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katethewriter · 2 years

Note

Wandanat taking care of y/n after they get back home from a mission to robbery gone wrong at their house please 🙏

Safe Now

Pairing: WandaNat x civilian!Reader

Words: 3k~

Warnings: violence, beating, dragging, kicking, robbery gone wrong, nightmares, reader needs a hug, if I need to add any please let me know

A/N: thank you so much for the request anon! I hope I did it justice! Keep the requests coming!

Autumn leaves crunch underneath boot heels. The cool wind blows wisps of red hair around in a frenzy. Streetlamps are the only thing illuminating the ground as the pair approach their house.

Its the first time they’ve been home in days. Both Wanda and Nat had been sent off on a week long mission. They were supposed to have returned home yesterday, but a delay in the mission and a repair on the quinjet pushed the return back another day and a half.

When their quinjet touched down late into the night, the pair had considered staying at the compound for the night and returning to their home outside the city in the morning. However, they missed you. Something in the back of their heads told them they needed to go home now.

This isn’t the first time they have left you alone while they were both on mission, but coming home was different this time. They could feel it as they walked up the pathway to the front door.

Wanda reaches out to stop her wife, and her brow furrows.

“What is it?”

Something is wrong. Thats what she wants to say, but instead she just shakes her head and continues on.

They’re tired, exhausted from a long mission. That’s why they miss the early signs.

Natasha slips the key into the lock, and chills run down her back. She pushes the door open quietly and steps inside.

They expect you to be asleep, tucked away upstairs amongst a mountain of pillows. It’s the only way you can sleep when they are not home.

The first thing that hits them is the temperature. It’s just as cool indoors as it is outdoors. As they make their way into the house, everything looks as it should. From down the hall, they can see the kitchen light is still on.

“Milaya?” they call out quietly so as not to spook you.

“Lyubov?” but they get no response.

The two follow the light into the open floor plan kitchen/living room, and that’s when they see it.

The house is wrecked for lack of a better term. Broken dishes are scattered across the counters and floors. A kitchen chair is turned on its side. The sliding glass door to the backyard is shattered, glass littered everywhere. Drawers are open. The tv and all electronics really are gone.

Most importantly, you are nowhere to be found.

“Y/N?!”

They call out for you in unison and still receive no answer.

Wanda runs for the stairs, following the sound of your thoughts that get louder with every step, “Y/n?!” She takes the steps two at a time; Natasha is right behind her.

“Y/N?!” they cry out. Running into your shared bedroom, they still don’t see you. “Y/n?” The room looks just like the downstairs. Drawers are pulled open; objects are thrown about. The closet door hangs slightly open.

Wanda runs to it, “Y/n?” Throwing the door open, she reveals you curled up on the ground. Your hands and feet are tied together. A scarf is tied around your head, gagging your mouth.

When the door opens, you expect to see the people who did this to you, back to finish the job. You look up wildly and scramble away from the door the best you can. Relief washes over you when you see your wives standing in the door way.

Tears stream down your face, and you reach for them with your wrists bound together.

Wanda kneels before you, “detka! Are you ok? What happened?” She pulls the scarf away from your face, “what happened? Who did this?” Sobs erupt from your hoarse throat. She moves on to untie your hands while Natasha cuts through the binding around your ankles.

Once you’re free, you crawl into Wanda’s lap and cling to her tightly.

“You’re safe y/n; we’re here,” she wraps her arms around you, tightly cradling your body to hers. “You’re safe now,” she rocks you back and forth.

“We’ve got you,” Natasha runs her hands up and down your back. Making eye contact with Wanda, she whispers, “We need to sweep the house, make sure there’s no one left-”

“Go,” Wanda nods, “I’ve got her.”

Natasha presses a kiss to the back of your head. The last thing she wants to do is leave you right now, but Wanda is here. She has to make sure that you’re alone in the house. She also needs to call Steve. They need the team on this to find whoever is responsible. Reluctantly, she stands and exits the closet.

Wanda watches her wife pull her gun before leaving the closet, closing the door behind her. She then turns her attention back to the wife in her lap. She pulls away to take a look at you. She feels anger build in her as her eyes take in every bruise and cut that riddles your body.

“Milaya, can you look at me?” Despite her anger, she is soft as snow with you, “what happened, love?”

You shake your head as you bury yourself into Wanda’s neck.

Wanda tries to blink away tears; it hurts her to see you in pain. She feels helpless. She needs to know some details in order to help her wife. With the state you are in, communication is near impossible. Wanda has another option, but she can’t bring herself to make you live it again.

“Can you tell me, please?”

Sobs still rack your body as Wanda rocks back and forth. She knows she has no other choice.

Wanda presses a long kiss to your temple, “may I look?” She kisses your temple again to help you understand her question, "in here?"

There’s a pause. Wanda regrets she even asked, but somewhere between your cries, you manage to nod your head. Granting Wanda permission.

“Ok,” Wanda holds you a bit tighter and kisses your head, “I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, she hovers her fingers over your temple. Red wisps dance between her fingers before they sink beneath your skin.

Both of you slip into your mind to find the all too painful memory.

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

Light peers in through the kitchen windows. The clock reads 9:30 am.

The smell of coffee fills the air. As you enter the kitchen to pour yourself another cup.

Aside from the birds singing outside, it’s quiet, near silent. It always is when Natasha and Wanda are away. They were supposed to be home yesterday, but they will be home today.

You’re lost in the warm thoughts of being together again when the sound of shattering glass makes you drop your mug.

Looking up, you see three men entering the house through the broken glass doors. They look just as shocked to see you as you are to see them. The only difference being the utter fear in your eyes.

It happens so fast.

All three of them rush you at once. You run, trying to reach the panic button disguised as a light switch, but you don’t make it.

One of them grabs your shoulder, while the other grips your shirt. Not giving up, you thrash in their hold, still trying to get to that switch, one of many spread throughout the house.

It was Natasha’s idea, but Wanda was onboard immediately. You hadn’t really felt they were necessary, but the look in their eyes changed your mind.

You’ve witnessed the nightmares. The ones that have Nat sitting up, sobbing in the middle of the night. The absolute worst ones. Her worst nightmare is not that her past has caught up to her. No, her worst nightmare is that her past has caught up to you.

Wanda insists. She’s making new enemies by the day since she joined the avengers. After losing her parents and her brother, she begs you to agree. “I can’t lose you,” she whispered, “please.”

So you agreed to settle their worries. The hidden points all throughout the house did in fact make you feel safer. If you’re ever in trouble, you know you can push one, and your wives will come save you immediately.

If only you could reach it.

You fight and fight, but the switch is just out of your reach.

You can tell these aren’t any enemies of your wives. Their fighting is weak and sloppy. They’re barely holding on to you, and there’s two of them against one of you.

Just because these aren’t trained fighters/assassins/secret agents, doesn’t mean they can’t still do considerable damage.

You’re reminded of this when one strikes you in the back of the head. You stop fighting then. You try to keep fighting for your wives, but your vision is going blurry and your body isn’t responding to you like it usually does.

After that, you’re not really aware of what’s going on around you. The men are yelling at you, asking questions, screaming at you and you’re not hearing any of it. The screams then mix with blows, a fist to the face, throwing you from wall to wall, and eventually a few kicks to the stomach.

By the time it’s all over, you are alone in the bottom of your closet. You remember there’s a safe button on the side of the shoe rack, but one attempt to shift closer to it erupts into deep pain everywhere.

Taking in the situation, you realize you’re tied up at the hands and feet. A scarf gagging your mouth. You’re completely alone, with no way to go get help or cry for help…

… and no idea when your wives will be home to find you.

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

Suddenly, you are back on the closet floor with Wanda’s arms around you.

The thrust back into the present is violent. More violent than Wanda is used to.

Your sobs return with a new ferocity. Gripping Wanda even tighter, you try to convince yourself that it’s over. Nat and Wanda are here. You are safe.

Wanda feels a rage she has never known. Watching the memory, Wanda knows these intruders were not a part of any organization. They were just a few greedy civilians. They beat the love of her life and left her for dead. All over a couple valuables.

“I tried,” your lilting voice draws Wanda’s attention back to what’s most important, “I tried to reach the switch.”

“Sh sh sh,” the witch pulls you closer to her careful not to pull too hard. “I know, shhhh. You did the best you could detka,” she whispers in your ear, “I’m so sorry we weren’t here moya lyubov.” Tears spill down her face at the thought of what could have been. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Please don’t go again,” you scramble as close to her as possible, “please don’t leave me.”

Wanda pulls away just enough to cup your face and look into your eyes, “I am here, and I am not going anywhere ok?”

She waits for you to nod your head.

When you do, she continues, “we are here with you. You are safe. We are gonna get you taken care of. Ok?”

There’s a knock at the door, and panic seizes you again. You cling to Wanda trying to put as much distance between you and the door as possible.

“Shhhhh,” Wanda rubs your back to calm you down, “it’s just Nat, detka.”

You peak out of Wanda’s beck to see your other wife kneeling in front of you.

“Natasha?”

“I’m here, lyubov,” the widow reaches out for you, and you crawl into her arms. She holds you so gently, you forget the brutality her hands are capable of.

Wanda mentally relays what she learned from your memory. Not the whole thing, but the important details. When Nat is fully caught up, she grips you just a bit tighter, never wanting to let you go again.

“There’s no one else in the house,” Nat says more to Wanda than to you. You are so far buried into her neck, you can’t hear anything but your cries and the beating of your heart. “I called Steve,” she continues, “he’s gathering a team. They’ll be out here shortly to investigate.”

Wanda runs her fingers through your hair and makes eye contact with Nat. “She panicked when you knocked on the door. I don’t think she can take that many people right now,” she speaks directly into Natasha’s mind.

The widow nods in understanding. “Love,” she pulls away to get your attention, “can you look at me?” She wipes the tears from your face as your breathing starts to settle again. “Do you want to stay at the compound? We’ll get out of here before they get to the house. How does that sound?”

“We can have Cho check you out and get you tucked into bed before the rest of them get back,” Wanda tucks hair behind your ear, “would that be ok?”

You nod your head, knowing you don’t have a voice.

Wanda presses a long kiss to your forehead, followed by a few more, “come love.” She stands, and you whimper at the loss of contact. “I’m right here,” she reaches down to you.

Together, they help you to your feet, “neither of us are going anywhere. I promise you that.” Natasha has an arm wrapped around your waist, “do you think you can walk?”

Nodding, you take one step just fine. The next step, however, has your ankle rolling underneath you and your body crumbling to the floor in pain.

Quickly Wanda and Natasha catch you before you hit the ground. Natasha takes you into her arms as gently as she can and carries you down to the car.

Much later at night, more like very early the next morning, they finally have you tucked away between them in their bedroom in the compound.

Natasha first carried you to the med bay. Cho bandaged your wounds, wrapped your sprained ankle, and checked you for a concussion. Once you were cleared, Natasha carried you up to their bathroom where Wanda was already drawing a bath.

Now, you are clean and warm, with your wives on either side of you watching over you protectively. Sleeping with help of medication.

Wanda lies beside you; her chest acting as your pillow. Her fingers filtered through your hair that smelled of her shampoo.

Nat lies behind you. An elbow on the pillow props her head up enough for her to look down at you. A hummed melody floats from her throat to your ears quietly to keep you asleep. She traces patterns on your back careful to avoid any tender spots. Careful kisses are placed on your shoulder.

Knowing they won’t be able to sleep, they will sit in this bed and watch you sleep for however long you need them to. Neither one willing to leave this room.

They only ever use this room if they need to crash after a late night mission. Ever since the three of you moved into the house, they would much rather come home to you. You have only slept in here after one or two of Tony’s parties when everyone was a little too drunk to make it home.

Sitting up, contemplating the night’s events, Natasha can’t stop imagining what could have happened if they had stayed at the tower instead of going home to you.

“But we didn’t,” Wanda stops Natasha’s thoughts with her own.

They lock eyes, Nat counters, “she would have been like that all night.”

“But she wasn’t,” the witch stops her again. She looks down to you and strokes your cheek. “We can’t go down that path. We're here now. She's here now, and she needs us-"

As if on cue, you begin to writhe in their arms. You break out into a cold sweat, and your breathing spikes. Your face crumples as a nightmare grips your entire body.

"Shhhh, detka," they coo, "you're safe. You're ok; it's not real."

They try to gently shake you to wake you up. However, afraid that you were going to hurt yourself, they ended up just holding you still.

"Wake her up, Wanda."

The witch nods and quickly does so. Your eyes spring open as you frantically look around the room.

"Hey look at me," Wanda cups your cheek, "it's just us, detka. You're safe. We're in the compound; no one can hurt you."

"I think they're here. Are they here?" your voice croaks in between ragged breaths.

"Shhhhh," Natasha runs her hand up and down your arm, "they're not here. The team found them. They're on their way to the raft now. They will never hurt you again."

You collapse against your wives, falling into tears again. They hold you until your sobs reduce to hiccups, wishing they could take this pain from you.

Eventually the three of your breathing syncs, and you are almost calm again.

"Hold me tighter," you whisper, "please."

Of course, they oblige, burrowing as close to you as possible.

"We love you," Wanda presses a long kiss to your forehead.

Natasha echoes into your ear, "we love you so much."

For the first time tonight, a small smile graces your face, "I love you."

"You need to sleep as best you can, lyubov."

Your entire body tenses at the thought. You can't sleep. You don't want to risk reliving the nightmare again.

"I can give you a good dream," Wanda offers. Her fingers trace patterns on your arm.

Once again, you relax back into the embrace of your wives, nodding gratefully.

With a wave of her fingers, Wanda plants a memory in your subconscious. She chooses the night Natasha proposed to you and Wanda, one of the best nights of your lives.

"Sleep, neither of us are leaving."

They both kiss your head again, whispering reassurances of their love and protection.

Your eyes slip closed, and you drift off to sleep feeling safe and oh so loved.

