down to rest on the back of your head, fingers gripping your hair as he pushes you further down on his cock and you gag a little when he hits the back of your throat, but you breathe steadily through your nose, hollowing your cheeks around him. “You’re filthy”

You hum around his cock as you shuffle forwards to sit better between his open legs, the slight sting of his grip on your hair urging you to do better, to give him everything you’ve got. The burn in the back of your throat is pleasurable and you moan, causing his hips to jerk forwards and you take him in deeper. 

“Oh, fuck” Mark moans, pushing your head down. “Fuck, just like that𑁋oh my god”

You pull off of him with a pop, using your hand to jerk him off as you smile sweetly up at him, “You’re noisy”

“What do you expect?” Mark breaths out a laugh, hand coming down from the back of your head to caress your cheek. “I got a pretty girl on her knees in front of me sucking my cock”

Your heart swells in your chest, “Pretty girl?”

“Mhm” Mark nods, biting down on his bottom lip. “The prettiest”

The whine that leaves him when you completely let go of his cock almost makes you take him into your hands again, but you’re desperate for him now𑁋desperate to be filled with him.

Usually you’d scold yourself for allowing such a bare minimum compliment to get you hot and bothered but you didn’t care as it sounded so fucking good coming from him. 

Mark watches you as you tug your panties down your leg and discard them to the side, bunching the hem of your dress up to your waist as you sit yourself down on his lap. One of his hands comes to rest on your hip while the other touches your cheek, bringing you in for a first kiss.

The kiss is soft at first, delicate, and Mark even leans back to take a look at your face with a small smile on his face. He caresses your cheek, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone, nose brushing against yours before he claims your lips again.

This time, it’s more frantic. You’re nipping at his bottom lip, his tongue melts with yours, hands moving to fist the material of your dress, bunching it higher over your hips as your own hand dips between you both to line his cock at your entrance to sink down onto him.

Mark gasps in your mouth as you moan at the feeling of him filling you so deep, your arms winding around his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you leisurely bounce on his lap, Mark’s grip tight on your hips as he thrusts up into you. 

He’s kissing you breathless and you’re too drunk on his lips and cock to pull away for air, lacing your fingers through his blue hair as you fuck yourself down on him, putting all of your energy in riding him and it’s Mark that breaks the kiss to curse loudly with a strangled moan, panting as he stares at you with wild eyes and red lips. 

“You feel good” He groans out as you squeeze around him and you whine softly at his compliment, “Fuck𑁋you feel so good”

“You’re noisy” You repeat from before in a teasing tone even though you’re not quiet yourself, unable to keep your noises at bay as you moan loudly when he matches the rhythm of your hips. 

You like the way he sounds edging closer and closer to euphoria, and you would relish in the sound a little more if you could but you hear the bathroom door open and you hand immediately flies from his hair to clamp down on his mouth, causing him to stare up at you in alarm as someone walks into the cubicle beside yours. 

You’re still lifting yourself and dropping back down on him, and he’s still fucking up into you to keep the pace despite neither of you wanted to get caught. And you’re thankful that whoever is beside you has flushed the toilet the second you let out a cry when he cock hits deep within and Mark’s quick to silence you too, pressing his hand over your own mouth and staring into your eyes. 

You’re both panting behind each other's hands and you can make out the sound of water running from a tap before it shuts off, then the bathroom door opens and creaks shut behind them, leaving you both alone once again.

Yet, neither of you move your hand, still keeping each other silent despite the muffled noises you’re both making. 

You feel yourself tipping closer and closer to your orgasm and you wonder if Mark’s feeling the same, only getting the answer with his eyes rolling back slightly as he groans, finally dropping his hand from your mouth to grab your waist and pull you down onto him.

Letting your hand drop from his mouth to touch his face, Mark finally speaks, “I’m gonna cum”

“Me too” You exhale deeply. “Cum inside me”

“Oh fuck” Mark grunts, craning his neck up to slot his lips over yours, tongue dipping into your mouth and tangling with yours as he cums deep, keeping you moving against him to reach your own peak and you wail as your orgasm hits you, clenching around his length as you rock in his lap.

You’re breathing heavily, pulling away from his lips to try and catch your breath as he leaves messy kisses down the column on your neck, loosening his hands on your hips to wrap his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest and yours slide around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair as your body quivers as it goes through its last few seconds of your orgasm. 

