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pearlywritings · 26 days

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Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the shits. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction.

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them.

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible?

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you.

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Loucha

As much as Loucha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Loucha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip.

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight.

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

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verstarppen · 7 months

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summary; mercedes is a just a tiny bit worried about your dates with their archenemesis

pairing; max verstappen x fem! mercedes admin! reader [ no faceclaim ]

a/n; due to popular demand here's the part 2; i see your comments: you asked and i deliver 🫶 [ series masterlist ]

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and 299,546 others

mercedesamgf1 have some tits to distract you from that crash

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gerogerussell63 Does your boyfriend know you're posting this

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staraikkonen THE ADMIN IS KILLING ME

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honeyvettel FOR FREE????

liked by schecoperez, maxverstappen1, christianhorner and 166,267 others

redbullracing Hot weather 🤝 Ice Baths, sorry for the wait. 😉

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mercedesamgf1 booo post the vertiddies

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schecoperez No comment lewishamilton Really? Seems like you always have an opinion ynusername can we go back to the more pressing issue lewishamilton Don't you already stare at his chest enough maxverstappen1 She does? ynusername ACCUSATIONS

liked by mickschumacher, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 295,199 others

ynusername us during wig gate btw

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lewishamilton Blocked and reported

ynusername YOU'RE JUST MAD YOU GOT BAMBOOZLED

danielricciardo Things I ate and survived: That

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liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername, pierregasly and 740,191 others

charles_leclerc This is my official audition for the next wig gate model. I'm ready 👠

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ynusername he's just a little guy

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lewishamilton Please stop putting him on my timeline

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patiencesainz i keep forgetting this man is 1.81cm

troubletauri FAMINE OVER, THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ORANGE ARMY MAX CONTENT

gonestappen LOOK AT HIM

georgerussell63 I wish instagram would create a muting posts feature

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pic credits: pinterest and instagram

#⚔️ max and the three musketeers #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #instagram au #social media au #max verstappen au #max verstappen #formula 1 #max verstappen x reader

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hannieehaee · 17 days

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SERENDIPITY (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook, god of love and son of venus is given the task by his mother herself to rid the world of you, known as psyche, as your beauty begins to rival her own. unfortunately for all parties involved, jungkook becomes enamored by you upon accidentally pinching himself with his own arrow.

content: cupid!jungkook, psyche!reader, an extremely simplified and smutty version of the og story, afab reader, side character deaths, mentions of attempted suicide, the dialogue is not super fitting of the times, angst(?), fluff, smut, they have sex where she doesnt know who he is multiple times but its consensual, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 841 (teaser); 8.6k (full fic)

release date: may 3rd

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: i decided to do my first jungkook full fic in celebration for hitting 4k followers!! i hope u guys enjoy<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Why did you call for me, again?"

"Jungkook, pay attention!", hissed his mother, holding her fingers to her temples in stress as one of her many servants walked in with the fruit she'd requested, "I need you to use your arrows on someone."

"What? Why? I thought you didn't like me meddling with people's love lives."

"This is different. This one needs a little help," Venus frowned in sheer annoyance, "She is known as Psyche by many, Y/N by her loved ones. She has become quite a figure among the Roman population. Some have begun to worship her beauty. They pray to her, they bring her offerings, they kiss at her feet, completely disregarding the true Goddess of Beauty."

"And where does this concern me?", Jungkook was beyond bored by his mother's ramblings. On a usual day, he would be out and entertaining himself with the many mortal maidens found around Rome, always guaranteeing himself a partner for the day.

Venus shot Cupid a look as her servants fed her by mouth, making him straighten his back and begin paying better attention. Even as the Goddess of Beauty, Venus was known as one of the most menacing Goddesses to exist, holding far too much power among all Gods and Goddesses. Jungkook couldn't help but feel intimidated by her, even as carefree as he was known to be.

"She has far too many admirers. Even Gods are beginning to show interest in her, yet she is lacking in suitors thus far. I need you to shoot your arrow and tie her off to the most hideous creature you can muster. She may seize from being a disturbance this way."

"Okay, so you want me to doom her to an eternity with a monster?", Jungkook tilted his head in curiosity.

Despite being considered the most beautiful entity, Jungkook knew Venus to be one of the least amicable creatures in all of the land. Mortals were blissfully unaware of her cruelty, thinking her to be the most perfect among all Goddesses. However, Cupid, as her son, knew of the misery that awaited anyone who crossed the Goddess of Beauty.

Venus halted her movements in frustration, scaring the servants nearby before turning to Jungkook in annoyance, "Cupid, my son, you will obey my order without question. I gave you those wings, I gave you that bow., and I gave you that arrow. I don't care how cruel you may think me to be, this is an order. You shall not utilize your powers for your own endeavors until you finish your task," she demanded, "Now, go rid me of that wench before I find someone else to do the job."

With a sigh, Jungkook nodded in defeat, fully aware of the type of punishments his mother could deliver should he disobey her orders. Walking over to the window through which he had originally entered, he pulled his bow and arrow from his back, beginning to fly off with his wings as he embarked on a journey to seek out the mighty Psyche that had his mother so worried.

"Y/N, there's another letter from one of your admirers," announced Psyche's mother, placing the letter on the huge pile of gifts provided by the many civilians who came visit their castle with the hope of getting a glimpse of the beautiful girl.

"Mother, what shall I do with all these? There's so many letters yet not a single suitor," you sighed, frustrated at the lack of prospects you'd had so far, "My sisters have both married, yet I am left alone with no one to seek my heart."

"Child, you should be grateful," said your mother, "You are admired through all the land, vied for as if you were a true Goddess. Someone will come for you one day, rest assured," affirmed your mother, petting your hair as she landed a soft kiss on your forehead and took her leave once more.

It was easy for your parents to grow used to the love and admiration you received. Endless people would come and dedicate themselves to their servitude if it meant as much as receiving your blessing – which was absolutely worthless as a mere princess in a land filled with mystical deities.

Your elder sisters had both been married off months back, finding old yet respectable husbands to take them away and care for them as any and all husbands should. You, however, remained alone with your parents, always hoping that a man would be brave enough to court you.

It was unfortunate, really; the way in which your beauty prevented you from receiving any suitors. You had not chosen to be blessed by Venus herself, nor did you ever hope to become her contender in the title of the most beautiful entity in all of creation. Unlike you, she had found a God to sweep her off her feet, gifting her with the fruit of love himself – her son Cupid. Oh, how you wished he'd shoot his arrow and allow you some rest from this endless search for a husband.

...

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flwrstqr · 1 month

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CALL ME YOURS !! (LHS - 이희승)

SYNOPSIS: ever since you broke up with your ex, choi jiho, who cheated on you with another girl, you have always wanted to get revenge. when you meet jiho again at school, to prove you were over him and had met a better man, you told him you were meeting someone. you lied and told him you were meeting a random guy who you pointed at on your school's bulletin board for being the top student in the whole school. coincidentally, that guy was lee heeseung, known for his quiet and smart personality. then jiho demands to meet him in real life, hand-in-hand with you, which now you have a huge problem. first, you have to find heeseung, and next, you have to date him.

pairing: topstudent!heeseung x popularstudentfem!reader

genre: fake dating, s2l, romance, high school au, sunshine x cold

warning(s): reader + heeseung being in denial, your ex cheated, kissing, inspired by a k-drama (i forgot which one), two of them being awfully awkward at first, swearing, grammar errors, party, lots of love confusions, does say that winter is dating beomgyu, punching, fighting

word count: 7k

AN: guys im back with a long au, i never really write long aus, so this is slightly new to me. i did proofread it but not super thoroughly so if i made any mistakes, my bad for that .

taglist: @yenqa @mylstserenade @jlheon @naespas @jooniesbears-blog @erehkinnie30 @wonifullove @miumiuisme @shawnyle @dimplewonie @beomluvrr @jiaant11 @teddywonss

ALL YOU WANTED WAS REVENGE. Sweet revenge against your idiotic ex, Choi Jiho.You remember the moment you walked into the girls locker room to go deliver something to your PE coach, only to find the room “empty”. It hit you like a ton of bricks when you stumbled upon Jiho, locking lips with your “supposed” best friend, Kim Haeun, in the girl’s locker room Lip on lip, eyes closed, moving in sync. Heart shattered, tears streaming, you bolted, tripping over a basket of equipment and scraping your knees quickly catching attention of Jiho. His voice trailed after you, calling your name as you fled into the distance.

Losing both your best friend and your boyfriend cut deep. Being single was one thing, but being unable to find anyone who measured up to Jiho was another.

"YN, your standards for men are too high!" Karina remarked from the bleachers during PE.

You shrugged. "They've always been high." For the past 4 months, no one was your type compared to Jiho, the perfect boyfriend in your eyes: tall, handsome, a football player, rich, and occasionally nice.

"It's because of that disgusting asshole," Ningning scoffed.

"He isn't disgusting!" you retorted.

"YN, you need to get over him. This is just becoming toxic, plus you dumped him in front of the whole school ," Giselle chimed in. She was right. You vividly recalled the moment, twenty minutes before the bell, eyes swollen from crying all night but disguised behind makeup, replaying yesterday's scene you witnessed in your mind.

"YN!" Jiho's voice snapped you back to reality, his figure rushing towards you.

"Can we talk?" he asked, breathless.

"Talk about how you fucking cheated on me? Fine, I'll hear you out," you yelled, drawing everyone's attention.

"Can you keep it down, YN?" Jiho snapped.

"Sure I’ll quiet it down when I want to. Go to your girlfriend, Haeun. Why does she have to be my best friend, out of all people?" you glared.

"YN, let's talk inside," Jiho groaned, irritated.

"No, we're done. I never wanted you anyway, you asshole. Just fuck off," you spat, the words stinging even as they left your mouth The next thing you knew the scene spreaded like wildfire at school.

"Are you okay?" Minjeong asked as you sobbed at the lunch table.

"Listen, YN, Jiho wasn't worth it. You saw what you saw," Karina tried to console.

"I don't know... it's just over now," you murmured, head in your hands.

"Maybe it's a sign to find someone better," Ningning suggested.

"I don't know..." you whispered, feeling lost, unable to move on.

“I’m for sure there’s someone way better than him.” Giselle added (biggest lie you ever heard).

MONTHS PASSED AND YOU FOUND YOURSELF IN THE LIBRARY, lending a hand to the librarian in organizing books before school started. As you went about your duties, dropping off books and preparing to fetch more, the one and only, Jiho, stood by the school bulletin board waiting for you. It had been months since the breakup, and yet, the wound was still fresh, a constant reminder of the pain (really yn..)

"I wanted to say a word," Jiho awkwardly mumbled, eyeing you for a reaction, his hands in his pockets.

You reluctantly agreed, "Fine, make it quick. I'm busy."

"I broke up with Haeun," he stated, the words hanging in the air.

"What?" Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I ended things with Kim Haeun," he said more firmly. His words sank in, but confusion lingered. But why was he telling you this now? Then it hit you—he wanted you back. Yet, on a day when you missed him, you suddenly felt nothing. He had left you for another girl (well, technically, you dumped him), betrayed you, and now he came back because you were his second choice?

"Why are you telling me this?" You managed to maintain calm.

"I still like you, YN LN," he confessed, causing your eyes to widen. You bit your lip, before you could accept his confession like your 5 minute ago self would. Your heart didn’t thump like it did when you were around him. Your hands weren’t sweaty like they were when he looked at you before. Your mind wasn’t racing like it was when Jiho confessed to you for the first time, months ago. It was nothing like any of that–you just felt empty and cold.

"I'm seeing someone," you blurted out, realizing the lie you had just said. Crossing your fingers, you hoped he wouldn't ask about the identity of your "so-said boyfriend"

"Who?" he inquired, raising his eyebrow. Desperately searching for an excuse, your eyes landed on the bulletin board, displaying a list of top students and their ID photos.

Rushing over, you pointed at the first photo and name you saw, "That guy," you said, reading his name, "...Lee Heeseung! I'm dating him."

"Oh, really?" Jiho cast a skeptical glance between you and the photo, a smirk playing on his lips. "Then," he leaned in closer, "how about you introduce me to him, hand-in-hand, next week? I want to see if he's worthy of you." Panic rushed in you, and your throat went dry. You forced a smile and nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Sure," you replied.

"Great, see you next week," Jiho said, turning and walking away. You were officially doomed. Now, you have to find this Lee Heeseung and give him a deal.

YOU WANDERED DURING LUNCH, TRYING TO FIND HEESEUNG. You only heard about him because he got a perfect score on the hardest SAT exams, but you didn't really pay attention.

"Heeseung? Sorry, I don’t know who he is," a girl replied when you asked her about Heeseung.

"It's okay," you smiled politely and left, feeling frustrated.

"I'll never find him," you groaned to Karina, who was with you while you asked everyone about Heeseung.

"Why did you lie to Jiho then? I thought you weren’t over him. Last night, you were giggling at how cute Jiho is and how much you want him back," Karina asked, taking a bite of her apple.

"I don’t know. He was just using me. I knew it because he and Haeun broke up," you explained, letting out a soft sigh. "He saw me as a second option, and I got into this mess because I lied to him about having a boyfriend who's probably some ugly nerd."

"I told you he was using you the entire time! But you didn’t trust me!" Karina scolded you.

"Sorry, I was just blind back then," you mumbled.

Before your last attempt, you walked up to a boy and asked the same question you’d been asking everyone.

"Do you know Lee Heeseung by any chance?" you asked. The boy's eyes widened, and a big grin spread across his face.

"Yes, I do! For what reason?" the boy quickly replied. For the first time, someone knew who he was.

"Do you know where he is then?" you inquired, hoping he could help.

"I do. I’m close friends with him. Come, I’ll show you where he is," the boy replied as you followed him, waving to Karina goodbye.

As the two of you awkwardly made up the long staircase, you arrived at the rooftop of the school. When the boy opened the door, a lonely figure sat by the table, reading a book.

"Heeseung!" the boy called out, causing the figure, supposedly Heeseung, to turn around.

"What, Jungwon?" Heeseung raised his eyebrow, quickly glancing at you and then back at Jungwon.

"YN was looking for you," Jungwon quickly said, nudging you to speak. Heeseung obviously knew who you were, known for dating Jiho and your soft-delicate visuals.

You walked towards him awkwardly, “Uhm…can we talk privately?” Slightly glancing at Jungwon, signaling him to leave quietly. As Jungwon left quietly, you cleared your throat.

“So…” you started off a bit nervous, “I need some help?”

"What help?" Heeseung answered a bit coldly, “If it’s anything studying related, I’m not interested-”

"I need help dating," you blurted, realizing what you had just said.

"What?" Heeseung gave you a puzzled look, "Dating what?"

"I lied to Jiho. Okay, I don’t have interest in you or even Jiho. I lied to him saying that I’m meeting you," you spilled the news. Heeseung had an empty look on his face as you tried to read his expression.

“Why me?” Heeseung arched his eyebrow.

“You were the first name I saw,” you explained, “So can you fake date me? I need it, please,” you pleaded, hoping he would accept your request.

"No, I’m not interested," he turned around, quickly getting his book to start reading again. Your jaw dropped, no one had ever rejected you like that.

"What?" you spat, feeling terrible that you got rejected for the first time.

"I’m not interested in you or in dating. So, I strongly believe that I shouldn’t do it," he said, quickly focusing his attention on his book.

“I’ll do anything!” you begged, feeling desperate.

"Anything?" Heeseung quickly averted his attention to you, dropping his book slightly to make eye contact with you.

"Yes, anything. I’ll do anything," you replied, hoping he would accept it.

"Then introduce me to her," Heeseung answered. You looked confused.

"Who's her?" you raised your eyebrow.

Heeseung’s cheek slightly blushed, it was the first time you saw him so embarrassed. “Karina,” he mumbled under his breath. Suddenly it clicked—he was interested in Karina, your best friend.

You gave an eager look, “Deal! I’ll introduce you to her after all of the fake dating.” You pulled out your hand.

"Deal," Heeseung replied, shaking your hand.

A FEW DAYS LATER, YOU FIND YOURSELF in the convenience store, an unexpected place for someone like you—a popular girl to be at. Your outfit was simpler than usual, baggy gray sweats and a white tank top, with your hair thrown up in a messy high ponytail and an oversized jacket completing the look.

You scan the snack aisle, contemplating your choices, when the doorbell chimes, signaling a customer had entered. Your heart thumps as you recognize the last person you expected to encounter—Heeseung. He's dressed in simple gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, his messy hair somehow adding to his charm.

Your eyes lock momentarily before you both awkwardly shuffle towards each other. "What brings you here?" you ask, surprised to find him in a convenience store at 2 am.

"Why are you up so late?" he counters, swiftly turning the interrogation on you.

"I couldn't sleep. What's your excuse?" you reply.

"Studying," he responds matter-of-factly, grabbing an energy drink before swiftly checking out and leaving. You hurry after him, catching up as he strides down the street.

"Studying late? That's a first," you mutter to yourself, gazing up at the night sky.

"I don’t want to flunk my classes, unlike you," he retorts, avoiding your gaze.

"I'm not that hopeless," you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, you are," he quips, taking a sip of his drink.

"Hey!" you playfully threaten, pulling back your arm as if to hit him. But then something unexpected happens—you catch sight of Heeseung's smile, genuine and endearing. You quickly shake off any wayward thoughts; after all, you're just his so-called “girlfriend”.

"Where do you live?" you inquire, trying to change the subject.

"Stalker much?" Heeseung teases.

"Shut up," you retort, rolling your eyes.

"I live in the house near the college," he answers, disposing of his empty can.

"Do you walk to school?" you ask, trying to prolong the conversation.

"Yeah," he replies.

"Then... do you want to walk together tomorrow?" you suggest, stopping in the quiet and empty streets.

"Walk together?" he repeats, surprised.

You nod and quickly add, "Yeah, you know, for you know..."

Heeseung considers for a moment before agreeing, "Sure."

"Great! I'll come by your place at 7 am since school starts at 7:30!" you smile, remembering to ask for his number. He inserts it into your phone, adding, "Don't blow up my phone."

"I'm not that obsessed with you," you retort.

"I think you are," he jokes.

"In your dreams," you shoot back.

YOU FOUND YOURSELF STANDING OUTSIDE Heeseung's door, feeling an awkward knot tighten in your stomach as you waited, fingers fidgeting nervously. After what seemed like hours, the door swung open to reveal a woman, likely Heeseung's mother.

"Hi, who are you?" she inquired, her eyes curious but welcoming.

"I'm YN LN," you replied, managing a warm smile despite your nerves. "A friend of Heeseung's."

"Heeseung's friend?" Her expression softened into a delighted grin. "I didn't realize Heeseung had such a pretty friend. I'm Heeseung's mother. Just call me Mrs. Lee."

"Mom..." Heeseung's voice interrupted, his presence suddenly beside you as he quickly shuffled to put on his shoes.

"Heeseung, she seems like a sweet and pretty girl," Mrs. Lee remarked before Heeseung darted, closing the door behind him before his mother could say anything else.

"Your mother seems really nice," you commented, attempting to ease the tension.

"Mhm," Heeseung mumbled, his attention already diverted to his book that he quickly pulled out from his backpack.

With a pointed look, you reached out your hand, silently urging him to remember.

Heeseung sighed, rolling his eyes in mild exasperation, but he relented, tucking the book away and clasping your hand in his. The touch sent a jolt through you, a feeling you couldn't quite grasp.

"So..." you began, eager to break the silence. "Where's your class?"

"Class 3-B," he replied shortly, his gaze fixed ahead as if unwilling to meet your eyes.

"Mine's right next door." you exclaimed, hoping to inject some enthusiasm into the conversation. "Perfect! Do you know what this means?"

"What?" Heeseung's response was clipped, his tone guarded.

"That I can come over to your class during lunch!" you declared with a wide grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"I eat on the rooftop, alone." he added, emphasizing the word alone.

"Ah, I forget you’re a loner," you teased gently.

"At least I'm productive with my free time," he retorted.

"Well, today we're together!" you suggested brightly and then with a smirk you whispered, "And I can introduce you to... Karina." The mention of your best friend's name made Heeseung blush slightly.

"Shut up," he groaned, moving to cover your mouth with his free hand just in case you would say anything else.

"Like I want to-" feeling a sudden hard squeeze in your hand "Ow..."

"Now shut up before I squeeze harder," Heeseung warned, though there was a hint of genuine threat in his tone.

"You're no fun," you muttered. Eventually, you arrived at the school, fingers still intertwined as you drew curious whispers from the hallway.

"YN and Heeseung, dating? No way..." you heard a girl whisper by the lockers, causing a flush of embarrassment to color your cheeks. When you reached Heeseung's classroom, you reluctantly released his hand, noticing the tension in his posture as he leaned against the doorframe.

"See you later?" you asked, "I'll be on the rooftop during break."

"Alright..." Heeseung's response was hesitant, but then came an unexpected word that caught you off guard. "...baby." The pet name hung in the air.

"R-right... anyway, bye..." you stammered, feeling a rush of different emotions. You'd been in relationships before, but you were never so flustered for such small things like that. Could it be... you weren't falling for him, right?

HEESEUNG SETTLED AT THE EMPTY TABLE on the rooftop, his gaze drifting across the school grounds. The rooftop held a special meaning for him, offering a quiet place to read, barely visited by others.

“Heeseung!” Your voice sliced through the silence, drawing his attention. He glanced up to see you approaching, two lunches in hand.

With a bright grin, you placed the meals in front of him. “I brought lunch!”

"Thanks," Heeseung replied , his tone cool as he examined the homemade kimbap. As you both sat down, awkwardness settled between you, by the avoidance of eye contact.

Summoning his courage, Heeseung brought a question that had lingered in his mind for months. "Why did you like Choi Jiho?"

Your eyes widened at the unexpected, catching you off guard. You paused, hesitating with how to respond.Memories of Jiho flooded your mind. You had forgotten about him for the past 4 days due to Heeseung being on your mind 24/7.

You cleared your throat, summoning a bitter lie to your lips. "I... uh, he was nice, I guess."