#Kate hits 1k!#wandanat x reader #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximov x reader #natasha romanov x reader #wandanat #wanda x natasha #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maximov x natasha romanov #reader needs a hug #fem!reader #wlw #polyamory #civilian!reader

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crazyk-imagine · 11 months

Note

Hi, sorry for the radio silence!

If your requests are open, can I ask for a wolfman x reader where the flyboys see the sonogram in Leo’s locker (he keeping it a secret but acting a little different) from the fwb fic?

I understand if you deny this request and respect your decision!

Sorry again,

Your biggest fan!

Sonograms

Pairing: Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe x Civilian! Pregnant!reader

Characters: Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth), Civilian! Pregnant!reader

Warnings: Fluff, I had fun with this one, I am very proud of Goose in this one, especially of one phrase he says (hehe), the guys love her, Iceman knows about everyone and the recent tea, Ron's a dad now, Charls and reader cannot go a day without betting, it's becoming a problem... or is it?, why is this so cute?, who authorized this amount of cuteness, the guys are such gossiping hens

Word Count: 1,774

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One month later…

“This is really happening,” you tell the two.

“I guess it is,” she nods.

“Yeah,” Leonard nods. “What are we talking about?”

Charlotte takes a deep breath, keeping her comments to herself. “I’m still surprised you’re having his baby.”

“So am I, Charls. So am I.”

“Hey. Why are you two ganging up on me?”

“We’re not,” you turn to face your friend, “are we?”

She shrugs and snatches the instructions from your hands and flips back to page one. “Okay, this- this just isn’t working. Should it be this hard to put a crib together?”

Leonard shrugs and tries to screw the bars for one of the side panels. “No.”

“No one asked you,” she snaps back.

You chuckle, “you just did.”

“I’m pretty sure it was a rhetorical question.”

She nods, pointing to him. “I knew I liked him.”

Your bottom lip sticks out as you fight the urge to fight back. Maybe a joke would be a better thing to say, lighten the mood a little. “I’m pretty sure you told me you hated him when you realized how close he was with your ex-boytoy and his best friend.”

“You’re a liar. She’s lying,” she hands him the screw he’s looking for.

“It’s okay, he didn’t like you either.”

“What?” Her head snaps over in his direction.

“I never said that. She’s lying,” he turns to you. “Stop talking, stop saying things. The changes you’re going through are making it harder on you to keep these things to yourself so just,” he shushes you.

There was a bit of tension in the air as Charlotte and Leonard finished building the crib.

Two weeks later

He quickly places the latest sonogram picture back into his locker at the sound of the guys coming in.

“We missed you up there… again.” Nick claps him on the shoulder.

He's quiet and doesn't respond, which isn't like Leonard, at all. It instantly puts the troublemaker on edge.

“Where’s your head at?” Pete asks.

“You’ve been off,” Rick comments, also wondering what’s going on with his friend.

“Nothing. It’s nothing- I haven’t- shut up.” He tries to fight the urge to blurt out the truth, but he knows you aren't quite ready for anyone else to know just yet.

You're trying to plan on having a gender reveal party- or something similar to that. He can't quite remember what you said, all he knows is that if you do plan on throwing a party, you'll be stressing out a lot.

"Maybe his old lady finally has him by the- well," Nick pauses, giving the guys a second to think. "You know what I mean."

Pete shoves his friend’s shoulder while Rick throws a crumbled paper ball at him. "Knock it off, knucklehead."

"She's not like that," Leonard chimes in, defending you.

"Is it that one chick you were talking to at the bar a while back?" Pete asks, taking his arms out of his sleeves, tying them around his waist so he can cool off.

"Uh- I mean, which- uh- who are you talking about?"

"The one who's close with Charlie, right?" Nick adds.

Pete grimaces with an affirmative nod. "Yeah, her."

"She's nice," Rick adds.

"If it is that one, I like her. She keeps you in line."

The cowboy hat lover let's out a fake chuckle, "you're so nice man. Yeah, it's her."

"You finally manned up and asked her out on a real date instead of lying to yourself. Dare I say," he wipes away a fake tear. "I'm proud of you."

Pete pouts. "Wait- now I'm lost."

"What he said? We need some background information," the mustached man gestures to him and his partner in crime.

Leonard rolls his eyes and quickly nudges his locker open just enough for him to grab his helmet, except he knocks it against the inside of the door and knocks off his pictures.

"I’ll help you," Rick offers, since his locker is right next to Leonard’s. He picks up a few random pictures everyone has seen (since they're more or less likely in them) and then he stumbles across a very special one. "What's this?"

Nick furrows his brows at the question and leans over, his brows instantly shooting up when he starts at the black and white, very familiar photo. "Oh, yeah. Dude, I'm going to need some background information like now because that," he points to it. "Is not something you can easily avoid. Also, congrats. Now you'll understand my struggle."

"And, what's that?" Leonard asks, snatching the photos from Rick's hands.

"Running on five hours or less of sleep with a newborn. I mean," he glances him up and down. "That is, if you two are going to do this together and you didn't leave her high and dry because, I'm not going to lie that'd be- the ultimate dick move."

"I'm pretty sure they're together, Goose."

"We'll, I can't just assume. What if she mailed him a letter and gave him a choice but he hasn't made one yet or he did and that sonogram is a reminder of what two people can create in the heat of the moment whether they love each other or not, huh. Explain that Mav."

Rick shakes his head and slaps the back of their heads. "You two, shut up. Wolf, what happened?"

"Uh, well-" He scratches the back of his neck. "We were "seeing" each other for a bit and then she left one night and then it was over."

"Oh, that's makes sense now."

"What makes sense?" Tom asks, with Ron coming in behind him.

"We finally got the official answer about why cowboy was depressed a few months ago," Nick tells him.

"It was a girl, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I already knew that."

"Okay," he pushes past Pete and Rick so he can lean against the lockers closer to the blond. "But now we know our infamous Wolfman, has some- well, I don't mean to be crass but," he claps Leonard on the shoulder (again). "He's got some excellent cowboys in his holster."

It took everyone a moment to realize what exactly Nick is talking about and everyone in the room groaned.

"I know. I know, I'm not proud of it either but it was the best I could come up with."

"So..." Tom starts.

"Yes?" Nick replies.

"Not talking to you."

"Rude."

"Are you two-"

"I'm not going to miss anything in the bubbles life." The corners of his lips twitch upwards. "We just built the crib."

"Wow..." Pete nods.

"How long did it take?" The mustached man asks.

"It would have been smoother had Charlie not tried to steal everything. I had to restart everything she did."

"Wait until the mood swings come."

Ron shakes his head with a groan, "don't remind me."

"How old are your kids again, Slider?" Pete asks.

"Tony's going to be three in four months and Lindsay just turned one."

"One already? It seems like they were just born yesterday," Leonard says.

"Wait, till you understand that feeling... dad."

Leonard groans, laying down on the bench, placing his hat over his eyes. "Shut up, Pete."

"Never."

"Better him than me."

"You're both equally bad," Tom points out, glaring at Nick.

"But now you know a little bit of what you have to look forward to," Ron nudges him.

"Yeah, oh, I remember when we first heard Bradley's heartbeat. I cried."

"The heartbeat can make any man cry," Tom points out.

"Is there something you're trying to tell us, Icepop?" Nick asks.

"You're hearing things, mother goose."

"Not helping." Leonard pushes himself up.

"The most helpful thing we can say is, congratulations again and then we call your future baby mama and pass along the same-"

"No!"

Nick and Pete glance at one another with their eyebrows raised.

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone, we're you?" Tom chimes in, asking the very question they were thinking.

"I have to go out now, come on, H-Wood."

Leonard grabs his friend by his collar, forcing him out of the room.

Charlotte hangs up and grabs yours and her lunch. "I owe you."

You shake your head, "no you don't."

"I do. You won."

"He squealed."

She nods, sitting down on the couch beside you. "He did. The guys know and I'm sure Viper's going to know before the end of the day."

"Never bet against me. You know that."

She sets her cup down and quickly swallows her sip so she can whine. "Don't be mean. I get it, you're the queen of bets."

"Damn right I am."

"Should you be cursing around the baby like that?"

Your smile instantly falls from your face. "Oh my god. Mini wolf's first word is going to be some curse word, isn't it?"

"As long as you don't do it often... maybe you'll be fine?"

"You're not helping!"

"Don't start crying again, please."

"Oh, thank god you're back- oh," Charlotte holds the door open for Leonard and the others to walk through the door. "Why are there more of you?"

"Well, they- uh-"

"We know they know but why are they here?"

"We wanted to say hi," Nick chimes in, with Pete right beside him.

She narrows her eyes at the two and sighs. "Fine, come on in. You better have brought food, at least. We do have someone who's eating for two."

"We did," Tom lifts one of the many bags they have.

"Thank god, one of you was smart."

You walk down the hall at the sound of many people talking, people you know you weren't expecting. "Hello?"

"Hi, baby." Leonard pecks your cheek, "and baby." He places his hand on your belly, smiling. "How is our little bubbles?"

"Growing... but I was actually thinking of changing their name."

"Oh?"

"What do you think about mini wolf?"

"I think our baby's going to be very confused when they're born."

You nod, "yeah but I want to have a cuter nickname because you make me and mini wolf happy."

He smiles. "I’m happy to know that but I think bubbles was always a cute nickname. Now come on." He grabs your hand, "we brought a feast."

"Really?"

"Of things you probably shouldn't be eating but, we'll deal with better now."

"So," Nick says, extending the word. "Any names picked out?"

"Not yet."

"It'll come to you in the moment."

You smile and nod, "I hope so."

"Okay, we need to hear it from the source," Ron interrupts.

You furrow your brows. "Hear what?"

"What exactly happened?"

"Finally, things are getting interesting," Charlotte mutters.

"Can it, Charls."

Previously: Part I

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the-wize-1 · 10 months

Text

Thawing the Widow: Chapter 2 - Street Life

Chapter Summary: Cat has no idea what to do. She's not that great at planning ahead. She meets an annoying boy and a dog tries to steal her tacos. Not cool. She stumbles upon a hidden door.

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse, homelessness.

Notes: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Natasha will make her appearance very soon! Thank you for your patience. If you’re liking it so far, please heart and reblog this story! Happy reading! Next chapter will be posted tomorrow 5PM PST.

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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November - Trevor’s Apartment

Cat was lucky Trevor was a foolish idiot who kept the most of his cash in the drawer beside his bed, or else she would’ve never made the decision to bail.

If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that she wasn’t stepping foot into a foster home again. The second that social services worker, Kimberly Kingston, had turned to make that phone call, Cat hadn’t given it a moment’s thought before leaping into action.

As quietly as she could, she grabbed her school backpack. Unfortunately, it was pink and covered in sparkles and smiling butterflies, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was far from the most dignified way to travel, but the thing was huge and could fit about a million things. The first place she went to was Trevor’s stash.

It was half full, rows of crisp twenties lining the inside. Cat didn’t know how he was able to get so much cash, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She hesitated before reaching in. Her wrist throbbed in memory of the last time Trevor had caught her stealing from his stash. He’d been drunk, of course, and so angry…

Cat pushed the thought away fiercely. A hot, sudden surge of anger rose in her. With a renewed determination, she started stuffing her backpack full of money. She took immense pleasure in swiping every last twenty dollar bill, picturing Trevor’s ugly face when he opened the drawer to get more booze and found a drawer full of nothingness staring back at him.

Working quickly, she grabbed everything she could think of: a few pairs of clothing, toothbrush and toothpaste, along with everything else she owned. Then, she crawled underneath her bed, where she’d stashed Rufus for protection in case Trevor decided to throw him out in a blind drunken rage.

When Cat was six, her parents had given Rufus to her. He’d been a fluffy snow-white stuffed bunny that had been relatively well taken care of. He now sat limp and sad-looking, his fur was more gray than white. It had been a long time since she’d held him in her hands.

For a moment, Cat only stared at the bunny’s glazed eyes, lost in memories. After the death of her family, Cat had done her best to remove any memories of them from her life. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw Rufus away. Suddenly, she felt the familiar sensation of hot tears rising from her throat. She willed them back down. She hadn’t cried since the funeral.

Stop it.

Snapping back into reality, Cat felt a stab of annoyance at herself for losing focus. Why was she even thinking about that? It happened an eternity ago. She could hear noises from the doorway. The social services worker was still on the phone, thank god.

Cat zipped up her backpack. She stood, looking back at the mess of the apartment, taking it all in one last time. She wouldn’t miss it, that was for sure. Trevor’s late poker nights, eating greasy takeout, the entire place smelling like smoke and stale pizza… It was probably the last time she’d ever see it. Her heart soared with glee at this thought.

Cat pushed the window to the fire escape open. Once she had one foot out the window, a thought occurred to her: What if she was threatened by crazy muggers on the street? She’d need a few knives to fend herself off. Without thinking, she rushed back into the kitchen and hastily grabbed two or three sharp ones, stuffing them into her bag.

In an exhilarated daze, Cat took a moment to think about what she was doing.

Was this crazy? Stupid? Impulsive?

All of the above.

Was she going to regret this?

Probably.

Cat scanned the kitchen frantically for anything else she’d need. Surely she was forgetting something. Paper towels? Spoons? Neosporin, for emergencies? God, why were there so many things that people needed?

“Okay, great!” Kingston’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I’ll get back to you on that…”

Panic raced through her. There was no time. Impulsively, she grabbed the box of “Fruity Crisps” and launched herself out the window.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

November - Park

“Why do you have a backpack? There’s no school today.”

“Because,” Cat said, “none of your beeswax.”

“There’s no need to be so rude! My mommy says you should be nice to strangers.”

The first place she’d gone to was the park a good distance away from Trevor’s apartment. At that time of day on a Sunday, it was bustling with children along with their parents playing on the playgrounds. She’d gone straight to the best playground, making a beeline for the swings. It had been fun for the first seven minutes, until the boy came along.