It’s silent between you both now as you embrace each other and Mark’s still kissing your neck, rubbing your back comfortingly and you melt into his arms, fully relaxed and content although you should be both cleaning yourself up. 

“Just so you know, I don’t usually do this” Mark mumbles in the crevice of your neck and your brows furrow, slightly leaning back to get a good look at his face and he smiles at how confused you look. “I mean, like, meeting someone and hooking up with them straight away. I don’t usually do that”

“I don’t either” You tell him. “I usually go on a few dates before that”

“Noted, I’ll take you out next time” He says nonchalantly and your heart flutters at that. You wonder if he realises what he just said and if he’s serious on potentially seeing you again, you want to question it a little but you keep quiet when you notice Mark’s attention is brought to the décor of the cubicle. “Dude, this is a really nice bathroom though”

©mrkis

[just-aake]

Come with Me

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You are forced to work with Secretary Ross to track down Natasha after she violated the Sokovia Accords and disappeared.

Warnings: slight angst, light fluff, contains scenes from Black Widow movie/deleted scenes

Words: 4120

Natasha and Yelena sit across from each other at a table, nursing their drinks after they escaped from Budapest. They had just decided to work together to stop Dreykov and his Red Room.

Natasha smiles at Yelena as she nods towards the open garage with the car. “I saw where he put the keys.”

Without hesitation, Yelena replies, “Top drawer, green cabinet.”

The two tilt their bottles towards each other in cheers, the clinking sound echoing in the quiet night as they both take a sip.

Yelena sets her bottle down and begins to lightly spin it around on its edge before tilting her head in question.

“So, when are we going to lose your friend?” 

Natasha startles at her question, choking slightly on her drink. Coughing, she recovers her composure before replying.

“What friend?”

Yelena raises her eyebrows and points at Natasha accusingly.

“Really? She’s been following us since we left the city. And you’ve been sneaking glances at her ever since we sat down.”

Natasha scoffs and takes another sip, not commenting further on the accusation.

Yelena squints at Natasha’s nonresponse and attempts a different approach.

“Or we can let her follow us as we take on Dreykov and the other Widows in the Red Room.” 

Natasha frowns at that statement and taps her finger against her bottle in thought. On one hand, she is a little nervous to talk with you after what she did, but the alternative is you following her into a dangerous mission that you didn’t sign up for. She already knows which choice she prefers.

Taking a deep breath, she stands from the table and heads toward your direction. Yelena gives her a smug wave before relaxing back into her chair.

Your back was facing her, but Natasha knew you were keeping an eye on her. She pulls out the empty seat next to you and sits down, giving you a flirty smile, “Is this seat taken?”

You don’t respond to her question. Instead, you take a drink, making sure not to look in her direction.

At your silence, Natasha places her arm on the table and rests her head against her hand as she looks at you. Undeterred by your lack of response, she decides to try again.

“So, what brings someone as pretty as you around here?” 

You let out a soft laugh in disbelief at her words, shaking your head, before turning to face her, deciding to play along. “Work trip. I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh?” Natasha places her hand gently on yours, leaning closer. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help.” 

In response, you lean in too, bringing your face close to hers until you are looking right into her eyes. 

“Yeah?” Your words whisper against her lips.

You were so close. Natasha could almost feel the gentle brush of your lips against hers, tempting her. She’s about to close the distance between the two of you instinctively like she’s done many times before. But just when her lips were about to touch yours, you move away. 

Your smile falls from your face as you pull your hand from under hers and cross your arms. You glare at Natasha accusingly. 

“Well, I’m looking for my girlfriend who decided to become a global fugitive overnight and suddenly disappear without any warning.” You give her a pointed look. “And a note that just says ‘I’m sorry’ is not enough.”

Natasha winces at your words and looks away guiltily. Back at her old table, she sees that Yelena is now eating from a small pile of snacks in front of her as she waits. Yelena catches her looking at her and raises a thumb up in encouragement as she continues eating, blissfully unaware of the escalating tension.

Natasha takes a peek back at you. You were still glaring at her, waiting for her response. She attempts to ease the tension in the air. 

“You know, I also added a little heart at the end—.”