"Did Jiho even like you back?" Heeseung's question cut through the air. That’s when you realized something. You remembered the way Jiho would never defend you in any moment or barely spend time with you. And the time when he did? He would always be on his phone. You realized how stupid you were as you thought the moments where he just wanted attention from the public by kissing you or flirting with you meant that he loved you.

"I... I don't know," you admitted. Deep down, you knew the painful reality—that Jiho had used you.

"Oh, okay..." Heeseung responded, sensing the weight of your words. "So, let's change the top—"

"I know he didn't like me," you interjected, your gaze drifting to the sky before meeting Heeseung's gaze. "I know he was the worst boyfriend I could ask for."

Confusion flickered across Heeseung's features at your sudden confession.

"I was blind. I regret it," you murmured, your gaze falling to your lap. "But it's in the past."

Heeseung regarded you with his usual stern and cold look. "Then why did you tell Jiho you were meeting someone else?"

"Because... I wanted to prove I was happier now," you muttered, grappling with your tumultuous emotions.

"Are you?" Heeseung's gaze bore into yours.

"I... I think I am," you replied

"You 'think'?" Heeseung pressed, his tone firm.

"I'm happier than before," you insisted, though the vagueness of your answer hung in the air.

"That's not specific," Heeseung challenged.

"I can't be specific," you confessed, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Because I don't know, at all."

"Are you sure?" Heeseung persisted.

"Heeseung, it's my feelings, yes I'm sure," you asserted.

"I'm just physically and mentally curious, so it allured me to—" Heeseung began, but you cut him off.

"Okay, I think that's enough. The bell's going to ring soon. Text me later!" With that, you rose abruptly, snatching your lunch bag and offering a quick wave before descending the stairs back to class.

HEESEUNG LAY ON HIS BED, staring up at the ceiling. He knew he should be studying, but your words about Jiho lingered in his mind. "I'm happier than before." Why was he even pondering such things? Lost in thought, he was jolted back to reality by a faint buzz from his phone. Retrieving it, he found a message from you.

YN LN: heeseung!! all my friends rejected me to go to the mall TT, so wanna go together?? ><

Heeseung paused, a moment of surprise flashing across his features. You were asking him to go to the mall with you? It felt almost like you were asking him out. He composed himself and replied:

Heeseung: Sure. Send location and time, I’ll be there.

Putting down his phone, he realized the weight of his agreement. He had just agreed to go on a date with you. And now, he needed to get ready. Hastily, he rummaged through his closet, seeking out a suitable outfit. Opting for his lone stylish varsity jacket paired with jeans, he ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tidy it up.

Rushing to the mall, he found you leaning against a store wall, your attention fixed on your phone. As he approached, a cupid seemed to strike him with an arrow as his cheeks flushed. The simplicity of your outfit and the gentle cascade of your hair rendered you utterly captivating.

You looked up, catching sight of Heeseung's slightly stunned expression, and greeted him with a warm smile, gesturing for him to join you.

"Hi," Heeseung muttered, still awestruck by your beauty.

"Hi!" you returned the greeting with equal warmth. "I just need to buy some makeup for my friends, or maybe myself, and possibly shop around! Anything you need?"

"Not necessarily," Heeseung replied, scanning the mall.

"Okay then, follow me," you said, seizing his arm and leading him to the nearest makeup store. Arriving at the lip product section, you perused the selection of lipsticks, lip glosses, and lip tints. Grabbing a random lip tint, you turned to Heeseung.

"Can I try it on you? I need to see if it looks good on a person," you suggested.

"What? When did I sign up for this?" Heeseung sighed.

"Please," you pleaded, giving him your best pout. "I can erase it right after."

"Fine."

With careful precision, you applied the tint to his lips. The warmth of his breath brushed against your cheeks and neck, sending a flurry of sensations through you. Your heart raced as you admired his perfectly shaped lips, now tinted with color. After smoothing out any unevenness, you stepped back to admire the look.

"Hmm... I think this works," you concluded, grabbing the new tint to go check out and pay for it.

YOU SAVORED THE SWEET TASTE OF vanilla ice cream as you took a bite, sitting side by side with Heeseung on the bench outside the convenient store where you first met. He listened attentively as you shared stories about your friends and family.

"And then Giselle told me—" Your sentence was cut short as Heeseung's fingers delicately wiped a smudge of ice cream from the corner of your lips.

"Mhm?" He hummed softly, encouraging you to continue. Your heart fluttered at his touch, beating rapidly in your chest.

"...y-yeah," you stammered, trying to regain your composure, your gaze drifting to the hues of the sunset painting the sky in shades of blue and orange.

"Are you done with your story?" Heeseung inquired, to which you nodded hastily. You weren't finished, but another word might turn you into a flustered mess.

After a brief silence, you suggested, "How about we go for a walk by the Han River?" Heeseung agreed with a nod, and soon you found yourselves strolling side by side along the riverbank, the gentle sound of water trickling in the background adding to the peaceful atmosphere.

Unexpectedly, Heeseung asked, "Are you going to the dance?" It was a question he wouldn't normally ask.

"The dance?" you raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his inquiry.

"Yeah, the school dance?" Heeseung clarified, his expression tinged with skepticism.

"Oh, well, yeah," you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as you remembered his feelings for Karina. He didn't like you, so why did you allow yourself to hope for something more?

"Is Karina going?" Heeseung continued, and you struggled to find your voice, your throat suddenly dry.

"O-oh, uhm, I think she's going..." you managed to say, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a wave. Foolish fantasies had consumed you for the past five days, but now you bit your lip to stave off the embarrassment and tears threatening to surface.

"I think I'm tired. I'm gonna go home now. Bye, Heeseung," you forced a small smile before turning away, walking in the opposite direction. Heeseung watched you go, a confused expression clouding his features as you moved farther and farther away.

LEANING AGAINST THE WALL, you found yourself lost in thoughts of Heeseung, the person who was on your mind day in and day out. Why did it bother you so much if he had feelings for your best friend, Karina? Why did his presence hold such sway over you?

"YN?" Winter's voice broke through your trail of thoughts,snapping you back to reality.

"Oh, sorry, I was zoning out," you replied, trying to shake off the distraction.

"You've been distant all day. Is everything okay?" Ningning's concern was evident in her voice.

"Just tired, didn't get much sleep last night," you reassured them with a forced smile, hoping they wouldn't press further.

"Are you sure?" Giselle's skepticism lingered, her gaze searching yours.

"It's nothing, just life being complicated," you offered, trying to reassure their worries.

"If you need to talk, we're here for you," Karina chimed in, her comforting touch on your hands a familiar gesture she usually did. How you longed to confess and tell them about Heeseung and the jumble of emotions you felt and fought with, but the fear of ruining your relationships with both him and Karina kept you quiet.

At that moment, it came to you: you were in love with Heeseung. It had to be a mistake right? You could never like someone like Heeseung. The way your heart thumped when Heeseung did small actions like hold your hand or even wipe off anything from your mouth.

Yet, you couldn't shake the fear, the fear of history repeating itself with someone like Jiho, selfish and foolish. What was the point of falling for someone who didn't accept your feelings and liked someone else

HEESEUNG HAD REHEARSED EVERY WORD, every breath, for the moment he would finally summon the courage to ask you out for dinner. With trembling fingers, he reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the call button. The weight of his nerves pressed down on him as he prepared to take the risk.

As the phone rang, his heart raced, the sound of your voice on the other end sending a jumble of emotions through him "Hello?" you answered, your voice like music and beauty to his ears.

"Hi..." Heeseung replied, his voice betraying his unease.

"Why did you call me?" you asked, curiosity tinged but yet your voice sounded heavy and drained. Heeseung couldn't help but notice the change in your tone for the past days, wondering if he had somehow caused it. Had he done something wrong?

"I was just wondering if... uhm... you wanted to go get dinner tonight together?" Heeseung's voice faltered slightly, the weight of his question hanging in the air.

"Dinner tonight?" Your voice held a hint of confusion, but there was also a spark of interest. "When and where?" you inquired.

"At the Japanese place down the block, at 6?" Heeseung suggested, hoping you would agree.

"Sure, I'll see you at 6 then," you replied, your voice brightening slightly.

"Right, anyways, bye!" Heeseung quickly ended the call, a rush of happiness coursing through him. He had done it. He asked you out for dinner.

With a sense of pride, Heeseung flopped onto his bed, his phone resting on his chest as. a wide grin spread across his face. He replayed the conversation in his mind, excited for the evening of day.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, you couldn't contain your excitement. Heeseung. Lee Heeseung. had. Asked. you. out. to. dinner. You, YN LN. You couldn't help but squeal with delight into your pillow.

Eager to make a good impression, you jumped out of bed and rushed to your closet, rummaging through your clothes in search of the perfect outfit for the occasion.

HEESEUNG SAT NERVOUSLY, tapping the table as he waited for you to arrive. Within minutes, you rushed in and quickly spotted him.

"Hi!" you greeted with a smile, settling down at the table.

"Hi," he smiled back (inside you felt a flutter at how cute his smile was). You both looked at the menu and ordered as the waiter approached. After eating, you quietly walked outside, enjoying the cool evening air.

The dark, cloudless sky revealed a glimmering array of stars. You admired the view, unaware that Heeseung was watching you, captivated by your beauty.

"The stars are so pretty," you remarked in awe.

"Mhm," he replied, still focused on you. Suddenly, you felt his fingers gently tuck a stray hair behind your ear. Your face flushed as butterflies fluttered in your stomach.

"I have a question, YN..." Heeseung began, and you turned to him, curious.

"Do you... want to go to the dance?" he asked. Your heart raced, your stomach churned, and your head spun. He had just asked you to the dance.

"T-the dance?" you stuttered.

"Yeah... I mean, just as... you know, for visual purposes," he tried to clarify.

"Right..." you nodded, agreeing. "I'll go with you." Heeseung's face lit up with a big grin as you accepted his invitation.

"That's great! I'll, um... see you at the dance then," Heeseung said with a small smile and a wave as you both went your separate ways, heading home with a light heart.

As you walked home, your mind buzzed with excitement. The thought of going to the dance with Heeseung made your heart skip a beat. You couldn't help but replay the moment he asked you, feeling a rush of happiness each time. It was like a dream come true, and you couldn't wait for the night of the dance to arrive.

WEEKS FLEW BY, each one filled with anticipation, excitement, and a series of dates. Finally, the much-anticipated day of the dance had arrived. It had been six weeks since you eagerly marked this date on your calendar. Reflecting on the past four months since you met Heeseung, you knew deep down that you were head over heels in love with him. The moment he asked you to the dance, those feelings intensified.

"Do you think this dress is pretty enough?" you asked, twirling in your knee-length black dress adorned with delicate lace details, a sweetheart neckline, and spaghetti straps. The dress hugged your figure perfectly.

"It's gorgeous," Ningning complimented, deftly assisting with your hair.

"It's perfect, just like you," Winter reassured, adjusting your dress with care.

"Easy for you to say, with Beomgyu as your date," you teased, prompting laughter from your friends.

"And you have Heeseung," Winter smiled, smoothing out the fabric of your dress.

"You two are so cute together," Giselle teased, earning a blush from you.

"I love you guys," you said, feeling grateful for their support as you shared a group hug.

"Even if I'm dating a man, you'll always be my number one," Winter jokes, lightening the mood as you head to Karina's car.

Upon arriving at the dance, the lively atmosphere was perfect. Laughter, music, and chatter filled the room as people talked, danced, and enjoyed themselves. Spotting Heeseung entering the room, you felt a rush of excitement.

He looked perfect in his suit, his hair perfectly styled. Rushing over to him, you greeted him with a beaming smile.

"Heeseung!" you exclaimed. Heeseung looked up, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you. I

"You look amazing, YN," Heeseung complimented, his smile genuine.

"Thanks, but you're the one who looks stunning," you replied, feeling your heart flutter as you took in his appearance. "Come on, let's grab some snacks and go have fun!"

The next two hours were filled with laughter, dancing, and cherished moments spent with Heeseung and your friends. However, amidst the joy, an unexpected encounter with Jiho cast a shadow over the evening.

"YN," Jiho's voice cut through the noise, sending a chill down your spine.

"What do you want, Jiho?" you asked, your tone laced with irritation.

"Are you here with your 'so-called' boyfriend, Heeseung?" Jiho taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, and what's it to you?" you retorted, your patience wearing thin.

“Yeah there is.” his smirk widened, “Don’t act stupid, I knew everything.”

“God I hate you Jiho.” you spat, feeling your anger rise.

"Come on, YN. Admit you still love me, and everything will go back to normal," Jiho sneered.

“I don’t even like you anymore, Jiho.” you said firmly, trying to keep your composure.

"Oh, really? Maybe this will change your mind," Jiho said, leaning in closer. You felt his fingers slip into your waist, his grip firm and tight. You felt his face leaning closer to yours. You quickly stepped back and pushed him aside.

“Are you fucking crazy?” you yelled.

“YN, why are you so pissed? Not like you like anyone.” Jiho's eyes bore into yours, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I don’t want to fucking kiss you,” you glared, “Now fuck off please.”

“Why is it because of Heeseung? Your fake boyfriend? God, he probably doesn’t even like you YN. He only likes you because you're popular.” he laughed. Your heart sank at his cruel words. The words stung as you heard each word. Heeseung was just a stupid fake boyfriend you had. The two of you had never had a real relationship. A real love. Was Heeseung just playing with your feelings? Did Heeseung even love you like how much you loved him?

"I hate you, Jiho," you whispered before leaving the party alone, your heart felt heavy.

YOU SPENT HOURS lying in bed, staring out the rain-splattered window, your cheeks damp from the relentless stream of tears. Days had passed since the dance, and you hadn't mustered the strength to leave the confines of your home.

"YN, you've been here for hours," Karina's voice broke through the silence, her concern evident as she entered your room.

"Why didn't you text me?"

"Phone died," you muttered, burying your face deeper into the sheets. "

Tell me what's wrong," Karina urged gently, taking a seat beside you.

"I don't know," you confessed, your voice barely audible.

"Come on," Karina coaxed, her comforting presence offering a glimmer of solace.

"Okay, fine," you relented, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Jiho said some awful things to me at the dance. Now I'm a wreck, and I can't face Heeseung. I'm in love with him, and it's tearing me apart."

Karina's eyes widened at the torrent of emotions pouring out. "And you kept this from me all this time?"

"Karina, I didn't know what to do," you admitted, your voice choking with emotion. "I thought Heeseung felt the same way, but then Jiho made me doubt everything."

"How does Jiho know anything? He's not Heeseung," Karina retorted, frustration evident in her tone. "He's just trying to mess with your head."

"But what if he's right? What if Heeseung was just pretending all along?" you sighed, a heavy weight settling in your chest.

"YN," Karina's voice softened, her touch gentle as she sought to comfort you. "How do you know Heeseung doesn't like you? Have you talked to him?"

"I haven't," you admitted, uncertainty clouding your thoughts.

"Then how can you be so sure?" Karina questioned, her eyes searching yours. "Heeseung cares about you, YN. He was worried sick after the dance. He searched everywhere for you and even left the party early out of concern."

"Are you serious?" you asked, a glimmer of hope flickering in your eyes.

"Dead serious," Karina affirmed, her sincerity unwavering. "Talk to him, YN. You'll see."

"But what if I'm wrong?" you hesitated, your fear holding you back. "Just trust me on this," Karina reassured, squeezing your hand gently. "Talk to Heeseung. You'll thank me later." Karina offered you a reassuring smile before enveloping you in an embrace.

HEESEUNG WAS SERIOUSLY DEAD WORRIED about you. He thought you were possibly hit by some car or even worse kidnapped. His thoughts wandered as he tried to think of all the possibilities you were. You stopped even coming to school for weeks.

The memory of the dance replayed in his mind like a broken record, haunting him with unanswered questions. Your sudden disappearance after excusing yourself to the bathroom left him questionable and restless. Desperately, he asked your friends as your friends only left him shrugs and quietness making him uneasy of the situation.

When you finally returned after a week-long absence, Heeseung couldn't help but notice the change in you. You awfully looked tired and you had eyebags. And the most important change, you were avoiding Heeseung. Was it something he had done to mess things up?

Heeseung sat at his usual spot on the rooftop, gazing out at the view, trying to get his thoughts out.

"Look who it is, Lee Heeseung," a voice pierced through the silence, pulling Heeseung from his reverie. Turning, he found Jiho leaning casually against the stairway exit, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Heeseung's girlfriend, huh?" Jiho taunted, his words hitting Heeseung like a sudden blow.

"What did you do to YN?" Heeseung's voice was edged with a mixture of anger and concern, his gaze sharp.

"Nothing much, just a little truth-telling," Jiho chuckled, his demeanor full of arrogance.

"What truth?" Heeseung's tone was laced with urgency, his fists clenched in frustration.

“Just a few things that need to be said. Like how you guys are just dating, nothing more than that.”

Heeseung's jaw tightened as the weight of Jiho's words settled in, his mind reeling with disbelief and anger.

"Do you even know why YN hates you?" Heeseung spat, his voice seething with contempt.

"Why don't you tell me?" Jiho's smirk widened.

"Cause you’re truly an awful person” Heeseung retorted, his patience wearing thin.

“Oh really?” Jiho teased, “I didn’t know.”

Jiho's mocking laughter only fueled Heeseung's rage, his frustration exploding into action as he delivered a swift punch to Jiho's jaw.

"You're really undeserving of her," Heeseung's words echoed in the empty space.

“You could punch me as many times, I don’t care.” Jiho smiled.

“I would but actually I don’t want to see your ugly face, so fuck off.” Heeseung stormed out of the rooftop leaving Jiho alone on the ground.

IT WAS 1 AM WHEN YOU FOUND YOURSELF at the convenience store, clad in your most comfortable clothes, not even caring if people saw you. The rush of cold air from the conditioner greeted you as you stepped inside, scanning the assortment of snacks. The scent of sweet delights filled your senses, tempting you to buy more. You reached for a snack when the chime of the door signaled someone's arrival.

Looking up, you were met with the sight of Heeseung standing across the store, his gaze fixed on you. It felt like deja vu, reminiscent of the first time you laid eyes on him. Your throat went dry, memories of Jiho's words echoing in your mind: "He probably doesn’t even like you." Anxious, you bit your lip as Heeseung approached.

"Can we talk outside?" Heeseung's voice broke through the tension. With a quiet nod, you followed him out of the store.

"YN, what's going on?" Heeseung's concern was evident as he confronted you, hoping you would answer honestly.

"Heeseung, it's nothing," you lied

"It's not nothing," Heeseung persisted, his tone firm.

"Okay, fine, I'll tell you. I fell in love with you, but then Jiho made me doubt everything. I thought you probably didn’t even like me, maybe you liked Karina instead. What was the point of being with you if I'm only going to hurt myself?" The words spilled out in a rush, leaving you empty.. Heeseung froze at your confession, disbelief in his expression.

"You like me?" Heeseung's eyebrow arched in surprise.

"I know you don't like me—" Before you could finish, Heeseung silenced you with a soft kiss. His lips were soft and perfect.You felt his fingers sliding into your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss. Your lips were moving in sync, in the same passion, kissing each other back. You felt his fingers intertwined with yours, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand.

Pulling away, breathless, you attempted to speak, but Heeseung beat you to it. "I like you a lot, YN. I was in denial of my feelings for months, but I realized I was actually in love with you." You widen your eyes at his confession

"Heeseung, you're not lying, right?" suspicion tinged your words.

"Do you think I would ever lie to you?" Heeseung chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear, a gesture that he would always done

"No, but it all seems real," you confessed.

Heeseung's laughter, the sound you cherished the most, filled the air. "Then, will you be my real girlfriend, YN LN?"

"Of course, any day I'll choose you," you smiled, leaning in for another kiss.

MONTHS HAD PASSED and you found yourself in a state of bliss you never imagined possible. Seated on the rooftop with Heeseung, your fingers intertwined, you gazed out into the view before you, the cool breeze enveloping you in a sense of serenity.

"Look how far we've come," you remarked, a smile gracing your lips as you watched Heeseung absentmindedly draw small patterns on your palm.

"Yeah," Heeseung nodded, his touch gentle and comforting.

"I love you, Heeseung," you whispered softly, your words carrying the weight of your affection.

"I love you more," Heeseung replied in a tender whisper, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck as he leaned in to press a series of delicate kisses along its curve.

"Heeseung, that tickles!" you laughed, squirming slightly at the sensation.

"This is your punishment for getting a 60% on the exam," Heeseung teased, his tone playful yet teasing.

"Hey, I'm not some nerd like you!" you retorted, playfully poking his side.

"Nerd?" Heeseung chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"A cute nerd," you amended with a grin, your heart swelling with affection.

"And you're my cute princess," Heeseung declared, pressing a sweet and tender kiss to your lips, his love for you shining brightly in his eyes. You truly were in love with Heeseung, and you weren’t going to deny it.

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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Omg I have a THEODORE NOTT request for you

Super duper angst hurt comfort

Theo’s dad basically hurts the reader and sends her back to Theo as a warning to stay away from such mudbloods and its just heart wrenching guilt and hurt and tending to her wounds through treat

Song: Half a Man by dean lewis perhaps?

I already have.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader (request)

Summary: The one where Theo has the one person he loves the most hurt by his worst nightmare. Alternatively: He thinks he’d rather die than see you in pain.

A/N: I DID MANAGE TO DO IT BY TODAY!!! I’ll be responding to the next few requests soon. You said comfort but didn’t specify a happy ending 😺

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, blood.

Theodore Nott never expected to fall in love.

It seemed rather bleak for him, to be honest. He didn’t have the time to think about love when he was too busy wrapped up in navigating the life he had ahead of him.

One couldn't blame him though. With his family as the only example of what love could be, he certainly didn't have a good impression.

Theodore couldn’t recall a single time when he had seen his father treat his mother with kindness or respect.

Let alone love? A truly laughable notion.

Theodore's father had not shown a single ounce of love to his wife, or Theodore. Even on that godforsaken day when Theodore had witnessed his mother die, his father had simply delivered a swift strike to his face and told him to ‘man up.’