Said boy was currently standing in front of the swings, and had recently started annoying the hell out of her. He was maybe a couple years younger than her. His gelled-back hair, bright polo shirt, and khaki shorts screamed country club brat. He had an unsightly mass of freckles across his face, covering his nose and his cheeks. Cat had taken an automatic disliking of him based on looks alone, but his whiney voice and ugly personality made her hate him more.

“Well, my mommy’s dead, and she didn’t tell me anything about talking to strangers. So I win.”

“Well, mine’s alive, so I win.”

“Whatever.”

The boy sighed. “Will you get off already? It’s my turn now.”

Cat glared at him, gripping the chains of the swing tightly. She kicked her feet in the air for momentum, nearly kicking him in the face. “Actually, since I’m the one on the swing, I’d argue that it’s my turn.”

“No, it isn’t! You’ve been on too long. Get off so I can go.”

Cat kicked up harder, aiming closer to his face this time. “No.”

The boy’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why?”

“Because, no.”

His face was screwing up, mouth twitching. With a prickle of disdain, Cat noticed he was on the verge of tears. “You’re not sharing!”

At his childish rebuke, Cat laughed.

With a determined cry, he charged at her and caught her feet mid-swing. He tugged down, hard. The swing’s chains rocked on the structure. Surprised and caught off guard, Cat lost her grip and nearly tumbled to the ground. She regained her balance, kicking until the boy’s vice like grip came off her foot. Cat was overwhelmed by a wave of anger. Being a brat was one thing, but trying to harm her was another.

He started screaming. “Stop it! Stop it!” The boy burst into angry tears. “MOOOOM!”

A short blond haired woman gossiping with the other moms at the edge of the playground looked up warily. Cat’s internal Karen alarm went wild. What she hated more than spoiled little kids was spoiled little kids with Karen moms.

The woman marched over. “What is it, Tanner?”

Freaking Tanner. Of course his name was Tanner.

“This weird girl won’t get off the swings, even when I asked her nicely! She’s been on forever and won’t share!”

Cat’s eyebrows raised incredulously. At what point did he ask her nicely?

The mom looked at her disapprovingly, and said, in a very condescending tone, “Excuse me, girl, will you get off the swings so my son can swing? This playground is meant for everyone to enjoy.”

The argument had drawn the attention of a couple other moms and a handful of onlookers. Cat’s sneakers skidded on the ground as she slowed to a stop.

“Right now, I’m enjoying it. Your son can enjoy it later, when I’m done. That’s the whole point of taking turns.”

“See? She won’t share!”

“Oh, shut up, Tanner.”

The mom gasped in horror. “Young lady! We do not use words like that! That is extremely inappropriate!”

“Yeah!” the boy echoed, smirking.

“If you think it’s so inappropriate, why’d you name him that?” Cat snapped back.

The mom’s brow furrowed as the insult took a few seconds to register. Her face morphed from shock to anger. “Why, you little…”

Cat’s attention was suddenly diverted. At the edge of her gaze, she spotted a dark blue blazer with matching pants. Kimberly Kingston had spotted her as well. How the fridge had that woman found her so quickly? Was she an FBI agent in disguise?

No, it had to be Cat’s luck. What were the chances, in a city as big as New York, that Kingston could have found her in less than two hours?

She swore, drawing another horrified gasp from the mom, who slapped her hands over her son’s ears.

“Young la—”

“Suck it, Karen!” she yelled, making a run for it.

“Cat, wait!” Kingston shouted. “Just listen—”

Cat didn’t pause to hear her out. She quickly glanced back, seeing the chaos that had ensued. The other moms had varying expressions, a mixture of entertained and perplexed. The mom was still covering her son’s ears, shouting very unladylike obscenities at her. Kimberly Kingston had started running as well, which was— frankly— a more amusing sight than not. Cat was faster, even with the heavy backpack weighing her down; she’d had more practice running away from things. Kimberly Kingston, on the other hand, looked like she’d had one too many donuts recently.

Cat sprinted at a pace she was pretty sure was equal to the speed of light. Kingston had no chance of catching her. Daring another glance back, Cat saw that the woman had slowed to a jog, but was barking orders in her phone and simultaneously shouting at onlookers to “Get that girl!”

Good luck with that, Cat thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

December - One week later - Outside a Taco Bell

“Hey, kid!”

The voice seemed like it was coming from far away. The smell of tacos was what made Cat’s eyes flutter open.

It was dark. A cold gust of night air whooshed by, prickling her skin. Cat realized she was shivering.

It had been roughly a week since her escape from Kingston at the park. Cat didn’t worry about them finding her too much. There was no one who cared about her that much who would initiate a rescue mission to find her. Trevor had only taken her in for the money, after all.

Despite the homeless thing, she felt like she was handling the whole situation pretty well. She spent most of her time exploring all the places she’d never been to, stopping to eat and clean herself up, and generally heading as far away from Trevor’s place as possible, all while trying to avoid Kingston finding her a second time.

However, Cat was worried about one thing. Her stack of money had been slowly diminishing. She’d never realized how expensive certain things were, like healthy food or coffee. Four dollars for a frappuccino at Starbucks? No, thank you. She didn’t dwell on it, preferring to burn that bridge when she came to it.

Libraries, Cat had decided, were her favorite place. They were a safe haven. They were warm, had coffee, and didn’t care if you looked suspicious as long as you were quiet and undisruptive. Cat had spent a whole day going through stacks of books. She’d always had a talent for memorizing. Once she’d read something once, it was rooted in her memory forever. She could skim through a novel and instantly recall all the words in the right order.

Finding places to sleep had been tricky. They were, most of the time, cold and inconvenient and rarely comfortable. The beds at the homeless shelter was all right, but she only stayed for a couple of days so as to not draw suspicion. That day, she’d finally stopped at a Taco Bell, deeming the back wall an acceptable place to sleep for the night. She’d dozed off with her back to the wall, hugging her backpack between her chest and her knees.

“Hey,” the voice said again.

Cat squinted upwards. There was a guy standing before her, holding two tacos and a drink. He looked young. He had a Taco Bell apron on, and a Taco Bell hat. Cat guessed it was safe to assume he was a Taco Bell employee.

“Hi,” she said.

Crap. Was he going to tell her she wasn’t allowed to sleep here? She started to get up, trying to explain.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll sleep somewhere else…”

“No, no, it’s not that! You’re fine,” he reassured her.

Thank god, because she didn’t know if she had the strength to walk another ten steps. She sank back down against the wall, blinking her eyes groggily.

“Here.” He held out a taco to her.

It took Cat a moment to register his words. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. They smelled heavenly. She’d been so preoccupied finding a spot to sleep that she’d forgotten to eat. Her stomach grumbled. She reached out to take it, and scarfed it down like she hadn’t eaten in days. Flavors burst in her mouth. It was delicious.

“Whoa! Slow down, there. You don’t want to choke.”

Cat chewed a fraction slower and swallowed. She must’ve looked like a savage. “Thank you,” she said, wishing she had something to wash it down with.

He held out the other taco and the drink. “These are for you, too. You look like you need it.”

Cat reached out to take it, overcome by gratitude. “Wow. Thank you.” Cat downed the soda eagerly, not caring that she looked like a starving wild animal. She looked up at the Taco Bell employee, who looked slightly horrified.

She looked up at him. “Why are you helping me?”

He shrugged. “You looked like you needed it.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Look—” He crouched down next to her. “What’s your name?”

Cat blurted out the first name that came to mind. “Maxine.”

“Maxine, do you have any parents?”

“No.”

“Are you in the foster system?”

Cat was eternally grateful to him and all, but she didn’t like where this conversation was going. She stood up abruptly.

“Thanks for helping me. I really am grateful. But I have to go now.” She grabbed her backpack, the taco and the drink, and shoved past him.

“Wait!” he called after her. “I’m sorry!”

Once she ran far away enough, she slowed down to a walk, scouring the streets for places to sleep. She couldn’t deny that she felt a little scared, walking in the darkness. Taxi cabs zoomed by around her, making her shiver harder. Her thin coat was doing her no favors.

Cat found an empty alley and crouched down to eat the rest of her taco. Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.

A small, dark blur sprang out from the darkness, lunging towards the taco. Cat yelped in shock, springing back, and lost her grip on it. The blur, which Cat identified as a small dog, grabbed it out of the air and sat on the ground, lowering the taco to the ground to eat it.

“Hey!” Cat yelled. “That’s not yours!”

The dog’s head whipped up in surprise, flinching back.

Cat made a grab for the taco, barely caring that it was covered in dog slobber. She had no plans to eat it, but there was no way in hell some small, annoying dog was getting away with stealing her food. The dog, lightning fast, snatched the taco back from the ground and growled.

“Give it back, you bastard!”

The dog darted between her legs, taco between its teeth. Cat spun back around. He wasn’t running. He had come to a stop by the corner of the alley, watching her. She swore it seemed to be mocking her, which only infuriated her more. The two watched each other intently, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Cat did. She sprinted towards the alley, and the dog ran off again. She turned the corner and saw the dog’s head bobbing up and down as it bounded further and further away. The chase was unfair and pathetic. It continued for a block and a half before Cat realized how dumb it was.

She was chasing after a dog— a dog, for god’s sake— to obtain a taco that she didn’t even buy, that she wasn’t even going to eat.

Dogs have to eat, too, she reasoned. Even homeless ones.

What kind of heartless human being would let a dog starve? Better the dog have the meal, rather than both of them end up with nothing.

Sighing in frustration and mourning the loss of her taco, Cat sank on the steps of a brownstone and bundled her coat tightly around her. Her eyes slid shut, the pull of sleep more longing than ever. She laid her head on her knees and hugged herself, listening to the slowing beat of her heart.

She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, just as a pitiful whine dragged her out of it. She shifted her head slightly to make out the dog sitting in front of the steps, teeth clamped around the taco.

“Jesus,” she muttered, turning back into her elbow. “Go away, evil spawn.”

The dog made another noise.

Cat lifted her head. “What do you want now?”

The dog laid the taco gently at her feet with the gentleness of a mother holding her child for the first time. The taco was soggy, covered in bite marks and dirt, and clearly past the point of inedibility. Despite this, Cat was slightly moved by the action.

“That’s nice. Disgusting, but nice. You may have redeemed yourself.”

She noticed the dog was a beagle. She’d read about beagles in a book about dogs before. Her photographic memory recalled the exact wording: Beagles come in such pleasing colors as lemon, red and white, and tricolor. The Beagle’s fortune is in his adorable face…

The dog nudged the taco towards her with his nose. Gazing at her expectantly, he had the most wide, innocent eyes.

“Fine, so you’re adorable. Get over it.”

… with its big brown or hazel eyes set off by long, houndy ears set low on a broad head. Beagles are loving and lovable, happy, and companionable—all qualities that make them excellent family dogs. No wonder that for years the Beagle has been the most popular hound dog among American pet owners. These are curious, clever, and energetic hounds who require plenty of playtime…

The beagle seemed to be waiting for her to pick the taco up.

Cat wrinkled her nose. “You can’t expect me to eat that. You’ve already gone and covered it in slobber.”

The beagle whined again.

“Okay, whatever. I’m going back to sleep,” she told the dog, feeling a bit silly. “So you can go now.”

She dropped her head, expecting to hear the dog’s footsteps padding away. There was none. She opened one eye warily, to see the dog still sitting next to the taco, having no plans to move away.

Stupid dog.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

December - the next day

When Cat woke up, the beagle hadn’t left, to her surprise and relief. He followed her when she stood up, and Cat made no move to stop him. She felt herself growing increasingly fond of him. Once it became clear that the dog had no plans of ditching her, she decided to name him. After two blocks of walking, she picked the name Taco, in memory of the taco that began their friendship.

That night, as Cat was scouring the streets for a place to sleep, she decided upon a long alleyway. It was windy and cold, and the walls would protect her from it. She’d been planning on sleeping against one of the walls when Taco started barking wildly.

That was the problem with dogs. Sometimes, they were adorable angels obediently listening to orders, and sometimes they were demons straight from hell who wouldn’t stop barking.

Taco was facing the empty side of a wall, jumping and barking like crazy.

“Shut up, shut up, please shut up,” Cat muttered to him, trying to calm him by rubbing his head. “Look, there’s nothing there—”

Cat paused. The lighting was so terrible she could hardly make out her hand in front of her face, and the side of the wall had been painted black, so she hadn’t noticed it at first. But now that her attention was fully focused on it, she noticed it— a barely perceptible outline along the side of the wall, almost like a door. She trailed her fingers along the outline, and sure enough, there was a handle.

She tried it. It was locked, of course. Curious now, she jammed her fingers into the thin crevice in the wall and attempted to pull, but it didn’t work. Taco had stopped barking. She ran and thrust her shoulder into the wall with all her might, like people did in the movies. She immediately regretted it, retreating with a series of curses and “ow ow ow ow ow ow,” cradling her bruised shoulder.

Cat took out the knife she’d stolen from Trevor’s kitchen and recalled a book she’d read on lock picking, just the other day in the library. The knife was slim and short, the perfect size. She jammed the knife into the lock the way the book had told her to, wiggled it until she heard it click in the right places, twisted—

Click.

Amazed and in disbelief that the stupid trick had actually worked , Cat twisted the handle and yanked. The door sprang open. Taco raced inside, abandoning all caution.

Cat stepped inside cautiously. It was dark, cold, and there didn’t seem to be anyone inside. She fumbled around for a light, found it, and flicked it up. She was greeted with a shocking surprise. The inside was well-lit, extremely tidy, and whoever had decorated it had excellent taste. There was a couch along with a modern-looking TV, a kitchen, and a hallway that led to a bedroom.

Cat knew now what Taco had found so bark-worthy. The delicious aroma of a pile of peanut butter cookies, lying on the counter of the kitchen. Taco was reaching with his paws toward the counter, trying to reach it. Cat felt the same way. She was starving. (Now, she always felt like she was starving.)