“Natasha,” you interrupted, giving her a deadpanned look.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to explain.

“Okay, I didn’t want to force you to come with me. It was my choice. I knew what I was doing and the consequences. You shouldn’t have to leave your life behind because of me.”

You huffed at her explanation, annoyed.

“Except you didn’t give me a choice. Instead, I had to track you all the way to Norway, only to find an empty safe house and a car wreck in the middle of a bridge.” 

Natasha widens her eyes at you, impressed at how close you were to finding her. Though, it’s not that surprising since you were the best tracker in Shield. In fact, you were the one who found her location back when she was still an assassin of the Red Room before she was recruited to Shield.

“So you’re working with Ross to arrest me?” Natasha asked cautiously.

You scoff at the suggestion, shaking your head in disbelief.

“No, this wasn’t my choice either. We ended up crossing paths in Norway, and then he forced me to join his little search team.” 

You let out a huff as you pouted dejectedly, “Stupid Accords.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Natasha smiles fondly at you, happy to hear that you didn’t choose to hunt her down.

You push her shoulder when you notice her smiling at you with the usual love and fondness in her eyes. That look never fails to make your heart flutter.

“Stop that, I’m still mad at you.” 

Your reaction just causes Natasha to smile more. You roll your eyes at her, deciding to return your focus to your drink.

The familiar banter helps to lessen the tension as a peaceful silence washes over the two of you. You felt slightly better after hearing Natasha’s explanation, though you’re still unsure if you were going to forgive her so soon. You are both agents, so you understood what Natasha meant, the pressure and dangers that come with this kind of life. 

Still, you remember the pain you felt when you found her things missing from your room, and more importantly, it hurt that she didn’t believe that you would follow her if only she had asked.

You decided to change the subject, breaking the silence with a question. 

“So, who is she?” you nod towards the stranger at Natasha’s old table.

The blonde girl notices you looking in her direction and gives you a sarcastic wave.

“That’s Yelena. She’s…my little sister.”

You snap your head back to Natasha in surprise, checking to see if she was serious. Her face showed no signs of teasing, just a tired look. 

You take the chance to examine her closely. Right away, you can see the exhaustion in her body. She must have had a rough time these past couple of weeks on the run.

You decide to ask her cautiously, “Does she need any help?”

Natasha looks away, catching your underlying question.

“It’s complicated.”

You close your eyes and let out a deep breath, disappointed at her response. The familiar hurt that you felt when she disappeared resurfaces in your chest.

“In other words, you don’t want me involved in this either.”

“That’s not wha—“ 

You stand up, interrupting her and turning to leave.

“You two should probably go. Ross and his team will be here by the morning.”

“Wait!” Natasha grabs your arm, stopping you, as she stands up too. You don’t resist, but you don’t turn around either. 

She pulls you back towards her, hugging you tightly from behind. Her voice whispers sadly against your ear.

“I made a mistake by disappearing on you suddenly like that. And I really am sorry, but this is different.”

Natasha pushes gently against your shoulder, silently asking you to turn around.

You do and you see an earnest expression on her face, pleading you to believe her. 

She holds your hands in between your bodies, keeping you close. Seeing that you were listening, Natasha continues, “It’s not that I don’t want you with me. This is just something that I need to finish, both for Yelena and for myself.”

As you examine her face, you notice the same determination and fierce spirit in her eyes that made you fall for her in the first place. Even though you don’t like the thought of her doing whatever this is without you, you can see how much it means to her. 

Letting out a resigned sigh, you give her a small bittersweet smile in understanding.

“So, a personal mission with your other family?”

Natasha let out a small chuckle at your attempt at teasing.

“Something like that,” she pauses in thought, your words giving her an idea. “Actually, you can help me with one thing. Do you think you can find someone? His name is Alexei Shostakov.” 

Natasha grimaces before explaining, “He is sort of like my dad.” 

You raise your eyebrow at the information before nodding.

“I’ll see what I can find.” 

As you attempt to turn away once more, Natasha gently tugs your hands, bringing you closer to her. She leans her forehead against yours. 

“About me leaving before…,” she whispered shakily. “You understand that it just wouldn’t be fair to tell you to risk your life and come with me.”

Sighing sadly, you gently remove your hands from hers and place them against her chest, pushing her away slightly. 