So to put it simply, The absence of love in his family cast a shadow over his perception of relationships, making it difficult for him to fathom the idea of falling in love himself.

Then you came.

You came, and god, Theodore doesn't remember how he lived without you. It wasn’t a whirlwind love, a sort of fell fast and hard, rather you entered his life like a slow and steady rain, seeping through the foundations of Theodore's life till you had consumed them completely, crumbling them down against his own will.

It rained, and you became the quiet storm, soft yet unyielding.

Love came like the easiest thing when he met you. It wasn't foreign, or a distant concept; instead, it felt like the most natural and effortless occurrence in Theodore's life. Love with you was as simple and uncomplicated as breathing, a seamless rhythm that he hadn't known was missing until you came along.

You were more than shocked when Theodore admitted he didn’t think he could ever fall in love. The boy, who loved you as though he was born to (he argues he was), who would so tenderly kiss your forehead and hold your hand, not capable of love? The one who would leave his coat for you during the winter months and bring a spare scarf because, he knew you were stubborn, and he was worried you'd get sick, not deserving of love?

You kissed him deeply and made him swear he'd never think of that ever again.

You reminisced on Theodore like some sort of lovesick fool separated by war from their lover, though it was merely only the summer holidays. Whilst Theodore would want nothing more than to come with you, his father demanded his presence back at home. You knew little about Theodore's mother, and even less about his father. Anything leading up to a conversation about them would simply result in Theodore immediately redirecting the conversation, becoming a tad more guarded for the next day or so.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you, because he wholeheartedly did. He would place his beating heart in your hands even if you had a knife in the other, for he trusted you that much.

No, in fact, it was the very opposite. Theodore knew you, and he refused to let you ever get involved in that part of his life. He swore he would never let his father even lay his eyes on you.

He would have loved for his mother to have met you. He doesn't remember her that well, but he's sure, some sort of instinctive feeling within him, that she would have loved you.

You had been back in Hogsmeade a mere 2 days before school had started, to stockpile on some supplies for school.

Students were permitted to start returning to Hogwarts three days before school began, and you would always go back early, valuing having the near-empty castle. It meant you could settle back into a school routine comfortably, and have some time alone before school resumes.

It also gave you time to do stuff for Theodore. You didn't know much about what went on at his house, but assuming from the way he’d come back absolutely exhausted with bags under his eyes, you figured it wasn't good.

It seemed to be the same routine almost every time you'd come back - he comes over to your dorm (luckily for you, all your dormmates essentially lived in their boyfriend's dorms, as they were all friends with one another, so you had it all to yourself 99% of the time). He’d kiss you hello and wordlessly take off his shoes and jacket. You’d lie on your bed and he’d come lie on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He would rest his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him, as he listened to you talk about your holidays till he fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time, unburdened by his worries.

He’d sleep, and you'd trace the furrow of his brow. You ached for the ability to just, alivieate him of everything he carried so close to him. But you knew that healing was a long journey, and you'd be there for him on the way.

You wander around a little bookstore, finding a book for you and Theodore to read. You paid for the copy, turning to leave the shop when you bump into a man.

You quickly offered a polite apology, even though his cold gaze and disdainful demeanour sent a chill down your spine.

Those eyes. They were oh so familiar to the very striking eyes of the boy you so loved. Come to think of it, the hair was the same too. Was this…..

"Watch where you're going, girl," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the anger that threatened to surface. Keeping your composure, you replied evenly, "I apologize if I inconvenienced you, sir."

His eyes then flickered to the books in your hands, a sceptical look crossing his face. "You are a student at Hogwarts? What year?" he sneered.

You took a deep breath before responding, "Final year, sir."

Seeing an opportunity to shift the dynamics, you gestured towards Theodore's family resemblance. "You must be Theodore's father. The resemblance is striking."

His eyes narrowed, and he asked with an air of suspicion, "How do you know Theodore?"

You hesitated for a moment but decided to be honest. "We're dating."

Theodore's father raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and derision on his face. "Dating, are you?" he scoffed. "Tell me, girl, who are your parents? Perhaps I've heard of them."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, responding. "I doubt you would know them. They're Muggles."

His expression darkened, and a look of pure contempt appeared on his face. "Muggles? Muggles?" He snarls, taking a step closer to you.

Theodore's father's face contorted with disgust, and his voice dripped with venom as he continued, "You, a pathetic Muggle, dare to pollute my son's bloodline? You're nothing but filth, tarnishing the Nott family name with your presence."

You felt a surge of anger and fear. This is what Theodore was trying to keep from you. That his family were prejudiced against your very existence.

Without warning, he roughly grabbed your arm, his grip tightening painfully. The pain shot through you, and you winced.

"Listen closely, Mudblood," he hissed, tightening his hold. "You're nothing more than a passing fancy for my son. If you have any sense, you'll sever ties with him before you bring further shame upon yourself."

Without a second to let you answer, he releases his grip on you, spinning on his heel as he storms out of the store. It takes you a second to recuperate and process what the fuck had just gone on before you turn and quickly dash out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Sure enough, you spot him disappearing down a narrow alley.

Before you can stop to think, you chase after him, shouting as you do.

“Hey!” You snap, closing in on the distance.

Theodore was correct in one thing. He knew you well. And he knew that if you ever knew of his father, you’d get involved.

His father’s long black cloak billowed behind him, disappearing down a narrow alleyway that seemed to swallow his wrath. Fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger, you hurried after him, determined to address the injustice he had just unleashed.

Desperation laced your anger-fuelled shouts as you closed the distance. His brisk pace showed no signs of slowing, and as you reached out to grab his arm, the narrowness of the alley made it easy for him to turn around swiftly.

"How dare you touch me, you wretched Mudblood!" he hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

Before you could react, he unleashed a hex.

It hit you with an intensity that sent a shockwave of pain radiating through your body. The force of the curse flung you backwards, and you collided with the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. A searing pain radiates throughout your body, and you cough, looking down. It was akin to some sort of slash, as though he had hit you with an invisible thing, a clean cut on your thigh, and arm. You see a drop of blood drip down onto your skirt and, dazed, bring your hand up to your face. You feel something wet, and when you pull your hand back it has a crimson red glistening on your fingertips, and-

oh.

There was a cut on your face too.

As you steadied yourself, you felt the searing pain intensify, a burning sensation spreading from the point of impact on your arm. Theodore's father approached with a malevolent satisfaction etched across his face. He looms over you, glaring down at you.

"You'd do well to heed my warning, Mudblood," he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "Stay away from my son, or next time, the consequences will be even more severe."

He cast a disdainful glance at your injured form before straightening up, his dark cloak billowing as he walked away without a second thought.

You took a deep breath, shuddering as you braced your palms against the cobblestone floor of the alleyway. You push yourself up, wincing as you try to ignore the throbbing pain in your body as you gingerly get up.

You gather your scattered belongings and look around, seeing nothing but the near-empty village. Summoning every ounce of strength, you began to limp back towards the castle, the weight of humiliation pressing down on your shoulders.

You felt exposed. The idea that Theodore had hidden such a massive thing from you, made you feel all the more humiliated.

You keep your head down and soon enough appear at Hogwarts. It doesn't give you the happiness it usually does, rather you just want to go back to your room and change, and sleep.

It was at this moment that you were rather glad that you decided to come back early, for you can only imagine the looks you'd get if it was packed full of students.

Exhausted, and simply just over it, you make your way up to the dorm. There are only two other students you spotted on the way, but they were far too busy snogging the daylights out of one another to notice you.

It reminded you of…

Theodore.

How would you face Theodore? Did you want to face Theodore?

No, you resolved, you didn’t. You couldn't comprehend keeping such a key detail from someone, let alone the person you loved. Why he did that to you, you’d never understand.

You unlock your dorm room door, dropping your bag at the door, You look up and to your utter confusion, see Theodore sitting on your bed. He looks up at you, the smile on his face very quickly replaced with a deep frown.

He gets up, and-

oh.

Never mind.

You did want to be near him.

You really wanted to be near him.

It was stupid really. You didn’t feel like crying at all, but the second you saw Theodore, that feeling very quickly resolved into the urge to bury your face into your chest, and not stop.

So you did.

Theodore's arms envelop you, and he holds you impossibly tight. He swears every sob that comes from you chips away at his being and he soothes you, rubbing your back as he holds you.

Theodore can count the number of times he's felt pure anger on one hand. Sheer rage. The type that consumes you from the inside out. Once when he was 8, and his mother passed away. He remembers hearing his father disregard the whole thing with such cruel indifference he felt as though a fire was blazing him from the inside out. As with many young wizards his age, he did not know how to control this magic.

He ended up setting fire to the library that day.

The second time, in 1st year, when Alicia Thornsby had made a cruel remark about Theodore’s home life.

“Well, my mother said that Theodore must have a horrible holiday. What, with his father being-” She starts, but she didn’t get to finish.

The teachers couldn’t comprehend under what vindication a child learnt a stinging hex strong enough to permanently mar the skin of the girl, but it was the first and last time anyone dared utter a word against Theodore.

That was the 2nd, and last time Theodore had felt unbridled rage, in his 18 years of life.

That was, until today.

Because, the sight of you, with blood on your cheek, sobbing into his chest, was enough to reignite that dormant flame of anger within Theodore.

“Who?” He manages to utter, voice strained.

You remain quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional sniffle as you remain hidden in his chest.

He pulls back, lifting your chin. Your eyes are fixated on where the once-dried blood had washed onto his shirt, and he is fixated on you.

“Who?” He emphasises again, his eyes flickering down to the cut on your face. He runs his finger gently along the cut, and when he watches you wince he pauses, a flicker of pain crossing his face. The sight of you wincing, even at his gentle touch, shatters something within Theodore.

You hesitate before you speak, but ultimately, the words slip out of your mouth.

“Your father.”

The weight of those two words, "Your father," hung in the air, and for a moment, Theodore felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled.

His eyes widen momentarily, and he can't speak.

No, because there's a horrible feeling of fear, guilt, regret, perhaps a combination of all three, and it's lodged in his throat. It’s almost suffocating him, he can barely breathe, and it's constricting his airways.

The image of you, the person he held dearest, broken and bloodied, collided with the nightmare he had feared for years. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty his own flesh and blood had inflicted upon you, someone he cherished beyond measure. He speaks, and his voice is so heartbreakingly soft, a mere whisper weighed down by the burden of the truth that unfolded before him.

“I'm so, so sorry.” He utters, as though he prompted the hand that came down to hit you.

He believed he did. Because it was only by association, that you had been hurt by his father. That was why you were hurt, right?

His fault. All his fault. All his fault.

He has to take a deep breath and force himself to calm down and think.

Think.

His first priority was you. Always you. He leads you down to your bed and forces you to take a seat on the edge. You watch him as he disappears into the bathroom, reemerging with a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels down in front of you, hesitating as he slowly lifts the hem of your skirt upwards slightly. He catches a glimpse of the gash on your thigh and that horrible feeling remerges again.

He gently wipes the cloth over the cut, leaning down to press a kiss on your skin. He mutters a few words, and with a small sharp pinch, the skin on your thigh begins to stitch up slightly. Not enough to fully heal, but to ensure it would in the future.

You don’t question how he knows exactly how to heal these wounds.

You know.

He does the same for your arm. Every second he stares at the cut, he feels his resolve shatter further and further, till he can tell whether he wants to cry or ensure the murder of his father with his own hands.

His hands come up to your face, and he lets out a shaky breath. He is ashamed to even look you in the face,

His own reflection of guilt and regret is etched into his features. He keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand, tending to the wounds inflicted upon you by the person who Theodore swore would never even set his gaze on you.

The room is filled with an anguished silence as Theodore continues his ministrations.

As he tends to your injuries, Theodore's mind is a battleground of self-recrimination. The echoes of your sobbing, the memory of your blood on his shirt, haunt him like a relentless ghost. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispers again, the words heavy with remorse as if he could somehow atone for the sins of his family.

With each stitch on your wounds, he feels the seams of his composure unravelling.

When he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The shame he feels is evident.

You muster a weak smile, a hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly as you speak, your voice calm.

“It's not your fault,”

He wants to cry.

It is. It is his fault.

Theodore pulls you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox of love and guilt; a conflict that threatens to tear him apart.

As Theodore lies down with you, the weight of his guilt still hangs in the air. He holds you as if trying to shield you from the world. He utters words of apology, repeating the words like a mantra.

“I love you.”

But amidst the soothing cadence of his voice, there's an undercurrent of resolution. The conflict within Theodore reaches its zenith, and a painful decision emerges. He knows he can't risk his father ever hurting you again. The love he feels for you clashes with the harsh reality of his future.

Theodore's grip tightens for a moment as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of solace. Yet, with a heavy heart, the decision he has to make is almost clear.

“It isn't your fault. Don't apologise.” You whisper, curled into his arms.

“It is. It's all my fault. I got you involved in this,” He utters, as though the admission is poison on his tongue.

“I’m not a good person. I have a horrible family, and he’ll want me to do horrible things, and I’ll have to do them.” He admits, voice breaking.

“No, you don’t. I’m here. I love you, Theodore. I won’t ever leave, and I swear you won’t deal with that alone.” You repeat, voice laced with conviction.

“I'm beyond help. Don’t give your heart to me.” He croaks.

You lift your head up from where it was resting, eyes gazing directly into his. You remain silent for a beat, then two, before you speak.

“I already have.” You respond.

Theodore should feel relief at those words, but he doesn't. Rather, he feels sick. Because he can’t, he won't risk you getting hurt again. He kisses you and pulls you back in, laying next to one another as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, if only for one last night.

Because there was only one thing Theodore could do to make sure his father would never hurt you again.

He had to leave you.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic

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calumfmu · 2 months

Text

sugar coated melting.

Being assistant to the famous Steve Harrington wasn't an easy task, he was demanding as ever and made sure he was nice to everyone but you. But a job was a job, and it was the cost of working in Hollywood.

Famous!Steve Harrington x Assistant!reader (modern!au, with 40's Steve) 7.5k+ words

cw: older Steve Harrington, smut, loss of virginity, inexperienced!reader, AFAB reader, angst (what's new), mentions of death, swearing, 18+, mdni

Working with one of the most famous actors in the world was draining, exhausting, taxing, everything you could negatively describe. He was such a high maintenance person, he made your job seem like a constant boot camp run for the Navy Seals. Your best friend had cackled at that supply of information.

Steve wasn’t a bad person, no. He was handsome (obviously, he had been voted most handsome of the previous 2 years in a row), kind (to most people—who weren’t you), and compassionate (he let you eat his leftovers that one time you had gotten stuck on set for 16 straight hours). You were getting paid to say nice things about him if anyone had asked.

Life working as his head assistant was just a drag. It was everything you had dreamed of doing when you were a kid, working in Hollywood with big A-listers, attending red carpets, seeing the way movies worked. The job wasn’t the problem, it… was him.

A script was shoved into your hands as you thought of giving it to the man. The look on his face was burned into the back of your mind, irritation crossing his features as you imagined giving him the bad news. He always took things out on you, attitude forward as he said some slick remark.

Last minute script change, typical of productions like these. Something that anyone could expect while working on these things. Anyone with a normal level of patience would handle it well, take it with stride.

Your fingers rapped against the trailer door, aluminum warm to the touch from the sun beating down on it. Movement sounded behind the door, mumbling a few words out at you.

The door swung open, Steve rubbing at his eyes with his hair sticking in every direction. Fuck, he was asleep. It made it so much worse delivering the news.

“Heyyy, boss,” you beamed, voice raising a few octaves. You held out the script to him, cringing slightly. “Nothing too crazy, just a sliight chan-”

“No,” the door slammed in your face, your eyes closing as the bright reflection shone on you. Your smile immediately dropped, the reflection of your face on the white aluminum door looking back at you.

Red seethed through you, frustration prickling at the back of your neck. You knocked again, this day becoming even longer with each passing second.

“Mr. Harrington.” You were met with silence, ear pressing to the door to hear any movement. You waited a beat, knocking more urgently.

“Don’t want it, tell them no,” he grumbled behind the door, his voice sounded across the trailer, muffled through the closed door.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the patience to not go off on him. You were his assistant, not his agent, not the director of the film, not anything else. What did he realistically think you were going to do about a script change?

“‘M just delivering it, Mr. Harrington.” Your voice was level. “I don’t even think it’s your lines that changed.”

A faint note of music came through the door, Steve deciding to tune you out. Looking towards the sky, you squinted, finding prayer between the clouds.

“Mr. Harrington!”

Another PA walked by you, speaking into the earpiece she had with a clipboard in hand. You raised a hand to greet her, faux smile crossing your lips as you pretended everything was okay. She waved back, making her way in between the trailers and out of your eyesight.

As soon as she disappeared, your fist came up to bang at the door, louder than before.

It opened in the middle of your fit, you nearly stumbled into the trailer. You cut your eyes at your boss, biting your tongue at the swear words that threatened to come out.

The man was well past 30 years old, but still acted like a spoiled brat.

“Fine,” he said through his teeth, grabbing the stack of papers from your hand. He barely glanced at it before tossing it on the small couch behind him. Your eyes followed it, noticing the mess of bottles on the floor around it.

He followed your gaze with his own eyes, stepping into your eyesight as he closed the door slightly.

“Anything else, Yn?” A pinch of attitude at your name. Typical.

You smiled at the man, frustration disappearing as you were just grateful this episode of his didn’t last as long as it did last week.

“No, sir, that would be it for me,” you gave him a slightly bow, clasping your hands in front of you before swiveling on your heel. Descending the mini set of stairs, you rolled your eyes, back to him as you descended. “Fucking twat.”

“I heard that!” His voice was far behind you, your feet moving fast across the blacktops. You smiled back at him, waving as confusion crossed your features.

“Sorry sir, I said it was fucking hot!” You lied straight through your teeth. “Outside, you know? Pardon my language.”

You rolled your eyes once more, turning back on your mission to get back inside the building. You and him both knew what you said, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Nothing you did would get you fired, trust, have you tried.

It was like you were in your own personal Purgatory. You assumed Steve liked you, he wouldn’t fire you even on your worst days. You had fucked up many times, forgetting things, slipping up on his to do list, calling the wrong people for the wrong events. More recently, he had heard the rude nicknames you had for him, and he just didn’t seem to care.

You had heard him one time, whisper under his breath about “best help in Hollywood”. It was sarcastic of course, his eye roll you’ve been well acquainted with to follow.

The last few weeks have been more of a hell for you, Steve becoming more temperamental and moody, you becoming the worst employee on planet Earth. You begged to be fired at this point, your shot at unemployment looking more and more appetizing.

A sudden ring cut through the air, your back pocket buzzing. Pulling it out, you nearly ripped your hair out, Steve’s contact popping up on the screen. I could ignore it, you thought. This could finally be my chance at escaping him.

Your thoughts were cut short, the phone ringing again as Steve's name popped up. He didn't even let the first one finish before trying you again.

"Oh, Mr. Harrington," you breathed, hand pressed into your brow as you answered. "Hi, sorry, sir. Did you need me?"

"Need you to come back," you heard him say, voice muffled as he seemed to be doing other things on the other side of the line. Your feet responded before your brain did, autopilot in motion. "Script's not fucking working, and I just-"

Something fell in the background, and your footsteps faltered. You ignored it, rolling your eyes yet again at his antics.

"Are you okay, sir?" You asked, seeing his trailer in the distance. One of the trailer windows had its blinds half up, he paced back and forth.

You approached it, listening to him as he rambled on the phone, speaking about how much he hated this director and his damn agent for giving him these roles. Fighting back laughter, you cosigned with him, not choosing to mention that this stupid role was worth $13 million.

You raised your fist to knock at the door, it swinging open before you could even make a noise. The three dial tones of the phone call ending rung in your ears, Steve grumbling at you to enter.

"A-are you sure, sir?" Hesitation filled you, you weren't used to stepping into his trailer. You think you'd been in it once during the last seven months of production, grabbing his left behind cell phone before they traveled to location.

Steve didn't look at you the whole time, just muttering words under his breath as he held the brand new scripts in his hand. He was pacing, feet burning holes in the carpet of the trailer.

You slowly stepped in, apprehensively closing the door behind you. Hands clasped in front of you, you stood in close proximity to the door, eyes shifting over the large trailer.

He had clothes thrown over one end of the vehicle, previous scripts sitting on the makeshift table, and a half full glass of a dark colored liquid next to it. You eyed it, brow furrowing as you swore this man had been sober for the past few years--or at least, that's what the news outlets said about him. Not like you kept up.

"Sir," you interjected his thoughts, causing him to stop in place. He still didn't look at you. "Why am I here?"

Curt answers were the easiest way for you to pretend to be nice to him. You knew you couldn't be outright rude, this was your boss after all. Saying stuff under your breath and if he accidentally heard was another thing.

He ignored you.

"How is this supposed to be the Oscar nomination when they have me acting like this?" He exhaled a small shout at the end of his words, your eyes squinting at the volume. "Does this make sense to you? It's like they want me to make a fool of myself, no?"

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor. "I'm not sure how you want me to answer that, sir."

He waited a moment, sighing loudly as he collapsed on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. You looked at him then, seeing the way his chest heaved as he shook his eyes. The sun was setting now, golden hour lighting inching through the windows over his figure. His bed head was still wild, even more messy than it was previously.

"W-what would you like me to do, sir?" You asked, arms crossing over your chest as you felt the awkwardness creep into the air. This was the longest you had been in a room with him, at least, with no one around.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you took note of your 'shift' being almost over. It was a quarter to seven, your freedom lingering in the distance.

"Sir?"

"Enough!" He cut out, breaking his silence. You jumped at the words, ducking your head as his outburst came. This was the Steve you knew, the short tempered boss who was always so moody whenever things didn't go his way.

You opted for silence, not daring to speak as you awaited his next choice of words.

His arm left his face, palm running down his features as he stared into the ceiling of the trailer.

"Sorry, I just," his voice was significantly lower. He sat up on the edge of the couch, his palms resting on his thighs. "I just need you to take me home."

Your eyes closed briefly, irritation quickly crossing you as you realized this was going to be a longer day than you imagined. If Steve had needed you longer than you were scheduled, then so be it.