She didn’t need any prompting. She threw her backpack on the couch as if she’d lived there all her life, raced to the counter, and stuffed a cookie in her mouth. It was a bit hard and cold, but amazing. The proportions of salty peanut butter to sweet chocolate was perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Cat told Taco, through a mouthful of peanut butter cookie, feeling like the cruelest dog owner in the world as she swallowed. “You can’t have these. They have chocolate in them.”

That same day, she’d made Taco wait outside the library as she memorized as many books on beagles as she possibly could. There were a lot of things dogs couldn’t eat. No raisins, coconut oil, alcohol, and most of all, no chocolate.

Suddenly having an idea, Cat rummaged through the fridge and found a jar of peanut butter. She let Taco lick a good amount out of the jar before she closed it.

A horrifying thought smashed into her. If there were peanut butter cookies plated on the counter, surely someone must’ve baked them. Which meant that someone had lived there, recently. Judging by the temperature, the person hadn’t baked them in the last hour, which probably meant they were coming back soon. And based off the fact that the room was hidden behind a secret door of a filthy alleyway, whoever lived there probably hadn’t intended anyone to find it. All signs pointed to Get out of here, fast, before something horrible happens and you die!

Cat bit her lip as she thought about this, looking around the room. She hadn’t been in a place this clean since… well, since she’d lived at her old house in California. There was electricity, food, a place to sleep, and probably a good amount of other things she could scrounge up. This place like this probably had clean water, band-aids, and a bunch of stuff she could really use.

She made a plan. She wouldn’t stay there long, because it was obviously a horrible idea. But she’d get food for her and Taco, grab any other useful things she found, and then get the hell out of there. She debated the ethics of stealing, but reasoned that it was too good of an opportunity to let slip by.

Cat rifled through the fridge first, relieved to find a great deal of pre-cooked meals and some chicken for Taco. She found a few and heated them, trying to follow the instructions on the box the best she could. While that was happening, she grabbed the plate of cookies and stuffed them in her mouth— because seriously, they were so good— while searching through the place for any other items they might need.

Surprisingly she found quite a few medical supplies— bandages, Neosporin, and a bunch of anti-whatevers she couldn’t pronounce. Along with that, some nail clippers(hers were getting long), wipes, more toothpaste, and band-aids. In the kitchen, she found a variety of energy bars, snacks, and was especially delighted to find three boxes of Lucky Charms. She took one of them.

By then she’d finished the plateful of cookies, only feeling slightly guilty because, once again, they were seriously so delicious . She was still hungry enough to finish one of the reheated meals. Afterwards, having satisfied her hunger and filled her backpack to brim with supplies, she was ready to go.

Taco was gently snoring, head resting on his paws, after eating all the chicken. He looked so serene that Cat felt like it would be a crime to wake him up.

She realized that she felt really tired, too. All that food had made her sleepy. And she hadn’t slept in… she’d lost count of the hours. If she and Taco ventured back outside, they’d have to sleep in the cold, wet alleyway, she reasoned, slowly convincing herself. And the couch in front of the TV looked so soft and inviting…

What harm could it do if she just took a little nap? Who cared if someone found her? She was a kid, there was no way they’d hurt a little kid… With those thoughts in mind, she all but collapsed on the couch and passed out.

When she woke up, someone was holding a gun to her head.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Notes: I think we can all guess who’s holding that gun! Natasha makes her appearance in the next chapter! Sorry for not being consistent… I’ll stick to my schedule from now on. Next chapter posted tomorrow! Please like and reblog if you’re enjoying it! See you soon! Thanks!

#black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #civilian!reader x natasha romanoff #natasha Romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha x reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #black widow fic #black widow x reader

29 notes · View notes

loveindefinitely · 3 months

Text

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

7K notes · View notes

outoftheseine · 1 month

Text

- SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY FIC RECS 2 -

my big, broody husband | note: this is COD so there are some trigger warnings like: blood, guns, injuries, military stuff, death so please beware of them. there also also 18+ content so minors DNI. don't forget to read the authors' warnings | more will be added!

part one | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

yes, lieutenant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very very angsty, violence, smut)

forcedhusband!simon x reader

↳ by @suimon (sooo much fluff, comfort, slow burn, mutual pining, lots of bantering)

unexpected | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (pregnant!reader, angst, comfort, fluff)

the roommate • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world (angst, fluff, smut, kidnapping, simon here made my heart so fuzzy)

please love me | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @rowarn (angst, smut, comfort, tw’s like depression, sa and suicide)

actions have consequences | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!civilian!spouse!reader

↳ by @mrweh (heavy angst, mean!simon)

office romance • supervisor!simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @hecateslore

you had his baby and he didn’t know | part two • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sgrplumditz

ghost distribution system | part two | part three • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @katz-chow

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

his heart, his light, his world • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (so so fluffy)

no judgement • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @blingblong55 (so so so fluffy, dad!simon)

consequences • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sinkovia (very angsty, tw: miscarriage)

a place to be weak • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @cherryredstars (fluff, little angsty)

superficial wounds, deep devotion • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @tacticaldiary (fluff)

tormented by a ghost • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @shotmrmiller (mean!simon, little explicit)

lights • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @babygirl-riley (dad!simon fluff, angst, childhood trauma)

sunshine • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @sgtcosmo (fluff)

whispers and words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @dammn-dean (angst, slightly suggestive, happy ending)

secret haven • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lightwing-s (fluff, secret relationship)

gentle love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @floatingfireflies (fluff)

his girls • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @casiia (dad!simon, domestic!simon, fluff, slight angst)

migraines • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @mockerycrow (fluff, physical hurt/comfort)

family ties • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @lundenloves (angst, dad!simon but not a cute dad ahaha)

longing • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @yawnderu (fluff)

hold it together while the world is on fire • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (major character death, grief, angst, tw: drug abuse)

is it too soon? • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @unreliablesnake (fluff, simon is whipped, grief)

in another life • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @suimon (very angsty, hurt but no comfort)

over his shoulder • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @imperihoe-writes (tooth rotting fluff)

sweet dreams, my love • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @qtboni (so fluffy)

the sacrifice • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @bravo4iscool (medic!reader, fluff, angst but happy ending)

wrong words • simon ‘ghost’ riley x 141!reader

↳ by @milf-murdock (hurt/comfort)

being chosen… by a baby • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!single mom!reader

↳ by @southernbluebellereader (fluff)

big guy • simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @kivino (fluff, jealous!simon)

gentle giant • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @asph6lt (fluff, soft!simon)

girl dad • dad!simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @thexsilentxwordsmith (very fluffy)

home invasion • neighbour!simon ‘ghost’ riley x gn!reader

↳ by @oceantornadoo (hurt/comfort, violence, fluff)

everything’s gonna be okay • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @pearlofthesirens (hurt/comfort)

meet the family • simon ‘ghost’ riley x civilian!reader

↳ by @sim0nril3y (angst, comfort, family issues)

oh muse, tell me of the things done by golden aphrodite • simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

↳ by @sprout-fics (smut, greek mythology au)

late night embrace • simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader

↳ by @mondaysoct (fluff, slightly explicit)

2K notes · View notes

yandere-writer-momo · 19 days

Text

Yandere Head Canons:

The Hands That Hold You

Yandere Assasin Harem x Oblivious Fem Reader

TW: Somniaphilia, uncomfortable themes, yandere, stalking, mention of size difference, potential of being held captive, cunninglingus, smut, etc

The town of Rellikhold, a peaceful town filled with quirky citizens. Each with a mysterious past and lack of warmth. And you had received a special invitation by the government to live in this new town! Aren’t you lucky?

Poor little you had no clue that this town was filled with ex-contract killers who’ve never felt warmth nor kindness in their life… they were all a moth to your flame. Each one wanting to stake a claim on you, even if it was at the expense of another’s life. You belonged to them.

Callum: Scotland (Florist)

Callum is a massive man with a soft yet muscular build. He has a thick red beard that he keeps trimmed and a mustache he keeps curled up. Callum also has red chest hair and arm hair (the curtains definitely match the drapes). He is 35 years old and a retired sniper. Callum has a heavy Scottish accent and he’s the warmest of the villagers.

This big, muscular red head was shocked when you waltzed into his shop. You were so small and your steps were so clumsy like a newborn fawn. Yet it was your eyes that caught his attention. He’s never seen someone’s eyes filled with such innocence. It intrigued him.

Callum is easily flustered with from your bright smile and warm personality. Yet he can’t help the intrigue he felt from your arrival. From one glance, he knew you were just a regular civilian… what on earth were you doing here? This place was so dangerous.

Yet you’re oblivious to everyone’s past and treat him no differently from a regular man! Your interest in his flowers warm his heart… Callum is immediately taken to you. You’re so cute and you’d fit so perfectly in his arms… he’s never felt this way before.

Callum often looks forward to your visits to his shop. The red head often reorganizes the flowers just to make sure they’re to your liking! Callum always makes sure his beard is well trimmed and his long curls are pulled up into a bun. He has to look presentable for his little lady!

Often lingers around you like a shadow when you’re in the shop. Callum would lose his marbles if you ever came into his shop with a visible wound or bruise. He’s extremely obsessed with your well being.

Callum often offers you his jacket and holds doors open for you, he’s a total gentleman. A gentleman who believes you’re his. He sees no other logical explanation on why you visit him so often. You have to have a crush on him, right?! Don’t worry… he doesn’t mind that you’re shy. He has no trouble taking the lead.

It will take a total of four months until he’s trying to be more physically affectionate towards you. Callum believes the two of you are dating. His large, calloused hands often brush against yours or he’ll grab your waist to steer you in another direction. He cannot get over the size difference.

You’ll often have free bouquets delivered to your house with cute hand written notes. Which are often accompanied by Gaelic terms of endearment. “M’eudail. Mo chridhe. Etc.”

And if Callum ever spots you with one of ten other villagers? His stabs at affection take a turn to be more bold. In his mind, you’re trying to make him jealous… not to worry! Callum will give you more of his time! Whatever you want, he will give you! Even the heads of your enemies neatly arranged in a bouquet.

Callum I willing to do anything to keep you happy and satisfied. He’s the least selfish of the others. If you want to have a sexual relationship with him, he’d be more than happy to oblige!

Callum will have you bent over every surface and even his shop (with the curtains pulled down of course). Just so he can stuff you with his thick fingers and fat cock. He’s extremely giving and he’s more than happy to perform cunninglingus on you.

One day, you went into his shop and were filled with such fright, it made his heart ache!

“What are you so scared for, m’eudail?” Callum husky voice asked. The large man made his way over to your disheveled form. “Has someone frightened you?”

Callum bent down to your level and held your cheeks in his palms. His thumbs brushed a few tears from your cheeks as he shushed you.

“It’s okay, mo chridhe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Günter: Germany (Police Officer)

A tall, muscular blonde riddled in scars from head to toe. His blonde hair is always cut in a military cut and he’s extremely stoic. No one can ever tell what he’s thinking and he hardly speaks. Günter is Char’s identical twin brother and also an ex bounty hunter. The pair are both 29 years old and very feared members in the community from their reputation.

Günter was extremely wary of you at first. He isn’t used to people taking notice of someone like him or being warm to him.

Günter is extremely stiff when you interact with him. He often glances the other way if you stare at him with your pretty eyes for too long. He’s unsure of why his heart flutters whenever you’re around. Günter has never been in a relationship in his entire life. He’s so awkward and quiet around you, but his stoic expression never shows it.

You once grabbed his hand when you tripped and Günter swore he was electrocuted. He was quick to help you up onto your feet as he silently checked you over. His heart thrummed in his chest when you gave him such a sweet, grateful smile. It’s how Günter realized he’s smitten with you.

Günter often offered to walk you home to keep you safe. He’s the least delusional of the others and a rather lucid yandere. He is aware of the difference of reality and his fantasies. Which is why he will never act upon them on you. Everyone else is free game.

If someone upsets you even the slightest bit, they are instantly on his shit list. And if they make you cry or try to harm you? They’re as good as dead. He’s the town’s cop and the most prolific killer of them, so what can they do to stop him?

Günter is very aware of the others’ twisted feelings towards you, especially Char’s. He often hides around the corner as he watches his sister wash your hair. He’s a bit jealous of the intimacy, but he knows better than to be greedy. He’s a cop, not a hairdresser.

He’s usually quite silent but he often shows you his soft side. Soft smiles and tender touches. Günter is incredibly gentle despite his massive height.

Günter would be over the moon if you wanted a relationship of any kind with him! If it’s sexual, you sadly won’t be doing much walking. Günter tries his best to be gentle, but he soon finds himself blowing your back out while he whispers German pet names in your ears.

Günter also secretly has a breeding kink so keep an eye on him. If he’s in the heat of the moment, he will whisper his darkest desires in your ear. Of how he wants you round and fat with his kids with a ring on your finger.

And Günter will not share. So don’t even think about sleeping with anyone other than him or he will make several attempts to baby trap you.

“Meine Liebe, why do you cry?” Günter asked you softly with a frown. The police officer sat beside you on the park bench, his muscular arms now wrapped around you in a hug. “You know you can tell me anything… did someone make you upset?”

You just rest your head on his chest which made Günter melt into a puddle. He’s quick to scoop you up into his arms. “Do you want to head to my home, meine liebes Mädchen? It’s getting dark out and it can get dangerous at night.”

And the instant you nod your head, you’re swept off your feet in a bridal carry. His normally stoic face now had a small smile on it.

Finally… you were finally coming home where you belonged.

Wan: China (Photographer)

Wan is an average height man of Chinese descent. He’s quite feminine appearance wise, but don’t like that fool you. He’s one of the most dominant of the villagers.

Wan typically keeps to himself. Hes not as massive or intimidating as the other men. His long black hair is typically pulled back into a braid and he usually roams the village’s park or beach.