“That’s the problem.” You give her a sad smile. “You never asked if I would.”

When you see the pained expression on her face, you caress her cheek softly in comfort before placing a small kiss on the corner of her lips.

Pulling away, you sigh resolutely, “Right now, you have your mission and I have mine. Let’s just focus on what we need to get done first.” 

A small cough from the side pulls both of your attention. Yelena waves a set of keys in her hand, giving you a short nod in greeting.

“Time’s up. We have to go, Natasha.”

You give her a brief nod back, dropping your hands from Natasha and stepping away completely. You gesture to Yelena’s clothes.

“I like your vest,” you say sincerely.

Yelena beams at your comment. 

You look back at Natasha and give her a small smile, “Bye, Natasha.”

Natasha watches sadly as you leave until you disappear from her sight. 

Next to her, Yelena nods approvingly in your direction, “I like her.”

Sighing tiredly, Natasha grabs the keys from Yelena, prompting her to yell out in surprise as she trails after her. 

“Wha—Hey, I’m the one who got that.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

There was a comfortable silence between the sisters as Natasha focused on driving. That is until Yelena couldn’t contain her curiosity anymore. 

“So, that girl…” Yelena trails off, glancing at Natasha cautiously, trying to gauge her reaction to the new topic. 

Natasha hummed in response, indicating for her to continue. 

“She seems cool."

“She is.”

“How long have you known her?”

“A long time.”

Yelena's mouth twists in annoyance at Natasha’s bland responses, giving her no additional information. 

At the sudden silence, Natasha glances at Yelena and finds her staring pointedly out the car window, lips pursed in a pout and arms crossed. 

“What?” She questioned, confused at the sudden silent treatment.

“Nothing.”

“Yelena…” 

Yelena throws her hands up in annoyance at Natasha’s pestering.

“We haven’t seen each other in years. Now, it just feels like you are trying to shut me out again.”

Natasha was taken aback by the sudden accusation, unaware that she was causing her such distress. Feeling bad, she nudges Yelena in her arms to get her attention.

“Okay then, what do you want to know?” 

Yelena squints at her suspiciously. 

Natasha sighs at her behavior, before reassuring her. “I’m serious.”

At her words, Yelena turns her body to face Natasha excitedly. 

“How did you two meet?”

The question instantly causes Natasha to chuckle at the memory. Yelena raises an eyebrow at her expectantly.

“She was on the mission with Clint to eliminate me in Budapest,” Natasha says. “The first time we met…she shot me.”

“Really?” Yelena's eyes widened in shock. 

Natasha nods.

“I found out later that she was the one who was able to track me down.”

Yelena snorts in laughter.

“Not like it’s hard.”

Natasha narrows her eyes, slightly offended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yelena raises her eyebrows in challenge.

“The tracker she placed on the car?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Threw it away before we even started driving.”

“And what about the one she sneaked into your jacket when she kissed you?”

Natasha pauses at the information before reaching into her jacket pocket. Sure enough, her fingers brush against a small circular device. She lets out a small curse under her breath before throwing the tracker out of the window. 

“That’s it. No more questions.”

“Wha-no fair!”

Eventually, they reach the designated clearing to see an old helicopter positioned at the center of the field.

“I said we needed a jet,” Natasha calls out to the person in the aircraft.

Rick steps out of the helicopter at her greeting.

“Yeah, you know what you didn’t give me. Time. Or money. I’m not made of jets.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the best,” Yelena says, kicking at the base of the helicopter.

Rick gives Yelena an offended look, shocked speechless.

“How dare you challenge my professionalism!”

“Aww, he’s sensitive. I see why you keep him around,” Yelena teases.

“Where’s the rest?” Natasha interrupts before Rick can quip back. 

Huffing, Rick grabs a bag from the plane and opens it with a small flourish.

“Voila,” he says half-heartedly as Yelena goes to dig through the supplies.

Stepping away, he turns towards Natasha, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

“And for you.” Rick holds it out for her to take.

“What is it?” Natasha questions, grabbing the paper. 

“A message from your favorite person.” Rick grabs another bag from the helicopter and places it on the ground near her with a huff. “Well, second favorite, I’m first of course.”

Natasha rolls her eyes as she steps away. She opens the note to see the familiar strokes of your handwriting. 