"Why?" The word wasn't supposed to come out, replacing the 'okay' that sat on the edge of your mouth.

His gaze cut to you quickly, searching your face as you stood there. Eyes burning slightly, you felt tears prickling. The pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, and Friends rerun marathon looking further away from you could bring you to tears.

"Because I employ you, do I not?" The harshness in his words did nothing but fuel the 'Hollywood Tell All' feature you planned for the day you quit.

"You do, sir, yes," You muttered, hands dropping to your side in defeat. "I just thought you'd drive yourself like normal. You know, day ends, and I'll see you here the next day, eight sharp like normal."

"I can't--no," he answered, standing up as he gathered his things. "I don't have to explain myself to you. You just need to take me home. You can drive my car."

The words to protest him were lost in your throat. You complied with his actions, eyes to the floor as he finished gathering his things. Following him out of the trailer, you sighed, feeling like you were walking into a lion's den.

The walk to the private lot was silent, Steve grumbling to himself as he texted someone on his phone. You noticed his phone ringing several times, his thumb finding the red button to end it each time. Curse words came out of his mouth every few seconds, a few from your own mouth being added to the mix as you thought of ways to leave.

As the two of you came across an old school beemer sitting deep in the parking lot, he threw the keys at you, settling into the passenger seat. Reluctantly, you slide in the driver's seat, feeling the leather interior beneath your fingers.

"Nice car, boss," You whispered, checking out how the car didn't even look a day out of 1985. Steve side eyed you, nodding at the compliment before returning to his phone.

"Get us there in one piece, yeah?"

You sucked your teeth as his comment, shaking your head before starting the car. It was like it was impossible for him to be a decent person. Here you were, doing something for this man which may or may not be in your contract, and he couldn't even say thank you to a compliment about his car.

The ride was silent save for an old tape that played in the car. Some band from the 80's you noted, a little too old for your taste. Steve's fingers tapped away at his phone, not focused on the LA traffic you sat in for most of the drive. He gave you directions to his swanky high rise, ignored you as you struggled to keep up with him.

You pulled into an underground garage, valet men coming immediately, opening the door for you as they took the keys. Everything happened in such fast motion, you barely noticed he was half way to the elevator. Jogging to catch up with him, you turned your own attention to your phone, thumb hovering over the Uber app.

Steve took a call, fingers rapidly pressing the elevator button as he spoke (yelled) at the person on the other end.

"No, Robin, I'm not doing that, okay?" He said, voice gruff as he glanced at you. You heard the static voice of the person on the other line, seeming to be yelling at him too.

The elevator dinged, the two of your bodies stepping in as the doors opened. The transportation app on your phone lagged, loading bar stagnant on your screen.

"No, I get it, it's been years. Fine, I-" Steve groaned in frustration, eyes repeatedly shifting over to you as you tried to tune out the phone call. You stared at the numbers the elevator passed, the first floor blinking by before you could say anything. Your phone remain in your hand, screen dimming as it began to time out.

"Robin. I know."

The voice on the other line picked up, the woman's voice growing even louder. Steve pulled the phone away from his ear slightly, grimacing at the volume. The elevator stopped at a floor labeled 'P', doors opening to a mini lobby that ended in double doors. He went over to unlock them, key fob in his hands as a beep sounded through the empty room.

As he stepped through them, phone balanced on his shoulder with his ear pressed to it, he looked at you. You stood right outside the elevator, doors closing behind you as you didn't know what to do.

He held open his front door, hand waving at you in frustration. "Well, are you coming in?"

You pressed your lips together, another wave of irritation pulling at your teeth. Eyes half rolling, you nodded, entering the doors as he closed and locked it behind you.

Steve moved fast, throwing his jacket over a couch that lay in the middle of the giant room, toeing off his shoes by its side. You stood in place, not sure what to do as your boss made his way around his home.

You took note of the place, not picturing that he would live in a place like this. It was modern, with a touch of old school fashion. Retro furniture, expensive nonetheless. Floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the city. However, not a touch of life, no personal pictures, no sign of family, or anything personal that may shine light on what type of person he truly was.

You stepped in further to the place, watching as Steve made his way to a cabinet in his kitchen. Observing him over the breakfast bar, you saw into the open kitchen, watched him as he grabbed a rocks glass and a bottle of something pushed far back into a cabinet.

He continued on the phone, placing it on speaker as he began to open the bottle. He struggled at first, face turning up as his hands twisted on the cap.

Slowly making your way around the room, you glanced around, expecting him to yell at you for even being here, despite inviting you in.

"Steve," you heard the voice on the other line say. His eyes drifted towards the phone, pouring a hefty shot. "All I'm saying is, I miss you. And care for you. I love you. I want you to be okay today, alright?"

Steve grunted in response, not noticing your proximity to him. You cleared your throat slightly, wanting to gain his attention.

The woman on the phone waited for more of a response. Once it was clear she wasn't going to get one, she sighed. "If you change your mind, you know where to find us."

"Yeah sure," his tone was rude, eyes boring into the glass of dark liquid that sat in front of him. His fingers danced at the rim.

"Eddie would've wanted you to come."

Steve's body language immediately stiffened, finger moving to hang up the phone before throwing back the shot of liquor. His face grimaced at the taste, slamming the glass back on the table.

You didn't know what to say, looking anywhere but at your boss.

"Fuck, I forgot you were even here," he suddenly said, hand running through his hair. His hand was on his hip, eyes glossy as he looked at you. You chewed at your bottom lip, nodding as he stared at you. He pointed to the alcohol, shrugging. "Drink?"

Declining, your head shook. "I don't drink, sir."

"Ahh," he said, grabbing the glass and bottle as he headed towards the couch. "Good girl."

He threw himself down on the furniture, exhaling loudly as he stretched out. His eyes were closed as you stood across the room.

"Hey, I-I think I'm gonna go," you said, beginning to walk towards the exit. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As you crossed the room, Steve's voice called out to you. Your movements stopped, turning on your heel to look at him.

"Stay?" He asked you, eyes huge as they looked in your direction. You took note of his features, blinking at him as he awaited your response. Your boss was approaching his 40's, however, in this moment, he looked just like a little kid. Pictures of him in his teen years you had seen on the Internet were pushed to the forefront of your mind.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mr. Harrington," you muttered, wanting to leave the scene.

His eyes fell to the floor briefly before he spoke out, "Steve."

"Huh?" You were confused, this sudden change in his attitude.

"You can call me Steve," he said, shifting his body as he relaxed into the couch. "We've known each other for a few years now, figured we should might as well be on a first name basis."

Fighting back the eye roll, you were reminded in the ways your boss had made your life into chaos.

"I bet you a million dollars, you don't even know my name, sir."

His gaze softened, laughing out loud as your hard exterior slowly came back.

"Yn." He muttered, smile dancing at his mouth.

You didn't know what to say, stuck between dashing out of his apartment or staying and seeing what type of Steve Harrington you were going to get today.

"I figure I should apologize for the way I've acted today," he said, turning forward as his gaze left your way. You didn't know why, but your feet followed it, walking closer so you could sit next to him. Lowering your self on the couch, you felt self conscious, like he was going to snap any second.

You snorted, "Today?"

He was staring at the bottle of alcohol in front of him, smile still on his face. Laughing at your comment, he shrugged.

"I have been a dick, haven't I?" He whispered, shaking his head as the smile slowly dropped from his face. His voice dropped to a whisper, eyes unfocused as he stared in front of himself. "Such a fucking dick."

You didn't know why, but you felt the need to comfort the man. He was clearly going through something at the moment, if the look alone on his face was any tell.

"Hey, not too bad of one," you wanted to reach out to grab him.

"Don't lie," he laughed, head turning your way. His eyes met yours, deep brown staring into the color of yours. You noticed moles dotting his face, slight lines of aging covering his features. He was still youthful, his eyes telling the tale of a once young boy who was within. "I've been terrible. And you don't deserve that."

A pang hit your heart, feeling the weight of his words. You didn't really deserve his treatment. No matter if he paid you or not.

He continued his words, eyes staring past you. "And yet here I am, sitting here with my assistant. Drinking for the first time in years." A laugh bubbled out of him, hands running down his face as he leaned further back into the couch. "You know I'm supposed to be in Indiana right now?"

You shook your head, not wanting to interrupt him. Making yourself comfortable, you took off your shoes, slipping your feet underneath yourself.

"Well, I'm supposed to be in Indiana, it's the 20th anniversary of, uhm," his voice cracked, eyes welling up with a tear that was blinked back. "It's the anniversary of one of my friend's dying, and I'm not there."

Breath catching in your throat, you didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry, sir," you muttered, hand reaching out to rest at his thigh. The touch was inappropriate, but so was this interaction you could say.

He looked down at your hand, watching your thumb as it brushed over his jeans.

"It's okay," he responded, eyes finding yours again. "It's been so long."

You nodded, eyes scanning his face as he forced the corners of his mouth to be turned into a smile. You saw right through it, recognizing the pain of a lost loved one straight through. "I don't think that matters."

His face dropped, sincerity crossing his features as he dipped to glance at your hand once more. Silence over took the two of you, the faint sounds of the streets of LA below you, Steve's staggered breathing as he willed himself not to cry. You were patient, finding comfort in the air as he found his words.

"We were all so young, and it feels so long ago, almost like it doesn't exist anymore," he finally said, voice even. "But I know it does. I just have to face it, I've been running from it ever since it happened."

He gestured to his surroundings, and the puzzle clicked into place. This fame and jerk persona that Steve carried himself in, hid the real him. He ran from all of his problems, like anyone else would, especially when dealing with something as traumatic like he had.

You didn't know the details, didn't care to ask, since it seemed to affect him so much. All you knew was that person who had passed so long ago did matter to him, in ways that you couldn't imagine.

Letting him continue his mumblings about the person he used to know, you found out that his name had been Eddie, the one you heard on the phone before. Robin, long time best friend of his, was trying to get him to come out to reconnect with everyone, he hadn't seen much of them since the 'accident', as he had called it. He kept in touch with everyone over the phone, but seeing them in person was a whole different story. It opened up old wounds that he was afraid of what it might bring out.

The story was slightly confusing, him mentioning something about how they all had nearly lost their lives, details that would leave you wondering what this man had gone through. None of this information was available about him in the public, his childhood always being a vague story that never connected.

"So you have kids then?" You questioned, confused on how you never picked up on this detail. There had to have been at least five of them, names you had never heard before now.

Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head as his hand rested on your own thigh. The two of you were much closer now, as his story unfolded. Your thighs were touching, each other's hands on resting upon each other, mere inches away from your faces.

"No, I don't have any. I guess, I should stop calling them kids now, you know?" His laugh was low in his throat. "They have kids of their own at this point, so they're far from it."

"Oh..." You were dumbfounded, all of this information being at a loss to you. You weren't here to understand, just here to listen.

"You know what, I'm sorry," he suddenly said, removing his hand from your leg. You wanted to whine at the absence, cold replacing his warm touch. "Maybe you should go, actually. This is pretty, uhm..."

"Unprofessional?" You supplied, inching closer as your boss sat there, wide eyed looking at you. In the dark light of his apartment, you could see the way his brown eyes glimmered at you. "I guess we're even then, me calling you a twat earlier."

Steve cackled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought of the events earlier.

"I knew you said that!"

You blushed, fighting back your own smile.

"It's not my fault, you were acting like one." Your lips pursed together, observing the older man in front of you.

Silence crept over you, the first break in conversation since his phone call ended earlier. Steve stared at you, eyes darting over your features as his teeth scraped over his bottom lip. You felt shy under his gaze, not knowing what to think of the moment as your boss was closer in proximity than he had ever been in your life.

"Can I make it up to you?"

His voice was low, and you were nodding before you even knew what he meant. Grabbing your cheek in his hand, the man leaned forward, capturing your lips into his. The gasp in your throat was lost in his mouth, a shuttering moan coming out instead.

His lips were soft, slightly chapped as they moved against yours. Fluttering your eyes closed, you leaned into the kiss, moving your hand so it rest at the curve of his hip, belt loop curling in your fingers.

He tasted of whiskey, the remnants of the few shots he had earlier lingering on his tongue. Steve pulled away slightly, muttering, "This okay?" against your lips as you nodded, pulling him in by his hair with your other hand.

Your breath grew more shallow as the kiss continued, leaning back as Steve began to tower over you. He shifted in his seat, covering your body with his own as he began to push you back into the couch. His figure was large over yours, scent of vanilla and cedar nearly suffocating you.

With your back flush against the couch, Steve removed himself from your lips, pressing a slight kiss against your jaw. You arched into the touch, palms running over the tight muscle of his back.

"S-steve," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as his lips kissed over your neck. Each press of his mouth sent fireworks down your spine.

He returned his lips to yours, moving with a passion that was lacking previously, confidence replacing the apprehension he once felt.

Your legs spread, inviting him to nestle in between, the thick material of his jeans rubbing against your own. A bulge was present, the thought of what lay underneath sending goosebumps over your skin.

Steve was lost in the kiss, his mouth nipping at yours as he reached down to unbutton your pants, slipping a hand to run over the front of your panties.

"W-wait," you muttered, grabbing his wrist as you pulled away from the kiss. He was confused, mouth red and swollen. His fingers pressed at your covered clit, a small shot of pleasure running through you.

"What's wrong, Yn?" The hand connected to his elbow that propped him up, ran through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. Concern crossed his features, searching your face as doubt crossed it.

"I just, uhh," you felt shy, avoiding his eye contact as the words stumbled out. "I've never really done this before?"

His eyes bulged out, sitting up suddenly as he leaned over you. Closing your eyes in embarrassment, you pressed the palm of your hand to your forehead. Way to ruin the moment.

"Oh," he breathed, eyes wide as he scanned you. "We don't-- fuck, sorry. I'm so, uh, wow."

He stood up suddenly, leaving you laying on your back as embarrassment colored your cheeks. You didn't know what to say as the older man panicked.

"Maybe, uh, maybe this was a bad idea," he shook his head, hand reaching down to palm at the front of his pants. Your eyes followed his hand, noticing the prominent bulge.

You spoke out, shaking your head as you didn't make any effort to move. The turn of events tonight made you realize how much you did want the man who stood before you.

"No, we can, it's okay," you said, reaching out to grab his hand that hung by his side. He looked down at your grasp before bringing his eyes to meet yours. "It's alright."

He hesitated, sputtering over something to say.

"Steve, it's okay," you pulled him down, his knees straddling the sides of your hips as he reluctantly settled into the couch. His eyes ran over your body, lingering at the spot where your pants were unbuttoned, cotton panties exposed.

"A-are you sure?" He questioned, moving to lean back down over you. You nodded, leaning up on your elbows to press a chaste kiss to his lips. His tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip.

A breathy moan escaped your mouth, palm caressing the front of his shirt.

"I want to, it's fine."

You knew it was now or never, this moment with your boss being an opportunity that you couldn't have passed up. You always had a crush on him growing up, the face of Hollywood you would see in your teen magazines, posters covering the room of your friends. Working for him would've never had you imagining that it would lead to this moment.

Steve took control of the situation, kissing down your neck as his hand returned between your legs, pants thrown across the room somewhere. It had happened so fast, you barely noticed the cool air that pulled goosebumps from your skin.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" He muttered, freshly shaved stubble prickling against your chin. You could barely get out a moan as your underwear was pulled down your legs, catching at the crook of your ankles.

You felt his fingers brush over your folds, pressing lightly at the slick entrance. His thumb rubbed in small circles over your small bundle of nerves, an eye-rolling feeling that spread your legs apart. His fingers pushed inside, his own moan coming out over yours.

The feeling of the intrusion had you panting, spreading your legs wider while his thick fingers worked you.

"M-more," you begged, throwing your head back as his fingers found a rhythm. He stretched you out over two fingers at this point, thumb collecting slick as it rubbed over your clit.

Steve's fingers curled inside of you, brushing against your sweet spot deep inside. The look on his face was one of admiration, mouth slack as he looked down at you falling apart under his touch.

"That's okay?" His voice was husky, deep with arousal as your hips began to move in time with his fingers. Your orgasm was approaching, hips moving on their own accord as you chased that high.

"God, yes, Steve."

Pushing your shirt up past your bra, Steve gaped at the sight before him, your fingers dipping inside your bra to toy at your own breasts.

"You look so perfect, angel," he muttered, leaning down to capture your lips into his as you fell apart. That white blinding of your orgasm crept in, starting at the base of your spine and blossoming through your entire body. Against his mouth, you shouted out, squeezing your eyes shut as he fingered you through the high.

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, legs spasming from the shocks of the orgasm. You hissed at the over stimulation, Steve pressing into your clit one last time before removing himself from you.

You felt shy suddenly, the haze from the orgasm clearing as you realized you had just done unimaginable things with your boss. Seeming to read your mind, Steve pressed small kisses around the perimeter of your face.

"It's alright," he said, hovering over you. Against your thigh, you could feel his bulge rub against you. "How are you feeling, good?"

You nodded, words at a loss in your throat. You reached up to place a hand on his neck, the other at his waist as you played with the hem of his shirt. His eyes fluttered close briefly before glancing down at where you were slightly tugging his shirt up.

He made eye contact with you, chewing on his bottom lip. "I need words, angel. Gotta make sure everything is 100% okay, okay?"

"I'm alright, Steve," you gasped, looking down where your own hand rubbed at the exposed part of his abdomen. You needed more, wanted to feel him all over you. You began to pull his shirt over his body, watching as he glanced down at you with hooded eyes. "Just need more of you."

He slowly nodded, sitting back on his knees as he unbuttoned his own pants and slid them down his legs. You giggled at him as he struggled to get them off, the smoothness he had previously disappearing as he nearly toppled off the couch.

You pulled your own shirt and bra off of you, dropping them on the floor next to the couch. "Nice own, old man," you laughed, returning to your spot against the couch.

He frowned at you, lip jutting out in an over exaggerated pout. "Heeyy, I still got it."

You were left breathless, the laughter disappearing at the tip of your tongue as his figure returned to cover your body. The tip of his cock nudged at your entrance, the wetness pooling at the head leaving you gasping.

Steve reached down to rub his cock against the length of your cunt, spreading the slick all over as you arched into him.

"Fuuckk, Steve." You hooked your ankle over his hip, warmness pooling in your belly at the thought of him being inside you. His eyes raked over you, lingering on your nipples as they shook with each moan you gave.

"You sure about this, Yn?" He asked, leaning down to dart his tongue over the skin of your breast. It sent shivers down your spine, another wave of heat rushing to your core. "I don't want to do anything you'll regret."

"'M not gonna regret this," you gasped, feeling the way the head of his cock slightly pushed at you. It burned, fuck, he was big.

The slight intrusion had you gripping at his back, leaving crescent moon marks in the skin. Your breath came out ragged, a whine scratching at the back of your throat.

Steve grunted at you, pushing in slowly as he buried his head into your shoulder. He stopped every few inches, hips stuttering slightly as he fought back to urge to fuck back into you full force.

Being an all new feeling, you couldn't help but mewl at every burn of the stretch, a fullness you had never experienced before.

He pressed to the hilt, hips flush against yours as Steve gasped for air in tune with you. He pulled his head back to make eye contact with you, forehead resting against yours. You felt the slight grinding of his hips against yours, the fullness becoming too much as you were stretched over him.

"You gotta bare with me, baby." The nickname had you moaning, fingers reaching down to dig at the plumpness of his ass. You could barely keep your eyes open, senses overwhelmed with Steve. "'S been a while for me."

Nodding, you gasped as he reared his hips back before they stuttered into you again. The movement sent a wave of slick between your thighs again, pleasure blinding you.

He found his rhythm, hips fucking into you slowly, languidly as you fell apart beneath him. You rocked with every movement of his hips, hands running over the tan skin of his body above you.

Finding his lips, you moaned against his mouth, savoring the feeling that was building up in your abdomen as the two of you moved in sync.

Steve gave you words of affirmation, hips drilling into you over and over as his cock brushed over your deep bundle of nerves. Bliss approached you once more, wetness dripping all over him as you were brought to that high again.

"Gonna cum, Steve," you whispered against his mouth, back arching into him. He reached down between you, fingers toying at your clit as they began to rub in small circles.

"Cum for me baby," he breathed, voice low as your eyes rolled back. His voice brought you over the edge, high shout escaping your lips as that pleasure took over you again.

As he fucked your through your orgasm, his own approached, hips losing their rhythm as you felt his release deep inside you. A low groan of his came out, a breathy fuck being the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes.

Your body felt light, head foggy as you came down from your orgasm. It was pure bliss what you felt, heart pounding in your chest as sleep took over you.

You shot out of bed, frantically searching for your phone as you realized the sun was creeping through the curtains. Crisp, white sheets were pooled around you, swallowing you up whole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you muttered, trying to search for your device in the darkness of the room. The dark curtains were drawn, only allowing a sliver of light in, but enough for you to realize how late in the morning it was.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, anxiety crept over you, realizing you weren't in your room. A tossing figure lay next to you, his body half covered as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. In that moment, everything from last night came crashing back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

"Hey, Yn, what's wrong?" Steve's voice was groggy, as he blinked in the darkness of the room. He glanced towards the curtains and then to you, noticing the way you covered your frame with the corner of the sheet.

"What time is it?" You half shouted, looking on the bedside table for your phone. Steve was no help, slowly stretching out his limbs as he yawned.

"Too fucking early for you to be that loud," he muttered, sitting up on his elbows. The sheet pooled around his waist, exposing his bare abdomen and a deep V that cut below his waist.

You quickly looked away, blush deepening on your face. "We have to go, Ste-Mr. Harrington. We're gonna be in so much trouble."

You heard him chuckle at you, sighing as he relaxed once again in the bed. His arms circled your waist, pulling you down into him as you continued to panic. He lay behind you, your head resting on his chest as he buried his face into your shoulder.

"Shhh," he whispered, tightening his grip on your waist. "Called in today, came down with something apparently."

You shook your head, resting your hands on his where they rested on your stomach. "Can you even do that?"