Wan is a bit shocked when he first met you since he can tell off the bat that you’re a regular civilian. Did the government send you as some sort of social experiment to see if their retirement was successful? To see if a group of ex- bounty hunters can integrate into society without a hitch? How peculiar.

Wan often trailed you home to see if you had any attachments to any governments. He didn’t want a government spy ruining his idyllic life and he was not afraid to eliminate you if that were the case… but you were clean! Annoyingly so.

You had simple hobbies and a permanent smile on your face. You were friendly and warm like a dog… like a pet. It made Wan’s mind wander to more promiscuous thoughts. Would you enjoy a collar and a leash while he dominated every aspect of your life? Perhaps you would since you always greeted him with such a warm smile and baked goods. You must have some sort of attraction to him, right? Why else would you bake for an acquaintance so often? (Wan had no clue you did for all of your friends).

Wan often invited you out for walks with him on the beach while he snaps photographs. It’s when you accidentally enter one of his shots that turn his whole world upside down. How could someone be so beautiful?

Wan started to snap photos of you smiling and dancing when in his company but it wasn’t enough. These simple photographs simply wouldn’t do for him anymore.

What started off as innocent photography took a quick, dark turn into obsession.

Wan began to slip behind you in the shadows to follow you everywhere. Whether you were simply enjoying a meal or beverage, or even sleeping, Wan captured it all behind his lens. Wan wanted more! More. More. More. More!!

His photography room was now covered in photos of you. There was not a single empty space left of the wall or ceiling that wasn’t adorned with your being. His darkroom still had thousands of photos developing as well. Wan simply couldn’t get enough.

When Wan found out there were others, he was extremely upset. What on earth did you see in Callum or Günter? They weren’t nearly as impressive as him! Wan was slim and far more flexible. Wan could bend your body in ways it’s never been before.

Wan often snuck into your room to lay beside you. To inhale your scent and to caress your soft, pliable body. Would you freak out if you woke up to see him or would you submit to his desires? This risqué game of his never grew tiring…

If you begin a sexual relationship with Wan, he’s incredibly rough. He has incredibly sadistic tendencies such as pulling hair, choking, licking up your tears, and harsh spankings… but he will talk you through it.

Slender fingers stroked your cheeks as you slept soundly. Wan smiled at how unaware of your surroundings you were. How could someone be so cute?

“Lǎopó, you’re so precious…” Wan bent forward and tenderly pressed his lips against yours. In his eyes, you were his lover. His and no one else’s. “I just want you to be my beloved pet, bǎobèi.”

Wan pulled your covers over your shoulders and over his body while he spooned you. This was the only time you were all his and no one else’s… and that’s the way he preferred it to be.

Amari: Thailand (Musician)

Amari is an amab individual but prefers to go by they/them. The twenty four year old often enchant others with their ethereal beauty. They have sun kissed skin and long black hair that frames a symmetrical face, one would think they were carved by the gods themselves. Yet Amari is partially blind due to their final assignment so they were forced into an early retirement compared to the others. Yet they pretend they’re fully blind to appear weaker to the others. They’re one of the most dangerous of the villagers due to their unpredictable mannerisms.

Amari can often be found in Belladonna’s restaurant playing the khene. Their mystic melody is as intriguing as they are which often captivates their audience.

Amari is incredibly shy and will be startled at first if you talk to them. Yet they’re eager for the companionship. Amari is the easiest to get close to compared to the others due to their young age. If you compliment them, they’re completely enraptured by you. You think they’re beautiful?! You love their music? Amari cannot get enough of praise.

Amari often trails after you like a lost puppy. They will often play the ‘helpless blind’ card just so they can hold your hand. They can’t get enough of how soft you are. Oh what they wouldn’t give to be able to see you… there was not a doubt in their mind that you were lovely.

Amari will play their khene for you and sometimes they’ll even sing. They’re your own personal song bird! They’re willing to perform any song for you so long as you eagerly listen to them just like they eagerly wait for your praise!

Amari will want to spend every breathing moment by your side. They’re stuck to you like velcro and unmovable. Suffocatingly clingy due to them never receiving warmth, Amari cannot get enough of your sweetness. They want you all to themselves.

They cannot stand you giving your attention and affection to the others. Look at them! Listen to their music, you said it was lovely! Just be theirs! Please. Please. Please. Please.

Amari will pathetically beg for your love on their hands and knees. They will use every card in their deck to manipulate you into their hands. They will not share and they will not surrender you.

No matter how puppy like they are to you, they’re a monster the others will not go near. Being involved with them is like being trapped in a spider’s web. You were doomed from the first interaction.

They’re one of the only ones who will stoop low enough to take advantage of you in your sleep (besides Wan). Their mouth is always buried between your legs as you sleep completely unaware of their efforts to get you used to them. They can’t get enough of how sweet you taste. Of how your body contorts and your toes curl in pleasure. Sometimes if the moonlight hits your face just right, they can see your face. And they make sure to burn that image in their memory forever. Oh what they would give for you to know it was them.

Amari pressed kisses up and down your thighs as your back arches in pleasure. So beautiful… so unaware. You’re just like a butterfly caught in a spider’s web.

“I love you…” Amari whispered against your skin, the assassin ran a tanned hand through their long locks in an attempt to reel themselves in. It was easy for them to get lost in the moment, but they needed to be patient. “And I know you love me too.”

Amari pulls themselves away from in between your legs and rests their head on your stomach. A soft hum escaped their thin lips in thought. It was such a beautiful night and they were happy to spend it with you.

Char: Germany (Hair Dresser)

Char is Günter’s identical twin and they couldn’t be more similar if they try. It’s easy to confuse one for the other since Char looks incredibly masculine. The only difference is their placements of scars and her blonde hair is just a little bit longer.

It takes awhile to earn Char’s friendship. She’s quite self conscious of herself since she looks so much like a man. Compliments will win her over and make her blush. She’s quite fond of being called handsome or beautiful.

She enjoys washing and trimming your hair for you. She cannot get over how soft your hair feels between her fingers…

It doesn’t take long for her to fall for you compared to her brother. She’s another sucker for praise, but she gives praise even more. Char is the queen of pet names.

Char is incredibly protective of you, just like Günter. The difference between them is that Char collects little keepsakes from you. Oh yes, she has a shrine dedicated completely to you.

Char is obsessed with you. She collects the trimmings of your hair and any utensils you had used in her salon. She tells herself it’s to keep herself from acting on her impulses, but that’s a lie. She’s simply obsessed with you.

If you ever vent to her about any one in the village, especially new comers, she will get rid of them for you personally. Typically in a rather brutal fashion. Anyone who upsets you simply doesn’t deserve to live.

If you’re ever curious about her past, she will tell you. She’s the least secretive and the most honest. Char will even admit about her shrine of you if you ask. She wants to be an open book that you can read at anytime. Trust her.

Char will often flee to the back room of her salon if she gets a bit too riled up from her interactions with you. If you follow her to the back because you’re worried, there’s no guarantee she won’t have you bent over the break room table with her lips eagerly pressed against yours and her fingers yanking at the waist band of your pants.

Out of everyone, Char is the most obsessed with your pleasure. She’s incredibly giving. It doesn’t matter the time or the location, if you’re a bit moody she will pull you into the nearest room and go to town. Be as loud as you want as she pushes your body to the point of overstimulation, she wants the others to know you’re hers.

“Meine Liebe…” Char whispered as she presses kisses all across your fear stricken face. An expression you always wore due to how passionate of a lover Char was. “I’m sorry I got carried away again.”

You nuzzled into your lover, who only peppered you with more kisses. “Mein liebes Haustier, I love you so much… how about you just stay in mein arms forever?”

Belladonna: French (Chef)

Belladonna was once a renowned poison specialist, hence her name. She’s a tall, slender twenty nine year old woman with fawn brown hair and sharp, feline like features. Belladonna is heartless and cold, just like the deadly poisons she once used. She’s a closeted lesbian and a very open misandrist.

Belladonna is the owner and head chef at Le Jarden. She’s quite prideful of her cooking and she only prepares the best cuisine. Belladonna has a tendency to be quite pretentious and she’s very rude if your French isn’t adequate.

Belladonna does not like Ignacia, to others it looks like she singles out Ignacia a lot, but they have a very complicated past. Belladonna is incredibly critical of others and holds herself at the highest standard. She’s also quite the bully.

Belladonna will chase out male customers from her establishment. They are not allowed in Le Jarden, no matter who they are. (She often gets into arguments with Callum over his floral choices).

If you catch her attention, it’s because you stood up for Ignacia when Belladonna gave the poor woman a verbal beat down. Belladonna immediately takes your defiance as a challenge.

Belladonna will often pick verbal fights with you, but she’s intrigued by you. You were a regular civilian and yet you stood up to her of all people? You had some guts. Plus, you still tried to be kind to her. It frustrated the chef to no end. Belladonna always feels conflicted when it comes to you.

Belladonna’s words often cut like a knife but you’re surprisingly quick witted with your comebacks. She enjoys the back and forth. To her, it’s like a game. And Belladonna wanted to win.

Her hostility increases the more she interacts with you since Belladonna has never experienced feelings of this magnitude before. Belladonna could not differentiate between love and hate. You confused her and made her mind in constant disarray…

You’re sweet to the point you make her teeth rot and she hates it… or at least she tells herself that.

Belladonna hates when you interact with the others! Especially the men (and Amari). She’s much better than them- wait… why did she care so much about what you did?

Your once pleasant words soon become sour whenever she enters your peripheral. You no longer try to smile or wave at her, only scowl. It confused her even more. Why did she care whether you liked her or not? You were just a civilian… right?

You eventually snap sense into her when you tell her you despise her. You… hate her? No… she didn’t want to be hated! No. No. No.

Belladonna loses her mind when you constantly reject her. You won’t come to her restaurant and you won’t accept the many, many bouquets she leaves on your doorstep. Why won’t you forgive her? She never apologizes, so she truly means she’s sorry. Please forgive her, she can be soft. She can be soft.

She will kiss you until your lips are swollen and bruised. Until your lungs are nearly out of air and you’re breathless. Belladonna could be your oxygen! Your reason for being! She can do everything the others do, if not more! She has access to various poisons and other plants, some that could take you to pleasures of immeasurable heights! Just let her worship you…

Belladonna will go to extreme measures if you continue to ignore her desperate attempts at reconciliation. And that includes poisoning you so that you’re briefly paralyzed.

Belladonna’s slender hands hold your cheeks as she quietly sobs from above your still form. She knows you’re afraid, but this was your fault! You pushed her to do this!

“All you had to do was forgive me… Je t'adore. Je ne voulais pas te faire de mal…” Belladonna slipped into her first language while the waterworks began. She was so conflicted and confused. Her new feelings were overwhelming and concerning. Belladonna was usually level headed, but when it came to you? She was a dumpster fire.

Belladonna pressed her forehead against yours, her tears now mixed with yours into a long stream down your face.

“Je n'ai jamais ressenti ça auparavant, mais je suis sûr que je t'aime. Je t'aime tellement, ça me rend fou.”

Ignacia: Nicaragua (Writer)

Ignacia always wears a steel mask over her face and completely covers her body. No one knows what she looks like under there and she prefers to keep it that way… she was a twenty seven year old bomb specialist. At least until the accident. Her entire body is now covered in third degree burns. She is no longer beautiful so she hides herself away in order not to scare anyone. Her accident landed her in an early retirement as well.

Ignacia is biromantic and asexual. She’s always been more interested in books than people. Fictional characters comfort her more than real people.

A few years ago, she had a mission to take down a French politician and ended up destroying Belladonna’s secret hide out. Which is why Belladonna despises her. Ignacia isn’t too bothered by it though since she’s the one who received the worse end of it,

Her English isn’t the best so she rarely speaks. She often observes others from the corner of every room. Through the various interactions she observes, Ignacia created a fictional world for her characters in her stories. It was an escape from her harsh reality in the real world…

She’s so shy when you come up to her. Don’t you know she’s a beast under this mask? That she’s not as picturesque as the others?

Yet your kindness makes her knees turn to jelly and her heart leap in her chest in hopes it will escape its prison made of bones. Perhaps you were her chance at real life romance rather than the comforts of the printed texts in her books?

Ignacia is delusional. She overthinks every interaction you have with her. If you touch her hand on accident, she believes it’s because you’re shy! She’s shy too! If you compliment her eyes, she will try to wear masks that show off her eyes more. She’s so ecstatic that she shakes whenever she receives words of praise from you. It’s so exciting! Ignacia is living out a fairy tale romance!!

Ignacia began to build a perfect image of you in her head. To her, you were the perfect princess in a fairy tale book and she was the knight that would save you from the monsters (the other villagers). You were kind and sweet, the kind that needed to be locked away so nothing could harm you.

Ignacia begins to decorate your future home with her! She will ask more questions and bout your hobbies and interests so she can make it all perfect for you! She will incorporate your favorite colors and themes just to make it into your dream space! A pretty cage for her pretty princess!

Ignacia simply wants to keep you safe from harm. She doesn’t want you to ever injure or harm yourself. Her carelessness had landed her in her own predicament and she wouldn’t dare let you suffer the same fate. Ignacia was your knight in shining armor!

“Buenos díaz, mi amor!” Ignacia beamed at you while she handed you some breakfast. You were confused on your whereabouts, but Ignacia simply crinkled her eyes up from under her mask (she smiled). “Did you sleep well, mi princesa?”

“Ignacia? Where am I-“

“¡Estás en casa! !Donde perteneces!” Ignacia giggled as she affectionately pressed her mask into your cheek. Home? What did she mean by home? “Estás a salvo aquí, mi princesa. Para siempre.”