Seventh Circle Prison Stay safe ❤️

Natasha’s heart warmed at the last line. You are always caring even when you are supposed to be upset with her. It is one of the many things that she loves about you. 

Yelena appears behind her, peeking over her shoulder at the note. She pretends to gag at words.

“That’s so cheesy. I’m gonna throw up.” 

Laughing, Natasha pushes her head away from her shoulder, folding your note and tucking it safely into her chest pocket. Natasha gathers her gear and supplies and hops into the helicopter.

“Come on, let’s go.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

They did it. They finally destroyed the Red Room. An aircraft lands near Natasha and Yelena, showing the recently freed Widows waiting for the two of them.

Natasha places the antidote serum into Yelena’s hand.

“He had widows implanted all over the world. You should be the one to tell them that it’s over.”

In response, Yelena takes off her vest before extending it to Natasha, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Here, since you like it so much.”

Natasha takes the vest with a small laugh and puts it on. When she looks up again, Yelena is giving her a pleading look. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

Natasha nods reassuringly, “You guys go. I need to take care of some things.”

At the sound of sirens echoing in the distance, indicating the incoming company, Yelena hops on the plane before turning around to give Natasha a pointed look. 

“You don’t have to do it alone. We may not be able to come with you, but I know someone who is willing to.”

Natasha just gives her a small smile as she closes the door of the plane. She watches Yelena and the others fly away just as the sounds of sirens grow closer.

Not long after, a dozen armored trucks pull up around her, and she is quickly surrounded by Ross and his team, all with weapons pointed her way. 

When Natasha raises both her hands in surrender, she hears a familiar voice call out in the distance.

“Really, Ross, is all this necessary? She’s not even holding a weapon!”

Natasha smiles amusedly as she watches you shove your way past Ross and march in front of his team’s line of fire toward her. When you finally reach her, your arms wrap around her, pulling her into a tight hug. Natasha’s body groans at the impact, but she still brings her arms around you, welcoming your embrace.

You hold her tight, tucking your head against her neck. She smelled like smoke and fire, reminding you of what you had just witnessed moments before. You pull yourself back abruptly, though her hands are still resting on your waist, keeping you close. You slap her shoulder in anger. 

“What part of falling out of the sky without a parachute is staying safe!”

Natasha smirks at your words before defending herself.

“In my defense, I did have a parachute when I jumped.”

You huffed in annoyance before resting your head on her shoulder. You whispered against her neck, “Did you finish?” 

Natasha looks at the debris of the Red Room around her before placing a gentle kiss on your head.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Hands up, Romanoff!” Ross’ voice calls out from a distance behind you.

You let out an exhausted groan against her causing Natasha to laugh lightly at you. 

“Looks like you still need to finish yours,” she whispers against your ear before giving you one last hug.

Reluctantly, you pull away from her as she returns to her previous position with her hands raised. Stepping back, you notice the new piece of clothing on her. Patting at one of the pockets on the vest, you smirked at her.

“Nice vest.”

“Step away, Agent Y/n!” Ross calls out again.

Rolling your eyes, you finally back yourself away as soldiers take your place to cuff Natasha’s hands. Within minutes, her hands are restrained in front of her body, and she is escorted away. 

You watch with your arms crossed as Natasha is ushered into the back of an armored van. She leans her body back against the inside of the car, relaxed and unbothered by her current situation.

The soldiers move to close the door, and at the last moment, Natasha turns her head to look at you before giving you a teasing wink right as the door closes.

You let out an amused huff at her, shaking your head.

“What are you so happy about?” Ross stops next to you. 

You give him a professional smile.

“Nothing, just glad the mission’s over.” 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“The Red Room, under our radar for all these years.” Ross looks at Natasha from the front of the van through the rearview mirror. “And you took them down. All on your own.”

Natasha’s face and body are relaxed and calm as Ross confronts her about the wreckage.

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, “Had some help.”

“Who? Agent Y/n?” Ross questioned her. 

Natasha gives him her usual smirk, “I was just being humble. It was all me.”

“You know, it’s strange. Agent Y/n can locate the others quickly enough, but when it’s you, she can’t seem to find a trace.” Ross points out accusingly. 