"What are they gonna do? Fire me?" He laughed, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. The anxiety that built up in your spine disappeared at his touch, the familiarity of his body replacing it. You turned in his arms, now chest to chest with the man.

His eyes were closed, sleepiness still evident over his features.

"Are you going to fire me?" You whispered at him, watching as his brow furrowed before he squinted open his eyes at you.

"What? No, what are you talking about?" He seemed genuinely confused at your question, hand rubbing at your waist. Relief took stake in your chest.

"I slept with my boss last night," you laughed at yourself, voice dropping even lower as you saw a smirk cross his face. He was smug, shaking his head with laughter as you playfully slapped at his chest.

"Pretty sure I'm the one with a lawsuit pending if anything," he said, laughter dying as you placed a small peck to his lips.

As you pulled away, he leaned into it further, tongue darting out to lick at yours. A wave of arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach.

He towered over you, mouth nipping at you as you sighed into the kiss. The two of you moved in sync, you moving onto your back as Steve leaned over your figure. A breathy moan escaped your lips, only to be cut off by his phone ringing.

"For fuck's sake," he grumbled, separating himself from you as he reached for it on his side of the bed. He answered it quickly, realizing it was his publicist as he placed it on speaker. "What d'you need, man?"

His lips returned to yours briefly, before kissing down your neck. The sheets were slowly pulled off of you as he made his way down, nipping at your chest, then your nipple, and soft kisses pressed to your stomach.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, trying to stay as quiet as possible as his publicist droned on about some appearance he had to make in the next week. Steve was staring up at you, making small confirmation 'mhm's' in response to the phone call. A coy smile was on the corners of your mouth as you looked down at him wide eyed.

'Stop' you mouthed through gritted teeth. He nipped at your hip bone in protest, shaking his head at you.

You couldn't tell if it was Steve's mouth pressing to your heat or the next word's of his publicist that made your stomach drop.

"While we're at it, Steve, how about we talk how Page Six has pictures of you with a mysterious somebody in your apartment building?" They grumbled, voice staticy as it came through the phone. You felt Steve smirk against you, tongue lapping between your legs. "Aren't we a little too old to bring people back to your own place like that?"

A moan escaped you as you gripped at his hair. Steve looked up at you, wide eyed as he reached up to slap a hand across your mouth. 'Shhh', he mouthed, his own laugh threatening to spill out as his publicist's voice faltered at the noise.

"St-steve?" It said, apprehension in the tone. "Are you doing what I think you're doing? Really, man?"

Steve laughed as his hand remained over your mouth, muffling the sounds of your own laughter. They would recognize it if they heard it. He grabbed the phone from where it lay abandon, speaking into it as his thumb hovered the 'end call'.

"Something came up, gotta take care of it," he grimaced at you as you licked his hand. "Bye!"

He hung up right as the voice protested, tossing his phone aside as he leaned over you once again. His long hair hung in his face, eyes raking over your naked body.

"Now... where were we?"

an: I had to sneak in a line from All of Us Strangers because that movie was so moving. If you know, you know. I promise one of these days, I won't make Steve an asshole right off the bat, he'll be lovable.

masterlist. inbox and requests are open!

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #fanfic #my writing #writing my dark fantasies and praying they come true to my alt universe self

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oomisluvr · 2 years

Text

SPOILED ROTTEN

(SEE: RICHBOY!SAKUSA SPOILS YOU A LITTLE TOO MUCH).

“ABSOLUTELY not.” He deadpans, glaring at you like you’ve just kicked his dog and insulted his mother. It’s not a kind tone, “Don’t ask me again.”

“Kiyoomi, you always do this,” you seethe, ignoring the discomfort of the round-cheeked waitress holding the card reader, “Let. Me. Pay.”

“Fuck. No.” He returns, redirecting his attention to the server and handing her his card, “I’m terribly sorry about her. Debit, please.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” You say as she scurries off, clearly amused at the battlefield the two of you have created in the center of this high-end, dimly lit restaurant. You wouldn’t be surprised to find a moviestar seated at the table behind you.

He repeats your name back to you in the same tone you used with him, a handsome grin on his face, “Yes, my love?”

“Stop paying for everything!” You demand, “People already think I’m using you for your money, and you aren’t really helping my case.” You’ve seen the tweets. Some are accusatory. Some are happy for you. None of them attest to your character.

“Well,” he leans over the table, finding your hands and softly stroking the knuckle there, trapping you in his coffee-cold gaze, “Are you using me for my money?”

“No,” you grumble, a little flustered at his forwardness, “But still–”

He releases your hand as the words leave your mouth, a satisfactory smile tugging at his lips, “Then there’s no issue. Though, I wouldn’t be opposed to you using me for money. I’m a useful guy.”

“Kiyoomi, that’s not the point–”

“As a matter of fact,” he sifts through his wallet to find what he’s looking for, gently sliding it across the table when he locates whatever it is, “I’ve been meaning to give this to you.”

The young waitress returns with a smooth leather checkbook and a pen. He thanks her as she walks off, delivering his signature to the flimsy receipt with a few flicks of his wrist, “What’s twenty percent of two hundred? I wasn’t good at math.”

You don’t answer that, “You can’t be serious. Kiyoomi, I can’t accept–”

“Is fifty dollars enough to tip? Fuck it, I’ll just leave sixty.”

“This is your credit card.”

“You have great eyesight,” he comments, shrugging like it’s nothing, “And I have good credit. Use it for whatever. I’ll pay it off.”

You nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all, “Since when were you so confident?”

“When you started giving me attention,” He grins easily, “I’d do a lot of things to get you to pay attention to me.”

His transparency catches you off guard, “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he fires back, “You’re too pretty to not be taken seriously.”

You sigh, face feeling hot.

“You’re too much,” It takes a great effort to fight back the grin that threatens to break through, to suppress a smile at his ease, “Let’s go home.”

“Why don’t we go find something sweet?” He offers, standing to help you into your coat, “There’s a good ice cream place around here that stays open late.”

Your shy smile gives Kiyoomi enough of an answer. Thanking the staff as the two of you head for the door, he slithers a sneaky arm around your waist.

“I’ll even let you pay,” he flirts, pulling you closer to combat the late-night temperatures, “With your new credit card, of course.”

This was so self-indulgent it's actually ridiculous. Marrying rich is a very real, very serious goal of mine. Hmu for offers serious inquires ONLY <33

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #msby #msby sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa fluff #hq x reader #hq sakusa #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

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nsharks · 3 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths.

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all."

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away.

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago.

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom.

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down.

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant.

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully.

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone.

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering.

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense.

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away.

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning."

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you.

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while."

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides.

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls.

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck.

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out.

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills."

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you.

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head.

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #fanfiction #ghost #zombie apocolypse au

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thought--bubble · 2 months

Text

Things We Cannot Change

Dark Aemond X (Strong Niece Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Word Count: 1938

Aemond (Canon Era) Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners & Dividers by @arcielee

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Reader's hair is brown. That's the only descriptor due to the request received, Breeding kink, Targcest, Virginity Loss. Mental abuse, mentions of canon deaths.

On your knees.

A place you thought you would never be, but alas here you are. On your knees looking up at the cold, cruel face of your uncle.

Once a boy you played with, read with, considered a friend. Now, he holds the life of your youngest brother in his hands. The only member of your family you have left.

"I ask you, Aemond-" He interrupts you with a cruel chuckle.

"King Aemond, my dear"

You cringe at the title. The war that ravaged both of your families put him on that throne. The thought of all you had lost made you sick.

"I ask you, your grace, to please spare my brother and I. There are so few of valyrian blood left." You keep your head bowed, your knees aching against the cold stone beneath them.

The both of you go quiet, you could still smell your mothers burning flesh, hear her screams as she was scorched and eaten alive in front of your very eyes. All for nothing, you thought. Your entire family is dead for Aemond to be the one to ascend the throne.

Your mother had been executed immediately, no court, no trial, just a woman and a dragon. Aegon II had demanded that you be executed as well, but luckily for you, he did not survive the trip back to the capital. Thus, your younger brother and you had been delivered to Aemond as traitors.

Followers of the false queen is what Aegon II had called you. Worthy of a public execution.

"On that front, we can agree bastard" He places his fingers delicately under your chin and tilts your face up towards him.

"I fear that dragon riders may become a thing that history boasts about if we are not careful in our decisions." He rubs his thumb gently across your bottom lip.

"So you and I shall marry, to preserve the bloodline," you audibly gasp at the absurd statement. You were now a mere strong bastard not fit to be queen.

"B-but your grace, I have been stripped of all royal titles. Surely I am not worthy to marry the King"

"You are not." he says curtly."But, preserving our dragon blood is of higher importance than that of courtly titles." He removes his hand from your chin and steps back, clasping his hands behind his back.

"The choice is yours, dear niece. Marry me or face the blade. If not to breed you, I have no further use of you."

You gulp audibly as your eyes begin to well. "I shall serve my duty to the realm your grace."

The betrothal was announced to the realm with mixed reactions. Some houses understand the reasoning others are very upset that a bastard would be queen and not one of their highborn daughters.

All concerns fell upon deaf ears because Aemond knew what he wanted, and he wanted you. As king, he would have exactly what he wanted.

Your life changed very little after the announcement of the betrothal. You were given chambers instead of being in the dungeons, but you were not trusted.

You were escorted everywhere you went, and the incoming title of Queen did little to garner you any respect.

Everyone knew what you were. A vessel to breed valyrian blooded babies and nothing more.

What was worse was the embarrassment.

Aemond made sure to embarrass you at any opportunity. He would have you serve him at meal times instead of servants. Pull his bath for him. Even perform his ridiculous hair care routine. All of it meant to demean you.

You had hoped that after the wedding, he would stop this disgusting showcase and allow you at least a modicum of comfort, but even in that thought, you were mistaken.

After the two of you had been escorted to your marriage chambers and left alone, Aemond ordered you to pour his wine and stand in the corner. Once again, as if you were a servant and the treatment had finally become too much for you to bare.

"I'll take the sword," you say after moments of silence have fallen between you.

"Pardon?" Aemond lifts an eyebrow and looks up at you.

"I will take the sword, i do not wish to live this way for years and years." You stand with conviction. "I ask only that you spare Aegon so that he might have children in the future."

Aemond chuckles and sips his wine. "The offer has expired, dear wife. You are mine now, to toy with as I please."

"I was kind to you!" The words almost echo throughout the room. The connotation is clear.

"You were." He simply nods and continues to look into your eyes, no clear expression on his face.

"Then why do you treat me like this? Like a-" You search your mind for the words but come up empty.

"Like a traitor? Because you are a traitor. You knew the laws of the world in which you live. You did not at any time attempt to talk my dear sister out of war, did you?" He stands up from his chair and stalks towards you.

"My sister Helaena took her own life, my nephews murdered in the cruelest of fashions." His breath is heavy as he glares at you with his one eye. "You were complicit in their deaths. How should i treat you?"

"As if I lost nothing? You killed Luke. You weren't complicit in it. You did it with your own hand!" You can feel your rage bubbling up in your chest and try to suppress it to no avail.

"You killed Rhaenys and Daemon. There is far more dragon blood on your hands than mine. " You regret the words as soon as you say them, expecting his wrath to be swift and harsh.

He clicks his tongue and looks away from you. "That may be true, but there will not be anymore dragon blood spilled by me. Least of all yours."

He walks toward you but stops when he sees you backing away from him and sighs. "There are things we can not change. The war. The losses we suffered." He continues to advance on you but moves much more slowly.

"Although I believe I can change this, your fear of me."

"I am not afraid." You attempt to sound convincing, yet the shake to your voice gives you away.

"Let me try," He says gently as he gets close enough to cup your face. "This needn't be a marriage filled with fear and hate. We are all that is left of the house of the dragon. Let us rebuild, together"

Your heart cramps in your chest at his words and soft demeanor. This is the Aemond you remember. The boy who was always gentle with you, kind. Not the monster who murdered your brother and countless others in a ruthless pursuit for the throne.

"I have known fear. I do not wish to spend the remainder of my days being the cause of yours." He presses his forehead to yours and kisses the tip of your nose.

"Will you stop? The public shaming?" A tear trickles down your cheek at the thought of continuing to live in this manner. The abuses mounting, the shame unbearable.

"Yes. twill not happen again." He takes your face in his hands and lifts until your eyes meet. "This i swear."

He gently kisses your cheek where the tears have started to fall.

"We have all shed enough tears for a thousand lifetimes." He wipes a tear from your other cheek with his thumbs. "No more."

He pulls you close to his chest, gently swaying from side to side. "Shhh." He tries to comfort you as he strokes your hair.

He very softly brings his lips to yours and whispers. "Let me be more than the monster, I implore you."

You press your lips to him in desperation. Do you love him? No.

Will you ever truly trust or forgive him? Most likely not, but you want to feel something. Anything other than the dull ache that you have carried in your chest since the day Luke died.

If Aemond was aware of your true feelings, he did not let on. He reciprocated your neediness with hungry kisses of his own before lifting you and carrying you over to the bed chamber.

"I always wanted you to be my wife," He admits between kisses. "Always"

You choose not to respond, instead pulling at his clothes. He drops you down onto the bed and rucks up your skirts. Pulling your small clothes down quickly.

"Close your eyes," He whispers huskily, kissing up your inner thigh. You comply with his demands, closing your eyes and turning your mind off. Surrendering entirely to the physical sensations you are experiencing.

He brings his hand to your heat, pushing you open before bringing his tongue down upon you. The feeling is overwhelming at first, and you can't help but cry out.

He tightly grips your thigh as he nudges his nose against your clit, running his tongue along your tight entrance. Never before have you felt something like this and as if your body is controlled by an invisible force your hips buck up towards his face.

He chuckles and grips your hips, holding you in place. "Patience my love, patience" He circles your clit with his tongue, the gentle flicking driving you to near madness.

"Oh gods," you bite your bottom lip as an unfamiliar pressure builds up in your lower stomach. "Aemond!" You clench at the bedsheets beneath you, the breath tight in your lungs as a searing fire moves throughout your entire being.

"Gods!" You arch your back as the feeling hits a peak before dropping back on the bed, your breath coming out in short huffs.

Aemond chuckles as he removes his breeches his hard cock slapping against his stomach. "Im going to fill you with my babes and everything will be better."

He moves on top of you prodding your entrance with the tip of his cock. "Hold onto me, this may hurt for just a moment" He warns, gentleness in his voice.

You head his warning, wrapping your hands around his back, as he begins to push into you, the stretch painful, not excruciatingly so but shocking nonetheless.

"eeeek," you can't help the slight screech that escapes your throat.

"Shhhh, it is alright." He comforts while he continues pushing into you until his hips meet yours.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his breathing labored.

You are ok. The pain, the fullness. It is something, and after so long of feeling nothing, the something, even if it is pain, is relieving.

He thrusts his hips against you, steadily increasing his pace. "You will be with child soon. We will be happy then, " He huffs.

You close your eyes and hold his head to you as he buries his face in your neck gently kissing at the sensitive skin there, and for the first time since the war began you feel calm.

His grip on you tightens as he buries himself to the hilt in you again. "We will be happy. we will" he grunts into your ear as the pressure once again builds up in your lower stomach.

As the two of you reach your peaks together, trembling and smiling you allow yourself to believe.

Even if just for a moment. That he is right. He is telling the truth.

That even after so much death and loss, the house of the dragon can stand tall and be happy once again.

To be added to taglists click HERE

#dark aemond x reader #aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x niece!reader #ewan mitchell verse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #aemond one eye #jess fics #my war criminal bf

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sapphickorro · 9 months

Text

Office Affair´ˎ˗

pairing(s) - Assistant!Natasha Romanoff x fem!CEO!Reader, brief Wanda Maximoff x fem!Reader

summary: Being the CEO isn’t easy especially if your competitors are trying to sway you over, luckily your assistant is there to ground you when your brain gets fogged by lust. warnings: 18+ MDNI, cursing, dirty talk, workplace affairs, fingering (R receiving), oral sex (R receiving), Dom!Natasha, Sub!Reader, smut! word count: 2,360

A/N: This fic had been in my inbox for like months, sorryyyyy :3

ao3 - masterlist

Running a company was never going to get easier. Waking up early, leaving work late. Phone calls every hour, board meetings every week. Your daily schedule was hectic. You were just lucky to have an assistant who helped you work through it all.

Natasha Romanoff had been working as your assistant for a little under a year now. Originally being your secretary, you had given her a raise due to your prior assistant slacking on the job and not meeting your demands. Natasha seemed to be able to meet your demands far better than your previous assistant, even going as far as knowing what you need before you even ask for it from her.

This morning, Natasha had just dropped off your coffee. She knew your order by heart now and was making sure to deliver your coffee at the same time every morning.

“Is there anything else you need from me, Y/N?” After a while of her working for you, you went on a first name basis with each other. You always felt as if the formalities were too posh for you.

“No, thank you Natasha. I’ve got a meeting today so I’ll be needing you to watch over the office for a bit while I’m in it.” You sigh, your fingers rubbing over your temples.

Natasha opens her mouth to ask if she could help you destress but before she could, a knock echoes through your office. You look up, motioning for Natasha to answer the door. She doesn’t hesitate and twists the door handle revealing your secretary.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N. Wanda Maximoff has arrived for your 10am meeting,” your secretary says as she hands you a clipboard of notes for the meeting.

“Thank you, can you bring her in here?” You ask and she nods, walking away from the doorway to gather Wanda for your meeting.

“I trust you to make sure my files are given to Sharon?” You ask Natasha as you stand up, leading her to the doorway. Sharon was your CTO and you had some rather important files to deliver before the evening. Natasha delivers a simple nod before exiting the door, passing Wanda Maximoff on her way down the hallway that leads to your office.

Wanda was adorned in a red suit, a smug smirk plastered over her lips. Her eyes glazed over Natasha’s for a mere second before looking back at what was in front of her.

Wanda enters your office, you greet her as you stand by the door. Her hand shoots out to shake yours and you notice how soft yet cold her palms were. You usher her into your office, shutting the door behind her. She takes a seat at the edge of your desk, her eyes not being subtle in the way they rake over your sheer button up shirt and pencil skirt that had a slit at the right side. Your hair was in a bun with two strands falling down the sides of your face.

“You’re a sight to see,” Wanda utters with a sultry tone in her voice, still holding her smirk as she meets your eyes again. Wanda was known to be a flirt, it was her strongest trait.

“Well, I can say the same for you,” you respond, matching her vigor. You walk to the side of your office opening a mini fridge with a different assortment of drinks inside.

“You want anything to drink?” You lean down to grab yourself a bottle of whiskey.

“Drinking in the morning? How naughty,” you flinch as her hand comes over your back, she glides it down your lower half ever so slightly. Before her palm can reach your ass though, you quickly straighten your posture, standing up again.

“Whiskey?” You ask, grabbing two glass cups from your shelf of glassware. You advert your gaze from hers as you’re sure you’d fumble over your words when you turn to look at her again. Wanda doesn’t miss the dark shade of rose adorning your face.

“That’d be great Y/N,” you pour two glasses of whiskey before turning to walk behind your desk, taking a seat at your office chair. You place the two glasses down on the table, taking a sip out of yours and leaving a light lipstick mark over the rim.

Wanda comes around to your desk to take a seat at the edge again, this time adjacently beside you.

“Let’s talk business?” You ask, trying to maintain eye contact with her but failing.

“I was thinking of buying your patent on your most recent project,” Wanda speaks with a confidence in her voice, it was as if her voice was trying to lure you in.

“I don’t know if that’s feasible, Wanda,” you’re shocked at her preposition. Wanda’s company being a rival company to yours made it so you were always constantly trying to one up each other on newer and better inventions. You had never thought that she would downright attempt to buy the patent on your latest project to hinder your company.

“Name a price sweetheart,” you pause, her nickname causing your brain to jumble up again.

“I don’t know Wanda, we’ve been working on this for a while now and-” she cuts you off with her thumb running over your lower lip.

“You had some lipstick smudged,” she says, staring at your lips. Your face flushes, with your breathing getting heavier. Wanda’s hand drops down to your chin, lifting it up so she can face it directly.

“How can the enemy of my company look… This. Good,” your breath hitches at your throat as Wanda’s face slowly drops down towards yours. Her eyes staring at your lips. She starts leaning in, close enough to feel the soft warmth of her breath hit your lips.

Wanda gets cut off by the door before she can capture your lips into hers. The two of you snap your head towards the door, seeing Natasha standing at the other side.

“Sorry to interrupt, your meeting’s gotta get cut short as it seems that we’ve double booked Y/N for another meeting during this time. So sorry,” her voice feigns sorrow but Wanda could tell that her facade was fake. You quickly turn away from Wanda, your face getting impossibly hotter.

Wanda stands up, taking a look at you before looking back up to Natasha. “Please hurry, Y/N urgently needs to get ready for her second meeting.”

Natasha’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes. She has a staredown with Wanda, their fake politeness not being noticed by you.

“I’m sorry Wanda, we can discuss this another time?” You finally gather yourself to stand up, leading her out the door. Wanda nods, not answering as her eyes squint in anger at Natasha.

Once Wanda leaves, Natasha slams the door shut.

“What the fuck was that?” She stares at your eyes. Your eyes widen staring back at hers.

“What was what?” You answer defensively at Natasha’s vulgar demeanor.

“You were just gonna let her fuck you?” Natasha walks towards you, causing you to back up with every step she takes until your back hits the edge of your desk.

“Were you spying on me?” You ask with even more fervor. “No! I was gathering your files for Sharon before I saw Wanda practically about to slobber all over you. You DO realize that you have glass for walls on one side of your office.” She gets impossibly closer to you, her tall body casting a shadow over you.

“I-I don’t know what that was,” your voice falters. Your eyes look down to her chest, finding it impossible now to maintain eye contact with her out of shame.

Natasha steps back, sighing loudly as her hand rubs her eyelids before running through her short hair.

For a CEO, you certainly don’t look like one right now. Your eyes look down at your fingers fiddling with each other. Your guilt cast over your face as you’re unsure what Natasha is going to say next.