2K notes · View notes

captainfern · 8 months

Note

omg omg cap please i’m begging you to write this (if you have time)

HAVE YOU SEEN that specific scene of “Six” with Barry Sloane where him and his wife are trying fertility treatments and he basically has to j off and fill a cup and then his wife comes and calls him “my big bear” and man’s already busting with just that??? WELL-

can we get smth like this with Price? Like it doesn’t have to be that specific scenario just smth where his s/o is jerking him off and calls him a name, and he immediately comes, but that’s exactly not the end of it? YOU GET IT

i’ve been thinking about it an unhealthy amount these past days… I’m literally foaming at the mouth.

Anonymous asked: Been seeing a lot of Bear appreciation on here, so what about... C. Price and reader trying to (naturally, of course) conceive? Maybe he's on injury leave or something! He gets hurt and now is the perfect time to tell him she wants him to retire and put a baby in her >:) I just see that scene from SIX and go feral every time. Breeding kink go wild 🙏

Anonymous asked: Dbf!price x reader mating press? Or or or price taking her somewhere nice for dinner and they go back to his place and he leads her through it while doin the nasty….

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

In Utero

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“In Utero” Album by Nirvana]

[18+]

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

• summary - you and price are trying for a baby lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 3.9k • warnings - fem!reader, civilian!reader, some possessive!price, handjobs, unprotected piv (obviously), praise, breeding kink, creampies, mating press, talks of pregnancy n babies blah blah blah, body worship, breeding kink (again cause i'm being so fr), price calls you mama at one point (*whispering* is this a mommy kink? i don't know. i don't think so? but idk take this how you will), strong language

the amount of breeding kink related requests i get for this man is crazy 😭 some of you should be studied cause oh my god (i am not complaining)

killing three birds with one stone with this one. changed it a little but hope you all enjoy :)

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

It had been a long few days on base, and Price had been looking forward to coming home to you.

He loved nothing more than returning home to you after work. You'd greet him, looking absolutely fucking stunning, and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and cradle him to you. He'd breath you in, absorb your presence, his mind running a million miles an hour as he hugged you back.

You were his. And he was so happy.

Price never considered himself a very possessive person. But when it came to you, his wife, he felt an overwhelming urge to ensure everyone knew you were his.

He was so, so proud of you. He's always show you off, worship the ground you walked on. He'd hold your hand, or guide you with a hand to the base of your spine in public. He wasn't afraid to pin your body next to his in a crowd, either.

It was much the same in the bedroom.

Price would worship your entire body. He'd kiss up and down the length of it, from head to toe. He'd take extra care in massaging different parts of you that he loved– your tits, your waist, your hips, your arse, your thighs. He'd smooth his fingers over your skin, trailing kisses in their wake, whispering sweet praise and affirmations as he did so.

When he'd finally reach your face, he'd kiss you with as much passion and force as the sea. Cradling your head, holding your face, moving his lips warmly against yours, probing your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss so he could be closer to you.

He loved you.

You were his, and he was yours.

•º•

You had gone for a night out with your friends, leaving Price alone at home.

To keep him occupied in the silence of the house, he cleaned and cooked, listening to his music. He cooked up a meal that he stored in the fridge for later, then he proceeded to clean what he could of the house. He wanted to ensure you got home from having fun and didn't have to lift a finger.

And so Price could have you all to himself for the night.

You returned home hours later, the sun sinking past the horizon. You entered your home, your social battery ticking downwards, and Price was in front of you as soon as the front door was closed and locked.

He wrapped you in his arms, your face to his chest, and you returned the hug as he placed his chin on the top of your head.

"You had fun, sweetheart?" Price asked, taking a deep breath after pressing his nose to the crown of your head.

You hummed into his chest. "Yeah, it was nice."

You pulled out of the hug, and Price held your hand as you walked him into the living room. The both of your flopped down onto the couch. You couldn't help but admire the way he spread his legs when he sat, and the expansion of his thighs beneath his sweatpants as they made contact with the couch cushions.

You squeezed your thighs together, heat blooming in your core. A giddy, almost nervous feeling swelled in your chest as you locked eyes with your husband. You chewed on your bottom lip, fighting a flustered smile.

He looked so good.

Annnndddd you were ovulating.

Yep.

Evident by the fact that at just one look from your husband, one smile, your underwear was completely fucking soaked.

Price released a breathy laugh. "What?"

You whined, still biting your lip and smiling. "You look so handsomeeeee." You said, dragging out the final word.

He laughed again, eyes twinkling. Your eyes scanned his face, then you were crawling across the couch. He shifted, leaning back so you could crawl onto his lap, arse across his thick thighs. You ran your hands up and down his torso, feeling the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath his shirt. He hummed in the back of his throat, eyes closing, as you dragged your nails down the soft bumps of his abs.

"John, can I touch you?" You asked, hands coming to rest on the waistband of his sweatpants, toying with the ridges of the elastic.

"You are touching me." Price joked, opening his eyes. He settled his hands on your hips and squeezed gently.

You rolled your eyes. "I want your cock."

Price couldn't help but laugh through his moan as you shimmied his sweatpants and boxers down, pulling out his hardening cock. He groaned deeply as you pumped him a couple of times to full stiffness, before swiping your thumb across the head.

His hips bucked, twitching against the couch. You continued to fist him tightly while leaning over and letting a string of saliva fall from your mouth. It dripped across the tip of his cock, and Price let out a throaty moan, the grip on your hips tightening.

You used your saliva to make your hand glide, pumping him quickly. Usually, your stokes would be languid, seductive, as you prepped to either take him in your mouth or in your cunt. But this time, your movements were purposely fast, and the grunts in Price's quick breathing was an indicator that he liked it.

The wet clicks were consecutive as you stroked his cock from base to tip– squeezing tighter near the base, twisting near the tip. Price grumbled contentedly as you did so, beads of pre-cum leaking from his slit. He watched you with hooded eyes, a fucked out smile on his face as you jerked him off.

"Haven't even been home five minutes and you were so desperate for my cock, huh, sweetheart?" Price mused, hips jerking and cock twitching as you sped up the movement of your hand. He groaned, closing his eyes for a moment. He forced them open, watching your hand for a second, before finding your face. He smiled, leaning forward to try and kiss you. "Mmm this is your cock, isn't it, baby? You can have it whenever you want..."

He kissed you, and you let him. You let his tongue lick along the seam of your lips, and you allowed him to coax your mouth open, a moan passing from his to yours. You continued fisting his cock, heating up against your palm, the tip flushed and glistening.

You pulled out of the kiss and with his eyes closed, Price rested his forehead against yours, mouth agape. He opened his eyes eventually, looking down at where you rapidly stroked his throbbing cock. He let out a quiet groan, flecks of pre-cum splattering onto his shirt at the pace at which you jerked him off.

He was close, his release building higher with each stroke of your hand. He held your hips tighter, grinding you onto his lap, and you moaned quietly, sweetly. He groaned in response, lifting his mouth to try and kiss you. You backed up a bit, enough so his lips were just brushing yours.

"John?" You whispered, and he released a quiet groan at that.

"Mmm?" He didn't have the cognitive ability to reply with words at his point, solely focussed on the way you were stroking his cock, and his looming orgasm.

You pressed a brief kiss to his lips, then pulled back. He watched you, eyelids drooping, eyes glassy, and you couldn't help but smile. You leaned back in, and whispered, "I want you to put a baby in me."

Price let out a loud, guttural groan. "Holy fuck."

He came abruptly, thick ropes painting your hand and his shirt. He moaned your name, cock twitching as strings of white dribbled down your fingers and across his now semi-hard length. Price pressed forward, kissing you, and you pumped him a couple more times before you were retracting your hand. You moved your head away, and licked his cum off your fingers. His eyes rolled, and he slumped back against the couch with a groan.

"You liked that, huh?" You teased, creeping your fingers beneath his shirt and slowly pushing it up, revealing the dark happy trail that led from his navel to his pelvis.

He hummed his agreement as you pulled his shirt further, and he sat up, lifting his arms so you could pull it off all the way. You tossed it aside before running the flat of your hands up and down his body. He hummed again, this time in content as you massaged the flesh of his pectorals, running your thumbs over his nipples and making him jerk against the couch.

"D'you mean what you said?" Price suddenly asked as you dragged your nails down the grooves in his abs. Goosebumps raised along his skin.

"What, about putting a baby in me?" You smiled, and he groaned, head flopping backwards again. You ran your fingers through the hair of his happy trail, following it down to his cock, still sticky with his release. You took hold of it again, and you felt it slowly hardening. Your smile grew. "Oh, I'm serious, John."

You pumped him slowly, gently, until he was fully hard in your hand once more. Price's breathing was laboured as he kept his head tossed back, eyes screwed shut. His chest rose and fell.

You stripped yourself of your own shirt and bra while he was occupied, managing to do so while still gently stroking his cock. Then, you raised yourself, and wiggled your skirt off– you had to use both hands to do this.

With your hand gone from his cock, Price pulled his head forward to see what you were doing. He released a breathy moan, immediately bringing his hands to your waist. You laughed as he dragged you forward and buried his face between your tits. You threaded your hands into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp as he kissed the soft skin of your chest.

His hands rubbed your waist, your lower back. Then, one hand still on your lower back, the other came to rest on your tummy, and he rubbed it gently.

"Wanna get you pregnant," he whispered into your sternum. "Mhm... mhm... wanna put a baby in you."

You felt your core throb red-hot at his words, your entire body thrumming with sexual energy that really, really needed to be released. You still had your underwear on, and you could feel your arousal dripping into the soft cotton fabric.

Face still in between the mounds of your breasts, Price dragged his hands away from your stomach and back and hooked his fingers beneath the waistline of your underwear. He slowly pulled them down until they were mid-thigh and couldn't go any further with the way you were sprawled across his lap.

Price shifted his head to the side, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he took two fingers and ran them up and down your wet slit. You keened, looking down at him with a whimper of his name. He looked up at you, mouth suctioned around your tit, as he dragged two fingers through your folds.

He retracted, moving to repeat his actions on your other nipple as he gently pushed his two fingers inside of you. You released a moan from low in your throat, holding yourself steady on your husbands shoulders as he fingered you open. He continued to watch you, tongue and teeth against your sensitive flesh, revelling in the way your tight walls clutched at his fingers.

Drops of arousal pooled past his knuckles and through the lines in his palm. He angled his hand so the drops dripped onto his lap, and the heel of his palm ground against your puffy clit. You gasped, hand shooting upwards to tug on Price's hair, his teeth scraping the bud of your nipple at the same time.

"John, I need you." You whined, trying desperately to grind yourself onto the heel of his palm. He let you, the pressure on your swollen clit making your eyes drop closed and your mouth drop open.

"What do you want from me?" He asked in a whisper, curling his fingers inside you and making your body alight with pleasure. The base of your tummy drew tight as the pads of his fingers worked that spot inside you.

"Need your cock," you whined impatiently, your climax just inches away from you. "Please, please, need you to fill me up."

You clenched around his fingers as he continued to hit that spot inside you. He applied more pressure to your clit, throbbing in tandem with the heartbeat in your chest. Price changed the angle of your sitting arrangement, so he could now comfortably kiss up the column of your neck.

"Need my cock, eh? Just need me to fill you up?" He murmured into your ear as he fucked his fingers into you. "I'll fill you up, sweetheart, I will. Fill you up niceeee and full. Fill this pretty tummy with my kids, eh, baby?"

His words made you come around his fingers without much warning. You pushed yourself against him, orgasm knocking you off balance as it wracked through you. Price fingered you through it, his other hand on your lower back and keeping your body close to his. He kissed you and although you struggled to kiss him back, you were still moaning his name into his mouth.

Price kissed you again, and then peppered kisses across your face as he took his fingers out of you. He grabbed your hips in both hands and helped you off his lap, standing you on your feet as he followed. Your underwear dropped the rest of the way down your thighs, and you quickly kicked them across the room as you grabbed Price by the shoulders and pulled him back into you.

Price's sweatpants and boxers fell and he kicked them away too as he kissed you, wrapping his arms around you. Still kissing, he led you out of the living room and eventually, the two of you made it to your bedroom, breathless.

He pushed you down onto your bed, and you giggled as he immediately followed after you, pinning your body beneath his. The weight of him made your cunt throb, arousal sticky against your inner thighs. The warm, solid form of his cock against your inner thigh made you moan, scratching your nails down his back.

"Can't wait for you to have my kids... our kids..." Price drawled between lazy kisses as he notched the head of his cock at your dripping cunt, smearing your arousal around your hole. "You're gonna look so pretty as a mum, aren't you, baby? Gonna be such a good mama."

Price pushed into you in one solid thrust, knocking the air from your lungs. You arched your back, meshing closer to him, as the tip of his cock knocked up against your cervix. You mewled, grasping at his back, as he dragged his cock out. The sensation was slow and heavy and sparked something deep in your stomach. When he was all the way out, he playfully tapped the head of his cock to your clit a couple of times. You choked on your moan, before he was filling you up again.

"John–" You moaned outwardly, sickly sweet and making him grunt above you. He doubled his efforts, slamming into you, the rhythm rocking the bed against the wall.

His fat cock split you open, stretching your wet hole around him and pushing up into your womb. You could feel him in your stomach. You felt so full.

Price pressed a hand to your lower stomach, admiring the subtle outline of his cock beneath the soft mound of your belly. He moaned loudly, pressing harder, and the feeling made you moan as well.

"John, fuck, oh my god." You whimpered as he thrust into you, heavy and rough, dragging along the tight, wet walls of your cunt. You clenched around him, your hands desperately trying to bring him closer to you. His chest hair against your tits, his hands on your stomach and hip– you wanted, no, needed him close.

He removed his hand from your stomach, instead gripping your hips as he fucked you into the mattress. He was grunting and groaning above you, eyes never leaving the way your body and face were reacting.

"That's a good girl, taking it so well... Always take it so well, sweetheart, don't you?" Price murmured, eyes on your face. "Such a good girl taking my cock. S'like this pretty cunt was made for it, eh, baby?"

For emphasis, he increased his pace. The tip of his cock slammed into your sweet spot, and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His thrusts were drawing wet sounds from you, and you could feel your arousal being spread across your lower arse and inner thighs as he moved.