Natasha subtly brings her hands to the pocket of the vest that you had touched earlier, stealthily pulling out the small lock pick that you had slipped inside. Keeping her hands low, she responds as she begins to pick the cuffs.

“Maybe you’re overworking her. You should try giving her a vacation.”

Ross scoffs in disbelief, focusing on the road in front.

“Caring about someone who arrested you. At least now we can focus our resources and efforts on finding Captain America. Unless you already know where he is?” 

Ross looks up at the mirror when he hears no response. The bench where Natasha was sitting is empty. Shocked, he turned his head behind to see the back doors of the van open, swinging wildly with the movement of the car, and no Black Widow in sight.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Natasha is meeting with Rick for her new mode of transportation.

“So what’d you get me this time, an upside-down lawnmower?” Natasha teases as she follows him into a field.

Rick looks back at Natasha smugly as he points into the distance.

Natasha stops in shock at the sight, looking between him and the quinjet in disbelief. 

“Go on, say it. I wanna hear it. It would be really good for me to hear it.” 

Natasha nods at him. “I’m impressed.”

Rick nods in acknowledgment.

“Well, of course. Though I did get some extra help with this one.” 

Natasha tilts her head at him in question. The sound of the quinjet’s ramp opening causes her to look back. She sees your familiar figure stroll down the ramp.

“Good luck, mate.”

She feels a pat on her back, pushing her forward, as Rick walks away.

Natasha meets you at the bottom of the ramp. 

“New look?” You reach up and twirl a strand of her new blond hair in your hand. Tilting your head, you give her a soft smile. “I like it.”

Natasha gives you a teasing smirk, “Here to arrest me already?”

Rolling your eyes at her teasing, you slide your hand down her arm and intertwine her hand with yours, pulling her up the ramp into the quinjet.

“You know, you had Ross going mad with your escape. Luckily for you and me, he’s currently preoccupied with the wreckage of the Red Room to send out another manhunt for you.”

“That’s some good news at least,” Natasha says in relief.

You bring her to the control panel. Dropping her hand, you grab a tablet and punch in some codes before turning it to her.

Natasha examines the screen which shows a bunch of different coordinates and a blinking marker. She zooms in on the map curiously.

“What’s this?” 

“I found Steve’s current safe house location. You should probably pick him up first before you head to the Raft for the others.”

Natasha’s head shoots up to look at you, surprised. 

You smile at her expression knowingly. 

“You have a kind heart, Natasha. You are always going to save and protect your family. Both of your family.” You wrap your arms around her in a tight hug, tucking her head against her neck.

“Just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Natasha presses a kiss on your head in promise. “I will.”

You pull yourself back from her embrace, though she still has her arms around you. She searches your eyes nervously.

“Are you leaving?”

You give her a hopeful smile.

“That depends on you.” 

Natasha opens her mouth, but no words come out. A silence falls between the two of you.

Feeling disappointed, you press a soft kiss on her cheek before moving away from her arms. You begin to head towards the exit. Right before you leave, you turn your head over your shoulder to look at her one last time. “Good luck, Natasha.” 

Natasha watches sadly as you go, but then Yelena’s words run through her head, encouraging her. Determined, she chases after you and catches your arm, turning you back around to her.

“Nat–?”

She interrupts you before she loses her nerves.

“This mission is dangerous. I have no idea what’s going to happen. Even if we do succeed, we will be constantly on the run. You won’t be able to go back to the life you had before.”

She stresses the severity of the situation, trying to make you understand what you would be risking. 

Unfazed by her words, you just raise your eyebrows and smile at her expectantly. 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Natasha can’t stop the small smile that appears on her face at your calm expression.

“Knowing all that,” Natasha pauses as she searches your eyes before releasing a nervous breath, “would you still want to come with me?”

Smiling brightly, you grab her vest, pulling her in close. Your lips brush over hers lightly.

“That took you long enough to ask.” You close the small distance, bringing her in for a deep kiss. Her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in closer.

Natasha was the one who pulled away first, giving you a smirk, “That wasn’t an answer.” 

Wrapping your arms around her neck, you give her a determined but loving gaze, making sure she sees how serious you are.

“I would follow you anywhere.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading and for all the nice comments, reblogs, and likes on my previous post. That was really unexpected, but I'm glad that you all enjoyed it.