Natasha catches a sight of your shriveled up demeanor and goes to close the curtains on your windowed wall. She locks the door to your office before sauntering towards you. Her body looms over you once again, this time her hand goes under your chin to lift your gaze towards her.

No words are shared as she leans in and catches your lips into hers. Your eyes shoot wide for only a moment before closing them to kiss Natasha back with just as much passion. Your hands wrap over her neck as her free hand goes to grip your waist.

You whimper into the kiss, allowing Natasha an opening to slide her tongue into your mouth. She instantly invades every corner of your mouth with her tongue, her hands slowly drift down your body until it reaches the waistband of your skirt. She slips her fingers through and slowly slides down your skirt alongside your panties.

Her hand comes to cup your cunt, a moan exiting your mouth at the contact. You both lean back to catch some air, your eyes staring into each other. Natasha’s eyes slowly drift down to her palm as she starts to circle around your opening with her middle finger.

“Shit, you’re drenched, boss. Is this all for me?” She looks back up at your eyes, lifting her hand back to show her glistening fingers. You nod coyly, the heat on your face being shown through your cheeks.

Natasha stuffs her slick fingers into your mouth watching as you obediently take them in, sucking them clean. She groans, “god you’re so good for me.”

Her praise causes your clit to pulsate, yearning for touch. Natasha spares you choosing not to torture you any longer, she pulls her hands back to give you multiple pecks over your face before dropping down onto her knees.

Your hands lean behind you to grip onto the edge of the desk as Natasha lifts your leg over her shoulder. She peppers your thighs with kisses in hopes of leaving a mark. You watch her intently, wanting to ingrain every image of this event into your head.

When Natasha finally reaches the area that had been aching for so long, she gives one quick swipe of her tongue from the back to the front. A whimper exits your mouth, your hands grip onto the desk turning your knuckles white.

Natasha’s eyes bore into your lidded ones, drinking in the way she made you turn into mush from just a swipe of her tongue. She dives back in with her tongue to circle around your clit. Your breaths come out labored and heavy from her ministrations.

A moan elicits from Natasha’s mouth as she moves her tongue to your cunt, your wet liquids seeping out. Your attempts at containing your moans turn into broken sobs and whimpers. Natasha leans back before prodding her fingertip into your soaked entrance. She inserts one finger at first to tease you further, her finger curls inside of you as she slowly pumps it in and out at an agonizing pace. Her eyes are fixated on her glistening finger as she watches it disappear and reappear from your hole, a mesmerizing sight for her.

You groan, “please, Natty.” She smirks as she looks back up at you, “does your greedy little hole want more?”

You nod fervently down at her, your pussy clenching at her single digit in anticipation of more.

“Of course a greedy slut like you wants more,” she feigns her disgust at you, beaming internally at how much she’s able to turn you on.

“But, since I’m so nice,” Natasha says as she inserts a second finger, a moan escaping your mouth at her dexterity. Natasha leans back in to leave soft kitten licks over your clit.

You whine again ready to beg for her to speed up her thrusts but before you can, Natasha notices your need and starts pumping her fingers into you at an intensified speed. The tip of her fingers hitting your spot every moment she curls into you. Her mouth starts to lap over your pussy at a rapid pace.

“N-Natty fuck!” Your head tilts back at the sensations overtaking your body.

“You gonna cum for me, slut?”

Your mouth opens as broken words fall out, “y-yes! Please, please, please - fuck!” Your hips start grinding on her fingers, wanting her impossibly deeper inside of you.

“You think Maximoff can make you cum the way I do?” She asks with a growl in her voice. When you don’t answer her, far too lost in your pleasure, she slows down her pace, “Answer me!”

You look back down at her, shaking your head as you answer, “No! Only you Natty, only you.”

Natasha soaks in your words as she feels her ego being fed. “If that’s the case then, cum for me. Let go.” She moves her head back onto your clit, sucking on it. Her fingers get impossibly faster, hitting your insides so perfectly.

Your mouth opens again, strings of curses followed with Natasha’s nickname falling out. “F-Fuck! Natty!” You yell out as you feel your orgasm snapping, a strong wave of pleasure encompassing your entire body. Natasha’s eyes look up at you to memorize every expression of your face as you cum.

Natasha’s fingers slow down as she lets your ride out your orgasm, your breaths getting slower and lighter by the second. Your knuckles release their grasp on the edge of the desk as Natasha stands up to place a hand over your waist, holding you up in place as you fall limp in her arms.

The hand with her digits inside of you slides out causing you to whimper at the emptied feeling. You open your eyes to catch her lifting the fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean causing you to clench your now emptied hole.

Natasha groans with an exaggerated eyeroll at your taste, “fuck you taste good, sweetheart.”

You giggle at her, your face red and damp with sweat. She smiles back at you as you lean in to start dropping kisses over her neck.

“Let me return the favor?”

#﹔﹒ korro writes﹒ ෆ #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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look-at-the-soul · 2 months

Text

Every little thing you do- Prologue

Tommy Shelby x reader (Mini series)

Summary: Y/N has been Tommy’s best friend since childhood. She had always been there for him when he needed her the most. Now as the Shelby family are in a better position, Y/N will need Tommy’s support when something she didn’t expect happens.

A/N welcome to this little new adventure! This story started as an idea @lyarr24 shared a while ago and I just stared at it for a few minutes until the ideas started “appearing” in my mind. This particular part turned somehow into a comedy show on its own 😂🤭 it was fun and light to write, but it’s going to get angsty… thank you for sharing your unique ideas as usual! It took me some time but I’m always into giving each story it’s own time. And of course @justrainandcoffee thank you for creating this beautiful moodboard for this story! You totally nailed it!

Word count: 2,196

Arriving at the Garrison, Y/N headed straight towards the private booth where the Shelby’s were reunited.

“You should’ve seen the look in Polly’s eyes when she found out we were buying the stallion.” John cracked and threw his head back with a loud laugh.

Arthur winked at Y/N and decided to mess with his brother.

“Erm John boy.” He cleared his throat, just as Tommy gave Y/N a smirk, they were both sitting facing the door unlike John who had his back at it.

Tommy used the chance to kick his youngest brother in the shin, as a warning.

“So you think it’s fucking hilarious John Michael Shelby.” Y/N imitated Polly’s voice and mannerisms perfectly.

John’s face paled as the smile left his face and he straightened his back.

Arthur snorted and then started laughing uncontrollably as John turned around to find Y/N standing by the door.

“Shit! Y/N you scared the fuck out of me.”

“Get in here sweetheart.” Arthur called for her, making room next to him. “That was brilliant, you’ve got a talent.”

“You sound just like her.” Ada praised, leaning over the table to kiss her cheek.

“You’re late.” Tommy offered her a glass of whiskey.

Taking a sip, she nodded. “The lady I work for had a terrible day, didn’t want me to leave.” She replied titling her head to the side because Arthur was right in the middle, sandwiched between her and Tommy.

“And how did it go?” He asked over the laughs of his siblings.

“My feet are killing me, I had to walk all the way back… but I really needed a drink tonight.

“Why? Scott didn’t pick you up?” He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

Against his best judgment, he agreed to give Y/N’s boyfriend a place among the peaky men. He didn’t like or trusted him but he was doing it for Y/N and the friendship they’ve always had. Over time, he even gave Scott a car under the condition to drop and pick up Y/N from her work every day.

“We had an argument this morning, he got pissed and I asked him to not.” She lied.

She knew how protective Tommy could get, specially around Scott. They were already past the phase where Tommy would’ve to intervene and put her boyfriend in his place, then Scott would come for her arguing that she let that gangster say and do whatever he pleased.

But Tommy knew Y/N better than that, and this wasn’t the first time she lied to cover for her boyfriend’s attitude.

“What’s so funny?” Polly demanded to know as she joined them in the booth. Staring at Arthur and John’s faces she knew, so she shot Y/N a long look. “You’re imitating me again?!”

The Shelby brothers tried to hide their amusement but all of them failed.

“We wanted to mess up with John, Pol. Sorry.” Y/N looked down embarrassed for being caught.

Polly smiled down at her, it was impossible to stay angry with someone as Y/N.

“Well I hope it was a good one.” The smile grew bigger.

Ada laughed and stood for her aunt to take her place. “You should’ve seen John’s face, he went pale.” Waving at them, she left.

“Hey you need to talk to Finn, he’s getting out of hand these days” Polly warned her nephews. “I asked him to deliver a few letters and he had the audacity to answer he wasn’t a mail boy anymore.”

Tommy shook his head and after a long puff to his cigarette, he answered; “I’ll talk to him.”

Y/N’s chuckle made him look at her. “What? Are you really going to lecture the poor boy? Tom, if I remember correctly, you answered your father something similar back in the day but worse and that caused your first fight.”

Tommy shuddered at the memory. He was so done with his father demanding favors from him and his brother Arthur, so one day he told him he was done with his bullshit and Arthur Sr answered with a curse, threw a glass against the wall and pushed him, Tommy pushed him back. Luckily Arthur Jr and Y/N were close and could intervene to stop them from getting any further.

That night, Y/N stayed with him outside until Tommy had calmed, then she asked her parents, who were neighbors to the Shelby’s if he could sleep on the couch. Y/N’s mother made him some tea and offered him the comfort he wasn’t able to find next door.

They started as neighbors, then Tommy and Y/N became friends until Tommy trusted her blindly. After the war she was the only one who could understand him.

Tommy took a swing of his drink. “You’re not going to tell him that, are you? I’ve a reputation to keep.” He finally added.

“Leave him Pol, the poor boy is probably frustrated because he haven’t had a woman yet.” Arthur chuckled at his own joke.

“Hey,” Y/N called everyone in the room, “leave Finn out, you’re nothing but a bad influence.”

John shook his head and raised his hands as if saying he wasn’t part of it.

“Oh please Mr.-I-want-to-marry-Lizzie-Stark, really?” Y/N raised her eyebrow at him.

“Tommy! Why the hell did you tell her?!” John exploded against his brother, who was already laughing out loud, head thrown back.

Polly had to look twice at her nephew, his guard was down he seemed to be relaxed for once. Since the war he had changed a lot, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“And besides, I corrected my path, married to Esme didn’t I?” John mumbled chewing on his toothpick.

Y/N nodded, deciding to leave that conversation, it’s was funny to tease John. “I better go now, it’s getting late.”

Tommy was on his feet the second she announced her plans.

“C’mon I’ll drive you.” Tommy offered his best friend.

Giving Polly a hug, she waved at the Shelby brothers goodbye.

After driving for a while, Y/N noticed Tommy took another route.

“Before you ask me,” Tommy spoke softly, “I’m going to show you something.”

She opened and closed her mouth. “You’re so mysterious.”

Tilting his head, Tommy clicked his tongue. “When you see it, you’ll understand.”

“Is it the new horse?” Y/N asked impatiently.

Tommy shook his head and passed her the cigarettes and matches to light it. “Why don’t you tell me what happened with Scott?”

“Something really stupid, he got pissed over nothing.”

“Really? Tell me something I don’t know already.”

Y/N sighed and took her time to exhale the smoke out of the window. “He asked me to ask you for some money, when I told him that he still owed you from the last time he got furious at me.”

“But you gave me the money for that loan.” Tommy’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“I did, but it wasn’t his money.” Y/N explained embarrassed after confessing Tommy the truth.

It was now time for Tommy for sigh. Eyes focused on the road, he didn’t want to be a pain and say I told you, Y/N was the only person he could trust and he wanted her to trust him the same way.

“Look this happens all the time, your Mum used to pay your dad’s bills behind his back, I just couldn’t take another one yet, he’s trying to find a better job and I think he’s going to propose soon.”

Tommy’s breath got caught up in his throat, he was trying to process the possibilities.

“So… is he the one?” He finally asked.

“Well he’s my boyfriend.” Y/N rushed to answer. “I just don’t know if he will let me keep working for Lady Winchester.”

“If you need a job, you know there’s always a spot for you at the Shelby Company Limited.” Tommy took the last puff of his cigarette and threw it outside the vehicle.

“Maybe I’ll need it later. Thank you.” Y/N felt more than grateful to have someone like Tommy around, he had always been there for her and her siblings specially after his business took off and he started to earn more money than anyone around. In her eyes, that didn’t make him change, if anything he became more generous.

But Scott on the other hand, was tender and good to her, he was fun to be around, always brought flowers to her. He wanted to have his own business one day, unfortunately life had been hard and it was taking him longer to make it.

Taking a turn, Tommy stopped in front of a huge gate, the property guarded by the gate wasn’t a house, it was a freaking mansion!

And her best friend was opening the gate as if he owned the property.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Y/N asked looking out the window.

“Drive over here!” Encouraged Tommy with a huge smile.

Her heart started beating faster, he showed her how to drive and even let her do it when she wasn’t allowed to. But this was wrong, it felt like they were trespassing, she could feel her heart pounding as Tommy shouted for her to hurry up.

Following his instructions, Y/N parked the car next to the fountain.

“I wanted you to see this first…” His smile couldn’t get any bigger as he opened his arms wide and looked around proudly. “I bought this place.”

Her jaw dropped, she was lost for words.

“What do you think? I’ll build a place for the horses in the back.” Tommy explained, eyes shining.

“Woah… I don’t know what to say Tom.” A hand covered her mouth, still shocked to form anything coherent. This house looked bigger than Lady Winchester’s and that was a bloody mansion too! “You always said you’d get yourself a decent place and a big house, and look at how far you’ve come!” She felt genuinely happy for him, Tommy had always worked so hard, always found a way to help his people and those around him. If anyone deserved this, it was him.

“I’ll even have my fucking office here, and there’s a grand salon for parties.” He explained as he waited for her to step inside.

“Parties?!” She laughed nervously.

“A ball dance and shit.” He took a look around.

“You’ll need loads of furniture to fill this place.”

Tommy chuckled. This was unthinkable a few months ago, now it was a reality, he’d had the big place he dreamed of when he was a kid.

“You got a fireplace! In the tea room!”

He followed Y/N’s voice, she was now standing in the middle of the dining room.

“This looks like it belongs to a Lord.”

“You can call me Lord Shelby then.” He winked at her and they both laughed at how ridiculous it sounded.

“Downstairs it’s the wine cellar.” He added hiding his hands inside the pockets of his pants. “Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” She nodded. “This is a dream! I’m so happy for you!” Y/N then went to give him a hug.

A bold movement for the rest of the world, but to her it was just natural, they’ve been friends since forever. She was the one comforting him when his mother passed away, the one to help him hold it together after the war.

“You’ll love the kitchen, it’s huge but they’re doing some renovations already, I’ll show you once it’s done.”

“Looks like I’ll need to make an appointment from now on.” Y/N teased him.

Tommy shook his head with a shy smile. “Of course not, specially not you.”

She knew he was busier now days that the Peaky Blinders owned the races and licenses. It was just a matter of time before he found a woman and got married, then this house would be filled with kids. Or perhaps he already had someone therefore the plans to get the big house.

Once the realization hit her, she pretended to look towards the window. A sudden lump installed in her throat and something indescribable pressed her heart.

“Should we go? It’s going to be dark soon.” Y/N asked, looking him in the eyes for a mere second.

Time flew on their way back and soon Tommy stopped his car in front of Y/N’s door.

Even before he could say goodnight, an angry voice called for her.

“I’ve been waiting hours for you, Y/N nobody knew where the heck did you go.”

“Slow down mate, that’s no way to treat her.” Tommy intervened, holding Scott’s death stare.

“Stay the fuck out of this.” Scott raised his voice.

Tommy felt his blood boiling, one stride and he’d finish the prick, but before he could move, a pair of soft hands stopped him.

“Tommy please, let me handle this.” She pleaded.

His jaw clenched as he saw the smirk of satisfaction Scott gave him. The bastard had Y/N charmed and there was nothing he could do about it.

✨ Thank you for your support! You already know it, but the way to a writer’s heart is through your feedback xx

Part 1

Master list

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#that’s what a I’ll said #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fan fiction

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imaginedanvrs · 3 months

Text

where did you go?

part 1, part 2 l masterlist

natasha x reader. after a week of your worst nightmares coming to life, you come back a different person and Natasha tries desperately to retrieve your old self. but you just don't let her

word count: 9k

warnings: mentions of kidnapping and torture (not in the kinky way this time), canon marvel type injuries, shock, dissociative amnesia, depression, break up, alcoholism

The world around Natasha thrummed endlessly as she continued to climb past the speed limit that she took no care for. Even in her state of distress, she maintained the reflexes and awareness that made her one of the few people who could drive so fast down the cramped street without issue (or fine) until she pulled up as close as she could to the city hospital. The redhead knew the way to the ward they kept you on as precisely as she did her own home, having been to that very building enough times for her teammates. She had always prayed against all odds that she would never have to go there for you, especially since you disappeared a week prior.

“Miss Romanoff?” A timid nurse asked when Natasha crossed her path.

“Where is she?” Natasha demanded at once as she scanned the immediate area.

“Room six, but I should warn you-” the nurse called but the redhead had already started down the corridor towards your room, ignoring the warning that would have made the next few minutes marginally easier to process.

“Malysh,” Natasha breathed her first sigh of relief in a week as she stepped into your room and closed the door behind her without looking away. Your head was turned towards the window on the opposite side of the room and you didn’t acknowledge the sound of your girlfriend’s voice. Natasha simply assumed you were asleep at first and crept across the room to the chair, pausing when she saw your eyes were open but that they didn’t appear quite right. They were unfocused and frozen and the Avenger realised with a sharp pang that there was no brightness to them. It wasn’t just your eyes either.

“Hey,” your girlfriend greeted tentatively as she sat down and watched you with great apprehension. You were paler than she had ever seen and the scratches that Natasha would have usually tended to were the least of her concerns.

“Hey,” you whispered back, your gaze remaining locked on the window. Natasha willed herself to smile at the mere fact she had received some kind of response.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” she continued as she took your frail hand in her own.

“M’here,” you repeated. Natasha’s weak smile faltered.

“Y/n?” She asked, watching you closely as she felt her entire body freeze in anticipation.

“Y/n,” you repeated again though your voice was indicating that you were already growing tired. Natasha didn’t have a response of her own to that, she merely stared at the blank features of the woman she adored.

“Miss Romanoff?” A new voice called. Natasha tore her eyes away from you and turned to the door where a doctor was making her way into the room with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you’ve got some concerns.”

“Tell me yours first,” the redhead said adamantly, wanting answers instead of pity. Pity wasn’t going to help either of you and she needed to know what she had to do to get you back to her.

“We’re not too concerned about the physical injuries. She’s got some broken ribs and some lung damage we want to monitor but she’s going to be alright,” the doctor informed as she glanced your way.

“She doesn’t look alright,” Natasha commented bluntly.

“Look…a’right,” you echoed on cue.

“It might be shock,” the doctor said with an edge of uncertainty that told Natasha the doctor was relatively new to delivering news like that. If she wasn’t so impatient for answers she would have been gentler with the young woman.

“Or?” She pushed.

“Miss l/n is scheduled for a scan tomorrow to rule out brain damage.” An uneasy silence filled the room for a few uncomfortable moments as Natasha struggled to process what the news meant while avoiding looking directly at you, suddenly unwilling to see your dull eyes that couldn’t meet her own. But she didn’t let go of your hand, even if it was unnaturally still and cold.

“So if it’s just shock, she’ll snap out of it?” The Avenger queried, as though she wasn’t only preparing for the worst outcome. You had always been the optimist in the relationship.

“With time, yes,” the doctor confirmed with a confidence Natasha was glad to hear.

“And if it’s not,” she pushed.

“Then we’ll assess her for the best course of action.” Natasha thought that sounded as though it was fresh out of a med school textbook.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“She’s in the best place right now,” the doctor added upon seeing Natasha’s clear agitation.

“Thanks,” she repeated, knowing there was no denying that fact. Even the Avengers came to hospitals when they needed urgent attention as there were only so many resources and personnel at the tower or even the S.H.I.E.L.D base.

With a polite nod, the doctor left Natasha in your company. The redhead still didn’t look at you, even when you began to mutter again. “Six’een…four…” you continued on as though you were giving your girlfriend some kind of code just to see her sweat to solve it despite spending a sleepless week doing exactly that as she pulled every recourse into finding you. She had failed. When the hospital had rang her, they told Natasha briefly about how a vehicle had pulled up just a couple feet short of the ER entrance and left you there. She hadn’t found you, your captors had simply given back your corpse.

“It’s okay,” Natasha whispered, her vision blurring as she pulled out her phone with her free hand and forced herself to do something proactive instead of just sitting there waiting to see how bad the news she would receive in a few days would be.

“S’kay,” you copied as Natasha sent out an abundance of messages to her team and other useful contacts about your arrival at the hospital, willing at least one of them to be able to track down the people in that vehicle. She couldn’t let herself be consumed by anger and revenge in that moment, not when she needed to stay by your side, but Natasha found it challenging to put those impulse feelings aside when your hand felt weightless. She brought your knuckles up to her lips and placed a tender kiss to them just as a tear rolled onto your hand.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, letting herself imagine for a moment that your words were your own. “You’re gonna get better and we’ll go home and I think we should go away on a trip once you feel up for it,” she continued to believe.

“Trip,” you picked up.

“Exactly, baby,” Natasha smiled through her increasing tears. Your face remained blank.

Natasha stayed in that uncomfortable hospital chair for the rest of the day and through another sleepless night with you. Once it got past midnight and you showed no signs of taking your focus off of the window and letting yourself rest, one of the nurses gave you some medication to help and an hour later you were finally asleep. She should have been relieved at the sight, but it only made Natasha wonder how much of your time away you had spent unconscious. What the fuck had they done to you? Maybe it was for the best that she didn’t know until you were ready to tell her about it, though that was hard to believe given how many torture methods Natasha knew of and could picture vividly being inflicted on you. She always thought she could keep you safe from ever being subject to those darker horrors in the world, and instead it had made you captive to them.

“I can feel your insomnia from here,” Wanda called, snapping Natasha out of one of her rare trances of being stuck in her own head. “Sorry, I knocked,” the Sokovian added as she lingered by the door and her gaze flickered to you. “They told me what’s going on,” Wanda continued as she made her way across the room to the chair next to Natasha. “You should go home and get some rest while she’s getting the scan. I’ll stay,” she offered as she sat down and finally looked at you properly. The shock that flashed quickly across her features was not lost on Natasha.