Your second orgasm approached quickly. Price fucked you hard, his noises of pleasure above you making you flutter around him. Your clit throbbed with a heartbeat, a thin layer of sweat settling over your naked body.

"John, John–" You tried to warn him, but failed when your orgasm slammed through you mid-sentence, rendering you speechless. You gushed around him, and he moaned, hips stuttering as your cunt squeezed around his cock, your orgasm dribbling out of you with each timed thrust.

He moaned your name. "Mmm there you go, there you go. My perfect girl, that's it. Feels good, sweetheart?"

You nodded, dizzy. "Yeah, y-yeah, fuck, so good, John, so good."

Price hummed, pleased. As you babbled, he shifted off of you for a second so he could hook his hands beneath your knees. Cock still stuffed inside you, he bent your legs and pressed them up against your chest, making you release a series of airy whimpers. He pressed his body heavily against you, holding the backs of your knees and literally folding you in half.

He began his thrusts again, and your eyes rolled at the new angle– his cock hit further, deeper inside you. The remnants of your orgasm were loud and wet as he rutted into you desperately, deep grunts falling from his mouth.

"Gotta fuck you deep, baby," he whispered, voice low. "Gotta stuff you full of my cock so it takes. Want it to take... want it to fucking take..." He punctuated each sentence with an extra heavy thrust, cock dragging against your slick walls. He groaned. "Gonna get you pregnant, sweetheart. Gonna get you fat with my kids. That's what you want, yeah? Want me to breed this pretty cunt?"

You hummed a yes. His words were making you even dizzier than you already were. You moaned and moaned, pleasure poisoning your veins as he fucked you towards a third orgasm. Your body was hot, damp with sweat. Price was warm too, strands of wet hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

"Fuck, fuck," Price whispered. "You're my good girl, baby, you're my good girl. Want you to come one more time for me, okay? One more time n' then I'm gonna–" He cut himself off with a moan, but you understood.

Your body shook beneath him, your legs tightening in his grasp. Then, with a shattering moan of his name, you came around his cock. Your third orgasm fizzed through you, and it took a while to fizzle out as he rutted into you nonstop. The feeling of static pleasure lingered as he chased his high, and you whimpered quietly in his ear as he fucked your sopping cunt.

Your husband was cursing under his breath, moaning your name too. His balls slapped against the curve of your arse, sticky with your arousal, and the hands on the backs of your knees gripped tighter as his orgasm loomed. He imagined the future– you, round with his baby and looking so fucking pretty. He moaned at the thought, cock throbbing inside you.

"Oh, fuck– fuck, m'gonna come, mama," it slipped out through a moan. "M'gonna breed this pretty cunt nice and full. M'gonna give you my kids–"

Buried to the hilt inside you, Price came. A lot.

He filled you, just like he promised, and you felt the thick, hot ropes flood past your cervix. You moaned his name, and he slammed his mouth onto yours, shushing you with his tongue. He continued thrusting gently, stuffing his seed further inside you, plugging it up against your womb with the head of his cock. He groaned when you squeezed around him, gently dropping your legs from him.

Price pulled out of the kiss, resting his head in the crook of your neck. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you too." You replied breathlessly, and the both of you lay in silence for a moment, panting like dogs in heat.

Fitting, really. The thought made you smile.

Price groaned into your neck, sucking a kiss to the skin. You pet his head gently.

"What's the matter?" You asked him, soothing the crown of his head as he bit and sucked at the curve of your shoulder.

"I just imagined you pregnant again," he uttered against you. "And now I'm hard again."

You laughed. "John, oh my god."

•º•

Several months of... trying... later, you sat in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hands. Happy tears rolled down your cheeks as you looked at the two lines.

Outside, Price knocked on the door. "You alright, sweetheart?"

You sniffled. "Yeah, m'fine."

"You sure?" Price asked as soon as he heard the slight waver in your voice. "If you're not feeling well, we can tell the boys we can reschedule dinner–"

You opened the door of the bathroom with the test behind your back. Price noticed the tears, cupping your face.

"What's wrong?"

You had always planned on revealing your future pregnancy to your husband in an elaborate way. You'd dreamed of it, actually. But, overwhelmed with excitement and relief, you simply took his hands off your face, and placed the pregnancy test in his palm. He took it, confused for a moment, eyeing it skeptically.

Then, his eyes widened, tears immediately springing to his waterline as he looked down at you.

"You're pregnant?" He was crying.

"Yeah." You were crying too.

He wrapped you in his arms, pressing you gently to him and burying his face in your hair, sobbing with happiness. Your heart clenched, the excitement rolling off of him. After a long moment, he pulled back, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

"Told you I'd get you pregnant." He smiled, winking.

You rolled your eyes.

He laughed, then looked at the test again. He beamed, eyes twinkling. Then, he looked down at you again, eyes shining with mischief. You narrowed your eyes jokingly at him.

"What?" You fought a smile.

"Are we sure this is accurate?" He smiled. "We might, you know, have to try a couple more times, just to be sure."

"John!" You laughed.

And the two of you did have to reschedule dinner with the boys. You both got distracted.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #captain john price #call of duty mw2 #captain price #fem reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #price smut #captain john price smut #price call of duty #captain john price x reader #cod price #cod smut

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redstarwriting · 11 months

Text

bestie

spider squad x black cat!fem!reader

request?: yes

request: “hi! okay i love your works and my brains been rotting thinking abt this lol. i was wondering if i could request a black cat variant! reader that somehow (idk how sorry ), she's apart of the spider-society? Given that black cats backstory isn't all that nice, maybe she has a deal W miguel to let her stay if she makes sure she uses her skills to help the society instead of stealing? and how the squad(miles, gwen, pav, hobie) meet her in the society?”

requested by: anon

word count: 2.1k

genre: platonic and chaotic LMAO

Warnings: language, stealing, bad Spanish, slight Gwen crush if you squint but also like not really

A/N: STOP I LOVE WRITING PLATONIC AND CHAOTIC THINGS!! i did change up the prompt a bit as they didn’t meet her in spider society necessarily (even though the did, they just didn’t know it lol) i hope you enjoy this anon! also if anyone wants to knows some of the specific songs that gave me black cat 2099 vibes lemme know 👀 i’ll make a post

pt ii - becoming hobie’s bestie

───────────────────────────────────

Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, and Hobie were called to “the principal’s office” as they started calling it. So here they are, in front of Miguel, waiting to be reprimanded for something they did. “I have a mission for the three of you,” he says, pointing to Miles, Gwen, and Pav. “Hobie, you’re not needed.”

“Like ‘ell I’m not,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Miguel subtly smiles to himself. Reverse psychology. Works every time.

“Wait, what?” Miles asks, eyes wide. “You aren’t gonna yell at us for existing?” Gwen asks, equally as surprised. Miguel rolls his eyes. “For existing? When have I ever…” he trails off as Pav, Hobie, and Gwen point at Miles.

And Miles points at himself.

“Dios mío,” Miguel mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No. I’m not doing that. This time.”

“What’s the mission then? Are we going somewhere new? Oh! Can I bring back a souvenir?” Pavitr asks, excitedly. “No, but I’m sure you’ll end up with some sort of souvenir regardless,” Miguel grumbles, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “Well, what do you mean by that?” Gwen asks and Miguel types into his computer. A picture of a girl pops up on the screen. “I need you to bring me her.”

“Uhhh what? You want us to bring you a… civilian?” Miles asks, and Miguel nods. “She’ll respond to you all better. You’re the same age,” Miguel says, and they all glance at each other. “Can you not be secretive for like, a couple of seconds? Is she an anomaly?”

“No, Gwen. Just bring her to Spider Society, please. She’s from this universe, so I’m just sending you to where I need you to go,” Miguel says, opening a portal for them to go through. They all glance at each other before Gwen shrugs, walking through the portal. Miles and Pav follow her, and Hobie rolls his eyes following the three of them. They find themselves… at a show? They’re on top of the catwalk in a stadium show, looking down at the audience. “What the hell?” Gwen mumbles and Hobie is intrigued when he sees the instruments on the stage. “Now why did he send us to a concert?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. Right at that moment, the lights go down and everyone starts to scream. “So, you think she’s in the crowd? How are we supposed to find someone in all of these people?” Miles asks, and Pav shrugs. “I can do it, easily,” Pav says, and Miles and Gwen give him a Look™. “What?! It’s simple you just look for her face! Miguel showed us a picture of her.”

“Aye, ‘e’s right. Found her,” Hobie says, and they all look at him. He’s pointing, and they follow his finger. “SHE’S THE SINGER?!” Gwen yells as the music starts. “Yeah. Guess we gotta wait for the set to finish,” Hobie says, shrugging and sitting on the catwalk, “Gettin’ a free show outta this shit at least.”

“Oh, please, every show you’ve ever been to has been free,” Gwen says, sitting next to him, taking her mask off. Hobie, Pav, and Miles all follow suit. “What does Miguel want with a singer?”

“I like her outfit,” Pav says, ignoring Miles’ question and sitting next to Gwen. Miles quickly slips between Pav and Gwen, shooing him away slightly. “Not my style. Lyrics ain’t bad,” Hobie says, leaning back and observing the performance, “She can sing, I’ll give ‘er ‘at.”

“I fuck with it. Lyrics speak to me,” Gwen says, and Pav nods. “She seems angry.”

“Yeah, that’s why I can respect what she’s doin’. Threatenin’ and angry music is cool,” Hobie says, bobbing his head up and down. Gwen nods. “Okay, guys, seriously, what does Miguel want with a singer?”

“Maybe she’s a scientist or something? Miguel needs her help?” Gwen suggests, and Miles shakes his head. “Nah, I feel like he’d just meet with her then.”

“He did mention she was close to our age, though. And her songs make it sound like she has an issue with authority,” Pav mentions, and Hobie nods. “I fuck with ‘er.” They all look at him. “Oh, I get it. She’s Hobie’s age,” Gwen says, and Hobie raises his eyebrow. “What does ‘at ‘ave to do with anythin’?”

“You two are the same age, both have a problem with authority… whatever she is, she needs someone she can relate to to actually come with us,” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “Guess ‘at makes sense.” The four of them continue watching the concert. Even though it isn’t necessarily punk music, Hobie loves the lyrics. And Gwen loves all of the songs because she understands the lyrics more than the other guys. Miles is enjoying it because Gwen is enjoying it, and Pav is enjoying it because other people are enjoying it. However, neither of them would probably listen to this after this mission. When you’re nearing the end, Miles slips his mask back on. “Alright, everyone. What’s the plan?”

“We need to get backstage,” Gwen says, slipping her mask on as well. “‘ave a gander down there,” Hobie says, pointing at some marks on the stage. “What’s that?” Pav asks. “Pyrotechnics. When they go off, we go in,” Hobie says, and they all nod. “Hope they’re big enough that no one sees us,” Gwen mumbles and Hobie scoffs. “Gwendy, it’s a stadium show. It’s ‘bout to be big,” he says. The four of them prepare, running along the catwalk and getting ready to web back to where you would disappear to. Sure enough, the pyrotechnics go off and Hobie was right. They’re big. It gives them the advantage as they slip undetected backstage. They hide high up, watching as you run offstage after your encore. They silently follow you to your dressing room and Miles points at an air vent. Gwen nods, quietly yanking it off of its hinges. She crawls inside, taking a glance to make sure you’re still clothed, and then motions for the boys to follow.

Meanwhile, you’re wiping your makeup off, sipping on some water to soothe your throat from your performance. You walk away from the giant mirror to go grab a snack in the corner of the room when, suddenly, you feel like someone is watching you. You subtly unsheathe your hairbrush, which doubles as a dagger. Just in case. You take a deep breath, turning around, and throwing it. Miles leaps out of the way, and the other three’s eyes are wide. The accuracy with that throw was a little too good. “None of you are Miguel,” you say, on edge still. “Ay, don’t compare me to that bloody bloke. I’d rather die than be called ‘im,” Hobie says, and you give him an amused look. “I can arrange that,” you say, and Gwen clears her throat. “I just wanted to say your concert was like, totally, awesome.”

“Aw, thanks! Did you pay to watch?” you ask and she looks around. “Well uh… I, um—” She gets cut off by your laugh. “I’m kidding. I don’t give a fuck if you didn’t. In fact, I would prefer you didn’t,” you explain. “Oh! Then no. Too cool to pay, you know?” Gwen rambles and Miles turns his head to her, giving her a look that translates into ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ You chuckle. “Why are you four here, then? Señor O’Hara miss me?” you take a bite of the snack you picked, leaning against the wall. “How do you know Miguel?” Pav asks and you snort. “Long story. Oh! He finally find out I took something from him?” you ask, tossing your food to the side and crossing your arms. “I… we actually don’t know. He just said we had to bring you back to—”

“Wait he’s actually inviting me into his super secret spider society?” you ask, a look of excitement spreading across your face. “Uh. Yes?” Miles says, and you squeal. “This is so exciting! My first time being invited, okay, great, hold on,” you say, quickly running off and behind the changing room divider. “Uh… you’re just gonna come with us?” Gwen asks, and you yell a quick ‘yep!’ They all look at each other and shrug. “No offense, sweet’eart, but I thought it woulda been ‘arder to convince ya. Wasn’t aware bein’ invited by a stuck-up wanker like ‘im was all it would take,” Hobie says, and they hear a giggle from behind the screen. “Oh this isn’t my first time in his little fanclub,” you step out from behind the divider, garnishing an all-black catsuit with shiny black gloves coming to claws at the fingers. A small eye mask adorns your face, and you smirk. “It’s just the first time he’ll know I’m there.”