“Sixteen…four…thirty…” you muttered as you stared straight ahead.

“She keeps doing that,” Natasha said. “Can’t you do something?” It was the first time Wanda had ever heard her mentor sound so helpless and it took her a moment to force herself not to give Natasha a sympathetic smile. “Can’t you just reach in and pull her out?” The redhead continued as she stared at Wanda.

“I don’t think I should risk making it worse,” the brunette admitted as you continued to mutter disjointed numbers to yourself.

“You think that’s possible?” Natasha asked with a hint of disdain. Wanda knew her teammate wasn’t frustrated at you, but if she allowed her sleep deprived state to take control of her emotions then she would only become more bitter.

“I think that her mind is fragile and now is not the time to go rooting around in it,” Wanda stated with a bluntness that Natasha needed to hear. She didn’t respond and the pair sat in silence for a while until several nurses came into the room to take you away and Natasha immediately stood up to follow. “Nat,” Wanda called with a gentle hold on her arm. “Go home. We’re not going to get any answers straight away and if we do I’ll call you,” Wanda tried to reason but the redhead refused without any real consideration.

“Can you just get some clean clothes and my toothbrush? I’m not going anywhere,” Natasha insisted as she went to follow the nurses but Wanda pulled her back once more. Natasha felt her anger boil over and was about to make some demands she would regret but thankfully never got the chance to voice them because Wanda pulled her into a tight hug. She froze instinctively until her muscles trembled under the stress and embraced the younger hero.

“I don’t know what to do without her,” Natasha admitted as tears welled in her eyes for the umpteenth time.

“She’ll be back soon and she’ll need you when she is. Go get some rest,” Wanda spoke into her shoulder until Natasha gradually pulled away with a weak smile.

“Not yet,” she said, wiping her tears defiantly and starting down the hall after you.

“So she’s fine?” Natasha asked as she stared down at your unchanged features several days later. She frowned, admittedly having only prepared herself for the worst possible answers from the doctors and wasn’t quite sure how to handle the fact that you were merely in deep shock. It was good news, of course. It was just something that no amount of medicine would cure, nor was there a clear path for Natasha to walk with you to bring you back to your original state. How was she meant to find you?

“We’re arranging some meetings for her to see a psychologist and ideally she’ll be discharged in a few days,” the doctor informed.

“Right,” Natasha muttered. Bringing you home would be for the best. You would rest in your own bed, eat your comfort food and watch your favourite shows. She would run you a bath and use your favourite bubblebath that had been discontinued months ago when Natasha had hidden one away for when she thought you would need it most. She would take you on the walk routes you always enjoyed the most and hold your hand tight so that you had nothing to fear. She’d listen when you were eventually ready to talk about your week away. She would help you get better.

You stirred from your sleep and Natasha observed you closely. Usually she didn’t even realise when you woke up because you remained just as still until you began to mutter again, but that time you shifted in the bed and the only sound to be heard was the small grunt of discomfort at the back of your throat. “Detka?” Your girlfriend called.When your eyes slowly opened, they met hers. “Hey,” she greeted with a smile of relief and moved closer, causing the chair to screech and you to flinch. Natasha winced at your reaction but didn’t let it deter her. “How are you feeling?” She asked, taking your change as hope that you would respond.

“Tired,” you whispered as you took in her dishevelled appearance. She was still the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. You reached out tentatively and stroked her cheek with the back of your pointer finger, finding her soft skin to be the familiarity you needed along with her voice and smile.

“I bet,” she chuckled softly. You looked exhausted though she would never tell you that. “I missed you,” she told you, searching your eyes for the glimmer of adoration she always saw in them when you looked at her. They were just as dull as they had been a few days prior and when you offered her a small smile, that also failed to reach your eyes.

She’s been through a lot, Natasha told herself when she felt her uneasiness arise. “They said you can come home soon,” she told you when you didn’t respond. You nodded a little and looked away from the redhead to take in the small room and the busy hallway outside. Natasha watched as you turned your attention elsewhere and tried to push aside the pang she felt in her chest. There were a lot of feelings coming too close to the surface that she didn’t want or expect. Nothing about the scenes that had been playing out in that hospital bed had been as Natsha expected.

“Do you want me to get someone?” Natasha asked in an attempt to get any kind of response from you again but you simply shook your head. For the first time since Natasha had met you, she didn’t know what to say.

“You look tired,” you commented after several silent minutes.

“I haven’t slept,” Natasha admitted with an honesty she had always promised to have about her wellbeing.

“Maybe you should go home,” you said without looking at her. Your girlfriend stared at your side profile, not quite believing what you had said. Did you not want her there?

“Are you sure?” She asked, not having anticipated leaving the hospital grounds unless you were with her.

“Yeah, go get some sleep,” you encouraged with another disguised smile.

“Okay,” Natasha said, standing slowly. “Just call me if you need me,” she placed your phone down on the bed next to you. The screen had been replaced. It used to be covered in scratches but perhaps it had cracked badly when you were taken so Natasha had it fixed. Or maybe it was a new phone entirely.

“Yeah,” you agreed though somehow Natasha wasn’t convinced you would.

“I love you,” she told you at the door.

“I love you too,” you didn’t hesitate to reply and noticed the redhead’s shoulders dip slightly. You felt bad at that, knowing that in practically asking her to go you were giving her more reason to worry when she had no doubt done enough of that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to handle her doting presence in that moment.

You were overwhelmed and struggling to ignore the flashes of your captivity as bile rose in your throat. You weren’t there anymore, you were safe. There was no reason to keep thinking about it, but you couldn’t stop. Sixteen. It was far too much, too intense. The room was too bright and even Natasha’s lingering presence filled the space too much after so much solitude. Four. It was too loud outside, too open, too much air, not enough. I can’t breathe. Then the machines next to you joined the chaos and suddenly you weren’t alone again. There was so much going on, so much to process. Voices were calling but you didn't want to listen.

I can’t do this, just turn it all off.

And then it was settled. Everything was peaceful and indifferent. It was manageable and the storm finally stilled. You breathed out and felt the air rush gently past your lips as you settled back into the pillow that cushioned your head and felt the sheets under your fingertips. It’s okay, you thought even though you couldn’t quite place how you ended up in a hospital bed.

Sixteen, four, thirty, nine. That was all you could recall.

The memories returned in patches throughout the day, building and building until you found yourself far too high up and stumbled off of that sharp ledge again. That happened four more times before you went home.

Natasha was good to you as you recovered. Too good. She was patient, understanding, helpful and incredibly caring and you offered her very little in response. She continued to come and visit you though only for a few hours at a time, able to tell when you became too tired and had enough of any company. It hurt her everytime she left, more so as she didn’t know it hurt you too. You didn’t know how to tell her that. You didn’t know how to express how overwhelming it was to have the flashes of your torture strike you like a knife even though you were always waiting on edge for it to hit.

Natasha wasn’t entirely oblivious to it all. She saw how your heartbeat was always unusually high on the monitors just like your blood pressure when anyone came to check it. She knew that you didn’t sleep unless you were given something to help and that you rejected the tablets more often than not. She noticed how you constantly eyed the door and the tiles in the ceiling. She knew that you weren’t eating or drinking enough and how laboursome it was just to go to the bathroom and back. Your girlfriend could tell you were struggling, she just didn’t know how much because you wouldn’t tell her.

On the day you were discharged, you dreaded going home because it would be harder for you to hide your episodes and nightmares Natasha had yet to witness. You felt guilty for not seeking comfort in your shared apartment with your girlfriend and you really couldn’t have asked for her to be any more supportive about the whole ordeal, so why couldn’t you simply lean into it?

The first thing you noticed when you stepped into your apartment was the strong smell of disinfectant that meant Natasha had gone on one of her cleaning frenzies in your absence. She only ever did that on the rare occasions she had some time off from work and you weren’t around and once you had even come back to her scrubbing the ceiling. You had told her to get a hobby and she had threatened to throw the bowl of dirty was over you.

Natasha began saying something about ordering takeout to which you silently nodded as you took in the apartment like the first day you moved in together. It didn’t have the same homey feeling you once got the moment you stepped through the door, nor did it provide you the same comfort you could seek after a hard day. First your girlfriend and then your home, why did nothing so stable and familiar feel safe? You breathed out steadily, heading for the bathroom as you felt the panic spread through your nerves and missing Natasha’s concern as she watched you go.

The rest of the evening continued on those unsteady grounds that the redhead was cautious to step on. Once the meal arrived and Natasha put one of your favourite shows on the tv, she sat down on the sofa you always curled up together on and stared at her food container when she noticed you sit down on the arm chair that only ever seemed to be used by guests. You didn’t acknowledge the tv much and only picked at your food, feeling Natasha’s gaze on you even when she tried to be subtle. You never used to, but your paranoia made you conscious of things like that.

“Do you want me to run you a bath? I kept a bottle of that bubble bath that was discontinued,” Natasha offered and you suddenly became aware of how little you were giving back to her.

“No thanks,” you muttered, feeling a queasiness come on.

“What can I do to help you?” She asked after a long beat passed. You didn’t look at her because you knew that if you did you would see a face that would only make you feel more guilty. She just wanted to help and you honestly had no idea how to let her do so. “Do you want to talk to Kate? Or Wanda? Or-” Natasha suggested after sumising that you weren’t going to open up to her any time soon and she didn’t want you to keep things to yourself longer than necessary.

“No,” you cut her off. You had absolutely no intention of reliving the past week to anyone, you just wanted to forget about it.

“That therapist’s office isn’t far and it’s not until late morning so I was thinking we could-”

“I’m not going,” you interrupted again and carried the first clear defiance Natasha had seen on you in months.

“Why?” She pushed with a frown.

“I don’t want to talk to a shrink,” you insisted. The irony of that wasn’t lost on the redhead. She had said the same thing numerous times ever since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You should talk to someone,” Natasha pushed, unknowingly aggravating you further.

“Why? It won’t change anything. Most of the time I can’t remember it anyway,” you told her as you actively avoided her searching gaze.

“That sounds like all the more reason to go,” Natasha frowned. She was no psychologist herself, but she knew that wasn’t normal. “Please, y/n,” she pushed as new worries sprang to the front of her mind.

“No, Nat. It’s my choice,” you snapped, putting your mostly untouched meal down and getting up from the chair without letting your girlfriend get another word in.

“Fuck,” Natasha muttered as she heard you close the bedroom door, making your message clear. She’s pushing me away, Natasha realised with a sense of dread, and it was because she was trying to help.

Natasha slept on the sofa that night, forcing herself to give you the space you clearly needed. She was restless and awake more than asleep as she considered everything she could that you would want. It shouldn’t have been so hard for someone who had known you for so many years and dated you for three of them to figure out what support you needed, until Natasha recalled the dullness that hadn’t lifted from your eyes in the past week. It wasn’t the you she was used to, it was someone else, someone she didn’t know.

The moment a small whimper could be heard from the bedroom, the spy sat bolt upright on the sofa and listened closely for you, finetuning her senses the way she had been trained to. Another whimper closely followed and Natasha’s fears forced her to her feet and through the apartment, anticipating the worst as she grabbed the handgun concealed in the kitchen and threw open the bedroom door. She didn’t relax when she assessed that you weren’t in danger, finding your distress equally alarming.

“Hey,” Natasha said gently as she put the gun down and crouched in front of your sweating form. You were crying out weakly as you struggled against the duvet you had gotten wrapped around you in your unconscious panic. Natasha swiftly untangled you from your bindings and in doing so woke you up. The way you kicked away from your girlfriend upon seeing her stand over you would be an image Natasha wouldn’t be able to forget for some time, even as she gave you her assurance. “It’s just me, you’re safe,” she told you.

You panted as you stared back at Natasha with wide eyes until it eventually clocked in your mind that her words were the truth. “Hey,” she greeted again as she tentatively sat on the edge of the bed. You made no move to embrace her like you used to after a bad dream, only glancing around the room as your breathing began to steady. “If you want to talk about it I’m-”

“No,” you denied without hearing her out. “But…” you started with uncertainty. “If you want to stay…” you shrugged and Natasha understood that that was the closest she was going to get to an invitation. She smiled in the dark and slipped into the bed beside you as you lay back down without closing the space that seemed too grande to the redhead and cramped to you. It was a compromise that Natasha hoped would put you on the right track.

Another week passed without any progress on finding your captors. Natasha rarely left the apartment so all of the chasing she did was done on her own laptop from the sofa while you distanced yourself in the bedroom. She had agents and teammates following up on any leads she found but they all came up empty. The redhead had only asked you once if there were any details about your captors or where you were kept that you could remember though you shut her down quick enough for Natasha to know it was best not to ask again.

Natasha was beginning to suspect that the only way she could bring you any comfort was to kill the people that took you because you were responding less and less to her approaches while isolating yourself more. You wouldn’t go to therapy, even when it was suggested you could attend online and you declined any visitors that came to see you. You rarely stepped foot outside the bedroom and never left the apartment. You weren’t eating or drinking enough or washing as much as you used to. You didn’t even show any interest in the tv, adamant on spending most hours in bed by yourself. You wouldn’t let her comfort you after your nightmares and had yet to witness any of your episodes that you locked yourself in the bathroom to endure. You wouldn’t accept help and you weren’t getting better.

“Hi,” Wanda greeted Natasha with a warm hug.

“Thanks for coming,” the redhead said as she glanced in the direction of your room that was starting to feel less like a shared space. “She won’t want to see you though,” Natasha warned.

“I remember how that felt,” Wanda shrugged simply. “She needs this,” she said as she walked through the apartment with Natasha following a few steps behind.

“Hey, y/n,” Wanda greeted gently after knocking several times. Natasha watched from the doorway as the younger hero ventured into the dark room and over to the curtains that she pulled back half way. You didn’t respond, merely pulling the duvet up in hopes that Wanda would take the hint and leave you alone. She didn’t, deciding to open a window an inch to let the cool autumn air in.

“I brought you bubble tea,” she said as she placed the peace offering down on the bedside table next to you. “I thought you could use it,” she added as she sat down on the floor next to your side of the bed, content to keep talking to you for a while even if you weren’t going to answer. She knew that you were awake.

“Kate’s been asking after you,” the Sokovian continued. “They all have actually, but Kate the most.” You didn’t want to see them. You didn’t want to see anyone. You were fully aware that you weren’t the same person that they knew and you didn’t know how to get that person back. It would only be so long before they all grew tired of who you were becoming, especially when they finally realised that their attempts to help you were futile. You didn’t think Natasha was far off from that conclusion herself and as much as you wanted to stop it happening, you simply didn’t have the energy.

Your girlfriend shifted her weight as she watched from the doorway and Wanda nodded at her to give you both some time. She closed the door behind her though Wanda felt her linger outside for a moment before leaving. “She wants to help,” Wanda told you. “You need help, y/n.” You pulled the duvet down slightly and opened your eyes for Wanda to offer you a small smile.

“I’m just so tired,” you whispered hopelessly.

“I know. It’s exhausting having to relive it constantly,” Wanda admitted. “That’s why you need to get out of bed and focus on something else.”

“Then talk to a shrink to bring it back up again?” You questioned sceptically.

“To help you manage it,” she corrected. You weren’t convinced, but you reached for the drink and took a sip of the sweet liquid that touched your dehydration. “Do you want help having a shower or bath?” Wanda offered.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you dismissed.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Wanda insisted with a smile you couldn’t return. She stayed with you for a while longer, though after that your responses grew thinner and thinner until eventually Wanda said goodbye and left you to fall back into a shallow slumber.

“How is she?” Natasha asked when she saw Wanda reamurge.

“Struggling,” Wanda admitted. “I’m going to come back tomorrow though and see if I can get her up.” Natasha nodded, thinning that it would be good for someone other than her to try and get you out of bed. “How are you doing?” The brunette asked with concern.

“I’ll be okay when she is,” Natasha dismissed.

“You need to look after yourself too though,” Wanda pointed out though she could tell that was the least of her mentor’s concerns. “Any new leads?”

“All dead ends,” Natasha huffed. “Fuckers.”

“We’ve got the best people on it, we’ll get them,” Wanda assured. Natasha wasn’t sure she could wholly believe that, but it was all she had to cling onto in hopes of getting you back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Call if you need me,” Wanda said with a supportive smile that lifted Natasha’s spirits more than anything else had that day. Unfortunately, her hopes that Wanda was what you needed were humbled the next day when the Sokovian stepped foot inside your bedroom again to find you far less reluctant than the day prior.

“Come on, y/n. You agreed,” Wanda tried to reason calmly though it did nothing to ease the temper you seemed to have woken up with.

“I’m not a child,” you snapped. “I’ll get up when I’m ready.” Natasha watched from the doorway as the younger Avenger didn’t allow her patience to waver.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve had a wash and we can change the sheets so you-”

“Leave me alone,” you interrupted with desperation, too embarrassed to admit that the thought of just having a brief wash was too much. Something that used to be so thoughtless and simple had turned into anything but as you anticipated every step involved now that you weren’t moving on autopilot anymore. Even the thought of changing your clothes and coming back to clean sheets you used to love the smell of seemed as though it would just be a disruption to the only safe space you had. There were too many changes, too much going on and too many thoughts.

Then, like a punch to the gut, your mind replayed how you had been washed when you were taken and it was so surreal that you swore your skin ached as it recalled how strong the water hose had been and how it had been so cold that there might as well have been spikes of ice in that water that sliced you. You never even fully dried in the damp room before it happened again. Sixteen. “Four…thirty,” you muttered as you hugged your knees and fought back the memories that flooded past your barricades. “Nine,” you continued in search of something to ground yourself to.

“Y/n?” Wanda noticed your trembles grow as you blocked out the world around you and incidentally kept everything you were trying to escape in. Trapped with them. Again.

“Sixteen…four,” you repeated over and over like a charm to ward off evil but you just weren’t strong enough on your own.

“Honey, breathe,” Wanda coaxed but you couldn’t hear her or your girlfriend as she crouched by your sides and tried to take a hold of your shaking hands.

“Nine,” you muttered for the last time when suddenly it was all gone and you were back in the room with the two women who noticed the change immediately.

“Malysh?” Natasha was the first to speak.

“Hey,” you greeted with a sleepy smile.

“What’s going on?” She asked, trying to appear far more calm than she was.

“Don’t know,” you admitted with a frown.

“How do you feel?” Wanda added.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted with an uncomfortable uncertainty, feeling that brief stillness become disturbed.

“Maybe you should jump in the shower to wake yourself up a bit,” Natasha suggested. You paused, trying to place your finger on why that suggestion didn’t feel right but when you couldn’t identify any legitimate reason not to, you agreed, missing the look exchanged between the pair as you got up and trudged through the apartment to the bathroom.

“I’ve got it,” you dismissed when you noticed Natasha trying to join you. She nodded respectfully as you closed the door, then peered back into the bedroom where Wanda remained as puzzled as she was.

“What the hell was that? I’ve seen her have panic attacks before but that was different,” Natasha stated as the pair began stripping the bed as swiftly as they could.

“I don’t know,” Wanda muttered, stuck with the image of your distress.

“Wands, can’t you do something?” Natasha asked not for the first time.

“You know it’s not ethical.”

“But letting her suffer is? She needs meds but without going to the doctor she won’t get them,” Natasha pointed out though that very fact had been on Wanda’s mind for the past few days. She had considered trying to use her powers on your mind to relieve some of the tension your memories placed on it, but she had never done anything like that before and it wasn’t the time to try.

“She responds more to you than she has to me ever since she came home,” the widow voiced with a jealousy she knew she had no right to express, but it hurt to see that your friend was somehow doing more for you than she was.

“Maybe I just got to her on a better day,” Wanda shrugged in an effort to appease the redhead. She wasn’t convinced, yet Wanda had no other answer to offer.

Meanwhile, you let the water run through the shower and stared at it with great apprehension. You didn’t make a move to take your clothes off, unable to determine why you felt so uncertain to step under the water. Hesitantly, you took your clothes off one by one as the steam began to fill the room and stuck your hand under the water once you were ready, only to withdraw it with a sharp hiss. You turned the temperature down, waited several moments, and tried again. Better. A lot better once you were under the shower entirely. You dipped your head and allowed yourself some time to let the warm water cleanse your body tenderly then got to work with the soap.

“I’ve got you some clothes,” Natasha called from behind the door once you turned the water off. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you opened the door several inches and took the clothes with a muttered ‘thanks’ that your girlfriend almost missed. You dressed swiftly and when you were done you stepped out to see that the bed had been made up with fresh sheets and there was a hearty smell of a home cooked meal filling the apartment. You immediately recognised it to be one of Wanda’s Sokovian dishes that she always enjoyed cooking for the team and must have made extra to bring back for you and Nat.

“Hungry?” She asked when she noticed you eyeing up the dish she was reheating the meal in.

“A little,” you admitted. Even with the enticing smells that greeted you, you didn’t have much of an appetite. “Aren't you meant to have this one with red wine?” Natasha’s eyes snapped to you and Wanda paused briefly. You looked between the two and rolled your eyes, knowing what they were thinking but walking over to the cupboard to retrieve the bottle anyway.

“Not necessarily,” Wanda said a moment too late. Your mind was made up and after two weeks hiding out in bed, you just wanted to feel like you were having a normal meal with your friends.

“But preferably,” you countered as you placed the three glasses and bottle on the coffee table, entirely aware of the look the pair exchanged when your back was turned.

“Maybe we should save it for another night,” Natasha suggested.

“Guys, it’s fine,” you insisted as you poured yourself a glass and wished they would both stop looking at you like that. Regrettably, the pair gave in as they plated up the three dishes and brought them over to eat in front of the tv. You remained in the armchair, as you always did, and although Natasha would have much preferred to feel you curl up with her, having Wanda accompany her on the lonesome sofa was a nice change.

The two avengers barely touched their drinks though your glass was empty by the time you decided you were done forcing yourself to eat more than you could stomach. After the faint buzz hit you, you wanted to polish off their glasses for them, but you knew that in doing so you would be trying your luck with the pair. You were playing a dangerous game as it was, but for the rest of the evening, neither of them mentioned it.

Wanda went home not long after you all finished clearing away and you wondered how long you could leave it before retiring to bed yourself and whether or not to let Natasha know she was welcome to join you. For sleep only. You hadn’t let her touch you since the hospital, shying away from all physical contact despite the way it made your girlfriend wince. You knew that your slow progress was hurting her because she felt responsible, but you still couldn’t snap yourself out of the trance that made anything comfortable feel painful. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it yourself, especially as every time you tried it sent you into a spiral that ended with you struggling for air.

“I think I’m gonna watch some tv in bed for a bit,” you told Natasha. She looked up at you with an understanding smile. God, she’s too good to me. When will she realise that?

“Okay.” You lingered in the doorway.

“Wanna join?” You asked as you picked at the wood in the frame and noticed your girlfriend’s features brighten.

“Yeah, I’ll be in soon,” she told you with a beam as she finished up the work she had only just begun on her laptop. All for you, of course.

By the time Natasha joined you, you were in bed but still scrolling through the shows and films offered to you and ended up letting the redhead decide on something. “You did good today,” she told you once the show started playing.

“Thanks,” you muttered, unsure what else you could say.

“If you want to go out tomorrow, I’d be happy to go with you,” she continued. “Even just for a small walk.” You nodded, but the unease you felt told you that wouldn’t be happening. “If you want to,” she added, probably noticing your hesitation. You should have taken her up on the offer and you did miss being outside, but the mere thought of stepping out of the safety of your apartment made you feel sick. There was no telling what awaited you and there was no guarantee that Natasha could prevent it.

“Are you missing anything important at work?” You queried, though the change in subject wasn’t lost on Natasha.

“There’s a few other Avengers and an entire organisation that are filling in for me,” she quipped off handedly. You hummed.

“But you’re a workaholic,” you pointed out not for the first time since you started dating the redhead. “I feel bad that I’m keeping you here.”

“You’re not,” she was quick to input, even though you both knew that was a lie.

“Okay, let’s say I’m not. Shouldn’t I be trying to like…do things on my own?” You asked. Natasha paused and wondered if you were trying to push her further out of your space. It wasn’t, not consciously, and she seemed to buy that when you glanced her way.

“Maybe I could go in for a few hours tomorrow,” she tested for your reaction. “I’ll keep my phone on.”

“Okay,” you half smiled and settled into the bed more with a strong sense of apprehension as to whether or not you had made the right choice in trying to get Natasha out of the apartment for a few hours.

You didn’t sleep much that night and you knew that Natasha didn’t either. There was an anxious hum that charged above your bed as you both thought about what your days would entail without one another. Natasha would be thinking of you constantly and it didn’t help that you had recently developed the habit of ignoring your texts. You, on the other hand, realised that you weren’t going to be entirely sure of what to do with your privacy, but you did want it. Natasha clearly wasn’t as keen because the next morning she must have assured you five times that her phone would be on and that you could call whenever you needed her, or anyone else. It was the first time you had ever watched her leave later than planned.

You admired the stillness of the apartment for a while. The busy hum of the city on the other side of those walls continued to emanate through, but the apartment itself was entirely void of the frantic energy it had been consumed in for the last few weeks. It was finally just you. You enjoyed that fact for the first half an hour, wandering freely through the space and relishing in your own company, until your mind had enough of the rare peace and insisted you return to panic.

Suddenly, you vividly recalled what it had been like the last time you were entirely alone. You unwillingly thought back on the gas that had been expelled into the black box you were contained in and how soon the chemicals had dug their way into your conscience to twist it in the most unnatural fashion. You remembered how it had fried all logic and precisely compromised every one of your senses that still felt surreal. You recollected the feeble attempts you made to cling onto what you knew to be real but that it proved impossible when the enemy you were losing to was yourself.

Sixteen. Four. Thirty. Nine.

Your head was spinning wildly as you stumbled into the kitchen. Your memories forced themselves so far to the front of your brain that you weren’t even sure of what you were doing when you swiped at one of the cupboards and accidentally threw it open. The sunlight streaming into the apartment caught onto the bottles and without a moment’s consideration, you grabbed the nearest one and took a sip. Then another. Then another as you dropped to the floor and begged for the alcohol to tackle your thoughts for you. You couldn’t do it alone.

More sips until eventually a light fog began to blur the images behind your eyes. It still wasn’t enough so you continued until the fog grew heavier and the images were finally obstructed. It wasn’t a victory by any means. It was simply a rest. The best one you had had since you were left outside the hospital.

You glanced down at the light bottle and realised with a drop that it was empty. Natasha would surely notice a missing bottle given that you didn’t keep many so you quickly took out your phone, ignoring the various messages, and ordered another one for you to swap out. It was only once you paid an additional fee for it to be delivered within the next ten minutes did you realise that you were going to have to leave the apartment to retrieve it downstairs. It was a daunting thought, but you were all too aware that it seemed far more manageable with the liquid courage in your system.

Fortunately, it didn’t take more than five minutes for you to descend the five flights of stairs, bin the bottle, retrieve the new one and scale back up to your apartment. Though your heart had been pounding the entire time, you felt good that you had managed to pull it off successfully and in the midst of the relief, you hadn’t even taken a moment to consider that the stress of what you had done was because it wasn’t right. All of that was to avoid your girlfriend finding out that you had been drinking, yet you never gave a second thought to it when your head felt lighter on your shoulders than you could recall it being in a while.

You emptied part of the bottle and placed it back where the previous one was with a sense of satisfaction before sitting in the armchair for your last hour of peace. With the slight intoxication, it went by faster than you anticipated. Maybe it was also down to the alcohol, but when Natasha stepped through the doorway and set her eyes on you, her expression was unreadable.

“Hi,” you greeted with some uncertainty.

“Hey,” she muttered back as she took her jacket off. You couldn’t help but think back on how you used to greet each other when you got home. A tight hug, a small kiss that usually led to more, conversation, smiles, laughter. Love. You felt your gut twist uncomfortably as Natasha trudged through the apartment to the kitchen without looking at you. It seemed as though the moment you had been awaiting was growing closer. Natasha had enough. You had to give her credit for dealing with you as long as she did. That should have been your cue to stop her and start to put things right, but you couldn’t do that to her, you couldn’t get her to carry the dead weight much longer. It wasn’t fair.

“How’ve you been?” She asked from the kitchen.

“Okay,” you answered, pulling at a thread in the armchair. “How was work?” It was a small domestic attempt Natasha took no notice of.

“I texted you,” she told you instead. “Called a few times too.”

“My phone’s on silent.”

“Then what’s the point in having it?” She asked, her voice full of unspoken accusations without realising how right she was.

To order booze behind your back. You didn’t answer and Natasha didn’t follow up.

You didn’t say another word to one another that night and the tension that filled the apartment was almost suffocating. The alcohol in your system wore off far too quickly for your liking and made the evening considerably tougher. You considered, countless times, going to your girlfriend to explain yourself to her. But how could you? How could you tell her that you had seen her, and many many others, in that basement where you were kept? How could you tell her that you had lived out your darkest nightmares and that she had been right there inflicting them? How could you tell your girlfriend that even though you knew none of it was real, you were scared of her? You never did and as the days blurred into weeks, the tension in your apartment reached its long awaited breaking point.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you started to depend on the drinks. You never let yourself think about it long enough to conclude that what you were doing was wrong, not when the result of it was the only respite you ever got from your mind. You could never drink Natasha’s surveillance, but it didn’t prove to be a problem when your girlfriend fell into her own harmful habit of spending most of her time and work. She didn’t want to be around you.

You stopped forgetting about what happened once you were reacquainted with the entire collection of memories of what happened. There were no brief moments where you couldn’t recall your torment ever happening, leaving your only respite to be alcohol. You didn’t intend to depend on it, but you did.

Natasha never noticed. On the days where you had too much, you simply put yourself to bed after brushing the taste and smell of alcohol away and it was too easy for Natasha to perceive it as ‘one of those days’. You rarely spoke to each other. You rarely looked at each other. You both allowed for your love to be buried on the rubble of the ruins you created, still alive and too stubborn to let go but lost from view.

One night, you let yourself get too carried away. You were slumped against the cupboards on the kitchen floor as you tried to make sense of the spinning apartment when Natasha came home. She froze at the sight of you clutching her vodka bottle that you always claimed to hate the taste of. You had grown numb to it recently.

Your girlfriend stepped towards you cautiously and crouched down as you registered her presence with the same far away look in your eyes she had seen in the hospital. She thought about it every day. “Y/n?” She asked as she gently grabbed the bottle but you yanked it out of her grasp and back towards your chest. “Don’t do that,” she muttered, heart cracking as she took in your unkempt appearance. How had she let you get like this? You grumbled incoherently in response.

“Come on, you need to throw up,” she coaxed, trying to keep her voice steady as she placed a hand on your arm but you shrugged her off. “Why won’t you let me help you?” She sighed, not expecting a response.

“Why do you want to?” You bite, eyes holding a harshness Natasha had never seen in you.

“Because I care about you, y/n,” she tried. “I love you and I want you to come back to me,” the redhead admitted with a crushing desperation. You loved her too, so much, but you were drunk and you were pissed off at the world.

“Is that it? Really?” You interrogated with an obnoxious slur to your speech. “It’s not because of any guilt you might be feeling?” Natasha frowned and backed away slightly as she stared down at you. “Tell me honestly.”

“I wish I had been there-” She tried, no stranger to the guilt you were inflicting.

“Why would that have mattered? They would have just seen you and tried again another time,” you told her as you grabbed at the kitchen counter behind you and hauled yourself up onto unstable feet. Natasha immediately sprang to catch you as you toppled.

“Y/n-”

“Don’t touch me!” You screamed as you gripped the counter with a steel force and glared at the woman desperately trying to help you. “I can’t look at you without seeing them.” You muttered though the words were etched into Natasha. She unknowingly held her breath as she processed what you had just said and realised she had finally gotten her answer as to why you were so distant. “Leave,” you spat.

“What?” The redhead felt her legs become numb.

“I can’t do this. I can’t continue to be a target,” you told her as your fear creeped into your drunken resentment and it all came to the surface unceremoniously.

“What do you mean?” She whispered despite already knowing.

“It’s your fault. They took me to get to you and you didn’t even come and save me,” you told her, tears streaming down your face that your girlfriend so desperately wanted to wipe away as she held you.

“I tried, I tried so hard,” Natasha told you as her voice shook as much as her hands that she fought to keep by her sides. “I did everything I could and-”

“And in the end they just gave me back. What if the next ones don’t feel so generous?” You questioned, unrelenting in your pain you were pushing onto your partner in an effort to escape it yourself.

“We’ll figure something out, I’ll teach you self defence,” she tried but you didn’t want to hear it.

“I thought I was going to die…and I wish I did.” Natasha stared at you through the blur of tears, knowing that you were drunk but that it didn't mean you didn’t mean it. In fact, it made undeniable sense. “I would rather be laying dead in that room right now than have endured a second of what they did.” You told her honestly. “So get out.”

“Y/n-” The attempt was futile.

“Get out!” You broke, unable to handle any more. There was no going back on what you had said and there was no undoing the past. You were done and too exhausted to see it any other way.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered as she stepped away in defeat. You wouldn’t listen to reason, not from her.

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you’ve done.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #natasha x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff comfort #gxg marvel #natasha romanoff imagines

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Uhhh this is sort of to get me back in the swing of writing since some people may have noticed I haven’t done much this week. It’s… it’s been a week, but that’s fine, those happen.

Anyway, concept comes from @ceilidho’s concept/drabble of “military asset Soap” and heavily inspired also by @391780’s Nikto version. Please go check out theirs because they’re brilliantly written.

(There will be a part 2 because this got longer than expected.)

CW for threats, dirty talk, objectification, and dubcon. Please stay safe! 💕

You thought you were done with this.

Got out by making the best of a bad situation. Honorable discharge following an injury after your last base was infiltrated. “Data analysts” (hackers) can’t have unpredictable hand spasms in the middle of time-sensitive decryptions. So, you got out.

And now you’re all but being dragged back.

You don’t recognize the two stone-faced men flanking you, but you recognize the woman they sit you in front of.

“Laswell.”

She doesn’t look older, but she looks more tired. Like she hasn’t slept since she informed you of your discharge.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says without smiling. It’s good to see you; it’s not good that you’re seeing her. “I wish it was… I wish this wasn’t the situation.”

You arch your eyebrows. Have never known her to speak without measuring the exact dimensions of her words first. She always slides them into spaces perfectly designed for them, builds towers and forts out of syllables.

There’s a treacherous unintentional volume to the word “this” that prickles across your neurons.

“And what’s ‘this’ exactly?” you ask.

“A recently recovered asset,” she explains. You expect a dossier of some kind to be set in front of you. She links her fingers together on top of her desk and looks you in the eye. “He’s asking for you.”

You blink. Never was any good at staring contests with anything but a screen.

“And who,” you speak slowly, poking at the edges of whatever she’s hedging around, “is he?”

A pause, heavy enough to slowly start pressing the air from your lungs.

“Do you remember John MacTavish?” she asks.

You frown, rifling through mental files.

John MacTavish of Task Force 141. Soap. You remember liking him, even though he made a shy, anti-social part of you uneasy. He had a starting problem, and a smiling problem. Or maybe you were the one with the problem - with the way he would often stare and sometimes smile.

You taught him how to find files out in the field. How to take from the enemy and corrupt entire systems. He was good at it. A digital pyromaniac. Used to hand-deliver drives and disks to you, sometimes still bloody and bruised from getting them.

You heard through the gossip vine that he was MIA (or maybe went AWOL?) at some point. Was shipped out to your final assignment soon after.

“Is he the… asset?” you ask.

Her eyes do this funny flicker thing then, and the corner of her mouth tenses. You press your thumb into your palm as your fingers twitch.

“He’s asking for you,” she explains, “and he has information we need.”

Between the lines: we need you to get the information from him. The error code flashing in your mind demands to know why.

“Why?” you wonder.

Maybe you’ve been out too long; forgot that “why” is blasphemy to the government. The answer will always be “because we said so.”

You already miss being out.

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” she answers and stands.

—

Laswell takes the lead, the same blank-faced guards bring up the rear. This doesn’t feel like you’ve been volun-told to do them a favor. It feels like you’ve been sentenced without a trial.

You’re led down silent, nondescript halls, through heavy gray doors, and into shiny metal elevators. Everything needs a keycard you’ve not been given. The quiet gets heavier, meaner the deeper you go.

There’s the vague sense that you’re underground when Laswell finally stops at a heavily guarded door. She pauses, steals a glance at you that starts a high-pitched alarm in your head.

“He’s different now,” she says finally, “I’m sorry in advance.”

A guard unlatches the door. She nods you ahead to enter first. You hesitate, don’t like the change in light beyond. Behind you, one of the guards shifts. Don’t like that either.

On tingling legs, you slink through the cracked door. It shuts with a gavel’s finality behind you. Alone.

The room you’ve been tricked into barely deserves the word. It’s more a tiny patch of sequestered floor, little bigger than an office cubicle. Clean linoleum and unmarked walls. In the corner, a camera blinks.

But in front of you are bars; a wall of them. A door interrupting the grid-pattern. Beyond, it’s pitch black. You almost make the mistake of stepping forward.

“Stay there,” Laswell’s voice commands. Staticky. An intercom.

From the shadows, a growl. Low, rough. Just this side of human. You plaster yourself to the door you came through, hair standing on end.

The lights come on. It’s only because you’ve frozen that you don’t scream, all of it trapped up in a constricted throat.

The man in front of you is not Soap. It’s not even John MacTavish. It’s a very convincing beast wearing his face. Sort of.

More scars than you remember. A thicker beard too. His signature Mohawk is just a suggestion in the dark brown mess of his hair - like he’s been running his hands through it and ripping out any tangles along the way.

He’s not moving now though. Not except the deep heave of his broad chest. Could be a statue save for that. He’s staring; his eyes are bluer than you remember. Bluer and blanker. Nothing in them except a flicker of something vicious, something covetous. Something that’s peering out from this man.

“We brought her, just like you asked.” Laswell’s voice again, wary and expectant.

Soap doesn’t respond. He inhales deep, gaze still locked with yours. It’s loud, purposeful. Your stomach twists.

“Just as sweet as I remember.” His voice is gravel on ice, resonates in his barrel chest. Fills up the room like a rockslide. You curl your fingers against the door behind you. “You remember me, bonnie?”

It takes your brain a second to realize he’s talking to you. As if he could be speaking to anyone else. Your shadow maybe; she’s always been braver than you.

His eyes twitch, narrowing ever so slightly. His patience winding down, tick, tick, tick.

You jerk your head in a nod. His eyes burn.

“Good.” He cracks his neck. It feels entirely inorganic that he can move just that part of his body. “Would have to punish you if you didn’t.”

You swallow, dig up your voice from the crevice it slunk into.

“Laswell.” Your voice is too high, too nervous. Soap bares his teeth, slams his fist against the all-too-bendable barrier between you two. It shocks you, frightens you. How he could be so still and then so alive all at once.

“John, we brought her. That was the deal.”

You feel sick with something unspoken as he shakes his head.

“No, the deal was you give her to me. Do you see my fuckin’ hands on ‘er? My teeth?”

“The information first.”

You feel sick with rage. Like you’re going to throw up with the disgust that poisons your blood. Your legs nearly give out as you slide to the ground, pressing a hand over your mouth, filling with saliva. Stomach rolling.

Force yourself to breathe through your nose. Would work better if you could close your eyes but prey instinct won’t let you, survival too strong to dare look away from the predator now pacing at the bars. He’s agitated, devolving quickly into anger. You’d tell Laswell to stop pissing him off if that didn’t mean tossing you to him. More than she has, anyway.

“We will take her back if you don’t deliver your end of the deal.”

Like you’re some reward to be given and taken at someone else’s will. An incentive for good behavior.

The military used to make you feel like a dog - sit, stay, bark on command. But you’d take that over being the training treat any day.

Soap snarls. He sounds feral. Spits out a set of numbers, eyes pinned to you. When he’s done, he crouches down. Knees against the wall of bars.

“S’alright, little bird. C’mere and I’ll make it all better,” he coos, beckoning you with two fingers.

You press your lips together against a whimper. His expression twitches. You suck in a breath—

“We’ll need to verify those coordinates first,” Laswell says.

The noise that rips out of Soap makes you shake. You didn’t know people could make sounds like that; like something with teeth and claws and blood matted in its fur. He stands, huge and terrifying.

He curses and threatens (awful, cruel) but Laswell doesn’t respond again. You doubt she’s even listening. And you just stay still and quiet, hoping to avoid his attention altogether, pancaked to the wall.

As is the pattern today, your reasonable hope is eventually dashed. Can almost feel the exact moment Soap’s attention refocuses on you. Like a the click of switch.

And he’s down again, crooning at you so sweetly. Like you didn’t just watch him come within a breath of destroying his cell.

“You know it’s not fair, don’t you,” he murmurs. “You know that I’m owed you. C’mere.”

“I’m not a thing,” you snip, still too high. Almost petulant if not for the frightened crack in the middle. He flashes teeth.

“‘Course you are, hen,” he says, almost laughing. You realize with a jolt that you’ve amused him. “You’re my sweet, pretty thing with the sweet, pretty cunt that I’m gonna fuck and breed.”

Your voice slithers back into the abyss, snatched away by the smoke and shadow promises in his own.

“And you know that’s what you’re for, don’ you?” he continues, voice dripping lower and lower. “You know that you’re mine.”

You shake your head, want to explain that you didn’t have a choice. Government goons have been shuffling you about from place to place, only the illusion of free will, like horse blinders. Keeping you docile and complacent.

You don’t think Soap cares about things like logic or personhood right now though. Or at all.

“Come. Here.”

Hard metal between you, and every atom in your body screams not to comply. So you don’t.

When you shake your head, he snarls and slams his fist into the barrier again. You squeak this time, can’t help it, and try to become one with the wall.

He rages for a few minutes. Demands you, your compliance. At some point you just have to draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head against them. If he could get through, he would have by now. Let his anger become a terrifying background noise, a soundtrack for fear.

It’s when he goes quiet again that the fear returns. Your head snaps up. He’s staring again, still. Just like before. His arms are crossed - biceps huge, straining. There’s a sizable bulge pressed against the bars. Obscene.

“Best get your rest now, little girl,” he rumbles. Even and deceptively calm. “Because when that door opens, I’m not gonna be nice about it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Stop it.”

A puff of air. You can’t tell if it’s amused or annoyed. “Say it while you can, ‘cause it won’t make a difference later.”

You shudder through your next inhale, heart pounding. Try to wrestle yourself under control, convince yourself that Laswell won’t actually give you up to him. Not when she’s already gotten what she wanted from him.

A sound breaks you from your frantic meditation, slick and wet. You look up without thinking. Soap is fucking viciously into his fist, eyes trained on you. The head of his cock is flushed an angry red, dripping with precum, shiny and needy.

“Regret being a little bitch now?” he growls. “Now that you see what’s going in that prissy little cunt?”

You clench and cramp at the very thought. He’s massive, not just long but thick. You wouldn’t be shocked if your fingers didn’t touch wrapped around him — not that you should be considering those logistics. It’ll just freak you out more.

“Can smell your wet pussy from here, hen. Bet I’ll knock you up on the first try.” He squeezes almost cruelly, knuckles banging against the bars as his hips jerk.

You press your thighs together, trying not to think about it. Not to think about all that bulk pinning you down and using you. Big, rough hands and sharp, mean teeth while he—

“Stop,” you grit out, to yourself this time.

His breath shudders, a rough noise dragging up his throat. You twitch back as cum splatters the floor, coats the metal in milky drops. You stare at the mess, mortified.

“Well?” he rasps and your eyes snap back to his. “Going to lick it up like the bitch you are?”

You swallow and curl up tighter. He takes that for the denial it is.

“S’alright,” he says, “you’ll get a taste soon enough.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #asset soap #asset John soap MacTavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader

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