“Holy shit, no way! You’re Black Cat!” Gwen says, and you do a little curtsy. “Pleased to make your acquaintance officially, Gwen Stacy,” you say, and her eyes get big. “How did you know—”

“Like I said. Not my first time there. Surprising since you all have that spidey sense or whatever, but guess I’m just that good,” you say, pulling out a dimension-hopping watch. “When did you—”

“Do I have to say I’ve been to your Spidertopia already again? Come on, I’m sure your pendejo of a boss is waiting for us,” you grin, and Hobie shakes his head. “Not my boss. I like you, though. Gettin’ fuck the establishment vibes,” he says, and you wink at him. “Thanks, Hobie Brown. Appreciate it. Also, Pavitr, you need to tell me what your haircare routine is,” you walk through the portal, and the four of them follow after you. Sure enough, you step out of the portal and stand right in front of Miguel’s desk. “Hello there, Spider-Boy,” you say, and he sighs. “(Y/n). Give me the device back. Now.”

“I’m good, actually. Been having too much fun with it,” you say, placing it on your wrist. He mutters something in Spanish as the four of them appear behind you. “Wait, if you’re Black Cat, why are you like… a superstar?” Miles asks, taking his mask off. “Was told at a young age to never settle for second best. So, I never did. Also if you want to steal from the big leagues, you have to be in with the big leagues,” you say, shrugging. “Damn, she is… so cool,” Gwen whispers. “We have an agreement, (Y/n),” MIguel says and you groan. “Miguel! Big guy, amigo, can I call you that?”

“No.”

“Don’t care, when have I ever stuck with an agreement?” you ask and he frowns. “This is all because you want to be able to come here whenever you want, isn’t it?” he asks and you grin. “You’re so smart, bestie,” you say and he groans. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. So can I come here and not have to worry about multiple spiders biting me all at once?” you ask, and he sighs. “Yes.”

“YE—”

“BUT!”

“Fuck, there’s a but,” you groan, as he continues talking, “No. Stealing.” You feign offense. “What makes you think I would ever steal something from here?” He points to your wrist. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This was gifted to me.”

“By who.”

“Myself.”

“Esta maldita chica,” he mumbles, and you grin. “Well, thank you so much for approving my breaking and entering of your little arachnid club. I’ll be sure to return everything I’ve taken in hopes that you would notice I wanted to be invited,” you grin, and he clenches his jaw. “You step one toe out of line—”

“I woooon’t! Promise! Before I return everything though, I kinda have a heist planned in Earth-42,” you shrug, pulling up a portal. “I’ll tell Miles you said hi, Miles,” you give him a smirk, but before disappearing into the portal, you hear Miguel. “When you’re done come back here. I actually might be able to use you for something.”

You smile at him. “Say less, Spider-Man.” Then, you disappear. “We’re about to see a lot more of her, aren’t we?” Miles asks, and Miguel sighs and nods. “Dude! She is so cool!” Gwen says, and Hobie nods. “She don’t take shit from no one. Respectable.”

“She’s funny! And she was able to shut you down, Miguel, that never happens,” Pav says, laughing a bit. “She seems kinda crazy,” Miles says.”

“What, like we aren’t?” Gwen retaliates and he shrugs. “I am perfectly sane! Most of the time…”

Miguel runs his hand through his hair in frustration as the four of them continue discussing you while walking out of the room.

He was not looking forward to the friendship the five of you were about to form.

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#spiderverse x reader #atsv x reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #miles morales x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse #spiderman #spiderpunk #spidergwen #hobie brown #gwen stacy #miles morales #pavitr prabhakar #miguel o'hara

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hyunsvngs · 2 months

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

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bi-writes · 2 months

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so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon riley #dark!simon

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

You worry your boyfriend is ashamed of you. This is very much not the case. Or, 5 times Hotch hid your relationship (+1 time he didn’t).

7k words, new-ish established relationship, lots of fluff between angst, hurt/comfort, fem!reader, civilian!reader, reader calls him aaron mostly

༺༻

The security for Aaron's building is weird. Weird as in extensive, intimidating, and extremely intricate.

You'd really wanted to minimise his stress — the whole reason you're here is to bring him a forgotten sheet of paper that must've slipped out at your kitchen table from one of his case files because you don't want him to have to make up a new copy — but you're too scared to go in.

You pull your phone out reluctantly and dial in his number, eager to hear his voice even if the security detail a few feet away are freaking you out.

"Hotchner."

"Hi, handsome," you say softly.

There's a small pause. For a split-second a nightmare situation runs through your head, his low voice asking, Who is this?

"Hi, honey."

You beam so wide it aches, forcing a pleased little breath from your mouth.

"What do you need?" he asks.

"I'm outside of your building but I'm too afraid to come in. I'm not sure they'll let me. I need a badge, right?"

"You're outside."

You pick at the hem of your sweater, a loose thread marring your otherwise pretty outfit. You'll admit to dressing up unnecessarily to see him. Nice clothes, your most subtle perfume.

"I found something confidential this morning, a piece of paper. I didn't read it, I promise."

"You really shouldn't be here," he says.

Your smile abruptly drops. You press the phone closer to your face and wait, hoping he's not talking to you. When it's clear that he is you cringe, the silence pervasive and the most awkward it's ever been with him.

"Sorry." Your apology is quick, quiet. "I thought it would be easier for you. I didn't mean to… overstep."

"It's not that. It's busy. Would you hang on to it for me? Maybe I can come and get it tonight, bring dinner."

You love how he says it. It's not a question, not an assumption. And it's a relief. If he wants to see you on a night where you hadn't planned to get together, he can't be mad at you for being here.

"Yeah, please. If you want to."

"I want to. Okay?"

Not for confirmation, it's shorthand. You okay?

"Yeah. Okay. Have a good rest of your day, handsome."

"Bye."

You like to think you can hear the sound of his phone clicking shut, imagining him at his desk in one of his neat suits with a case file open in front of him. You're not sure on the specifics of his job but you know he looks good doing it, and you also know he's very, very busy. You don't take his clipped goodbye as anything but efficiency.

Maybe you should.

—

The next time Aaron inadvertently hurts your feelings is in person.

Compared to him, you wouldn't say you're an incredibly exciting character. Your day job is tame, your hobbies are invaried. You like to watch TV, see movies, you enjoy people-watching. When you hold that stuff up to his job, his profiling, and his hobbies (seriously, who likes triathlon?) you feel rather immature.

You know deep down that hobbies are hobbies and that your job doesn't define how special you are, but when you're with someone like Aaron who lives and breathes his profession it can play with your head.

"Is there something interesting about my shirt?" he asks, a murmur under the sound of the TV.

You look up from the hem of his nice button down and smile, a half-smile. You want it to be more genuine than it is. "Don't you already know?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can tell I'm…" You frown, dropping the starched material of his shirt from between your fingers. "I've given myself up, haven't I?"

"A little," he concedes sympathetically.

You huff your defeat and let your cheek fall into his chest. Nice to seek comfort from him, nicer for him to give it to you, his arm rising from behind your shoulders to hook around your neck.

"I'm not profiling you," he says, voice close to the top of your head, "I'm wondering what you're thinking."

You relax under his touch, his big hand settling in the curve of your neck. A semi-hug. It doesn't take long for you to melt into his front completely, your unhappy thoughts dissolving with any tension and leaving only a want to kiss his stupidly nice neck.

"It doesn't matter," you say.

"You sure?"

You lift your head from his chest. He has to lean back to meet your eyes and he does it unflinchingly, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

"I'm good. Better, if you would…"

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, leaning down, down.

You can't withstand his charms. He knows exactly how to get you, his smile and his eyes, his lashes kissing in the corners as they close.

He's imposing in the best way, a heavy presence that overwhelms you. All you can think about is the way he nudges his nose with yours to encourage your head back and the heat of his lips as they touch your own. His arm tightens behind your head.

You try to rise onto your knees, hands vying for his neck and his pitch dark hair. You're doubly pleased when you feel his mouth turning up into a smile, a mirror of your own.

"Slow down," he chides gently.

You're about to say something unlike yourself, something loud and brash. Speed up, Hotchner. You're hopped up on the giddiness that comes with being close to him. You're just about to say it when his phone rings.

He gives you a short, hard kiss.

"Hotchner."

You sit back in his lap, his hand sliding to the small of your back to keep you close as his face clouds with confusion. You attempt to climb off of him because you're not a sack of sugar — you're probably giving him numb thighs — but he won't let you.

"Garcia," he says eventually, "is this an emergency?" His tone makes it clear to you that whatever it is Garcia is saying, it's far from an emergency.

His hand climbs up, over your shoulder. You shudder as he tugs your earlobe, a mild and thoughtless gesture. You're so busy shivering you almost miss his playful eye roll.

"I haven't changed my mind. Yeah. Thanks for the invitation, but I'm perfectly happy where I am tonight."

Whatever Garcia says makes him laugh. If you weren't sitting as close to him as you are you wouldn't have heard it.

"Have fun. Bye," he says succinctly. He snaps his phone closed in one hand, the other dropping from your ear to your shoulder. It's heavy with a remorse you can't allow. "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," you assure, tilting your head toward his hand and pretending to size him up. You don't know how to profile, but you're a good guess.

"You're not telling me something."

"No?" He blinks in surprise.

"No. You've been invited somewhere with your work friends, and you usually go. Why not tonight?"

"I think that's obvious."

"You don't have to flake on your friends for me, Aaron."

He smiles as you say his name. "Like I told Garcia, I am perfectly happy where I am."

You hide your face in his neck lest he see your doped up smile. "You have nice friends," you murmur, working your hands under the hem of his shirt.

"I think you'd love Garcia after the infinitial terror."

"I think I would too. She's good to you, after all. Makes me like her… Maybe one day we can all go out for drinks."

You don't have to be a profiler to feel the way he tenses.

"Yeah," he says. It sounds very much like Probably not.

That's a strumming hurt. Aaron is so nice, so so nice, and he treats you like you're gold dust. He does all the movie boyfriend stuff like flowers, silver earrings on your birthday (with tiny diamonds!), dinner reservations at dauntingly fancy restaurants. And he does stuff you didn't know men did, like calling you near every night to make sure you had a good day, and praising even your smallest achievements, and leaving notes in places he knows you'll find them on hard days. You don't know how he knows when days are hard, he just does.

You'd figured all of this stuff meant he must really like you, might even love you though he's yet to say it, and that's why his lack of enthusiasm stings.

Why doesn't he want you to meet his friends? He's obviously very proud of what they do at the BAU. They're not the issue.

It's you.

You cuddle him as a pit forms in your chest.

"You're tired?" he asks.

Funny how it's his comfort you crave when he's the one who's hurt your feelings. You're a little lopsided being upset with him, and you know if you tell him how you feel he'll try to make it up to you, but you're too afraid of the other alternative — a fight. Right now his arms are a sanctity you wouldn't trade for anything. You hope he feels the same.

You're not sure anymore.

"Yeah," you say roughly.

Your eyes burn as he pats your back. "Let's go to bed, honey."

You'll just… have to prove you're someone worth showing off.

—

Your plan, loosely titled 'Get Aaron Hotchner to Show Me Off,' is going about as well as you'd thought it would.

If Aaron doesn't want me to meet his friends there must be a reason. You've been thinking about it and it can't be a coincidence that he hadn't wanted you to return his paperwork a few weeks ago. That must've been something significant.

But what?

You start with your hair. Aaron has expressed a lovely and heaping handful of times that he thinks you have pretty hair. He plays with it often, usually when he's limp and tired from a long day. You've always taken care of it. Now you're going to the extreme — hair masks, hair appointments you can't afford, anything to make it look perfect.

It doesn't work toward the plan, though your boyfriend certainly notices.

"Your hair," is the very first thing he says when he sees you, stopping only in his smiling assessment to kiss your cheek in greeting.

"Is it okay?" you ask, turning your face to one side.

"More than okay. Do you want to go in?"

So it's kind of a bust. But that's okay, you weren't expecting to get a haircut and magically be invited to team dinners. You persevere, and eventually you forget the plan for the night when Aaron promises to show you how much he likes your new look with a hand at the small of your back.

Phase two, your clothes.

You dress as nicely as you can but you're no fashion guru and you can't afford an entirely new wardrobe. You get a bunch of magazines and look for fall staples. What's in this year, and how do you style it? You buy a couple of pieces that fit your budget and try to work around them.

Aaron's favourite are the new corduroy pants. They aren't a great fit.

"They're too tight," you lament, pulling the fabric from your thighs where they hug snugly. They're a desaturated sort of burgundy, not bright by any means but a good 'pop of colour'.

"I know," he says.

You gawp at him, and when he gets his fingers on the buttons afterward, you break.

"You like them?" you ask worriedly.

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Besides how eager you are to get them off of me?"

He hooks two fingers in your belt loops and holds your gaze as he tugs them down. "I like them."

A good time, but still no dice. You suppose a new look, besides looking smarter, doesn't actually prove your merit as a girlfriend. Maybe he wants something a little more concrete before he introduces you to people. Maybe things aren't as good for him as they are for you, and he doesn't see the point.

That particular thought sparks a wave of panicked tears.

The next time you see him, it's like he can tell. You wonder if he has x-ray vision, some sixth sense for tear stains that he has yet to tell you about. He's been gone for a few days in St. Louis, and when he'd come back he'd spent the weekend with Jack, so it's a whole seven days since the last time you saw him and your worries have festered. Not even his doting phone calls had kept the thought at bay.

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend.

You open your door and there he is in a quarter zip with an overnight bag, matte suit cover draped over one arm.

"Hi," you say, unsure.

"Did I get uglier while I was away?" he asks seriously.

You startle. "No, of course not."

He smiles and meets you in the doorway, your head dipping back to accommodate. "I think I've had it too good," he says lightly, bringing a tentative hand to your cheek. "Are you okay?"

You're trying to work out what he means, and when you do your heart skips. "Handsome!" you say urgently. "Hi, handsome. No, you didn't get uglier, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, and-"

He kisses you. It's malaligned because of your parted lips, but it's good. You'd really missed him.

"You're definitely still handsome," you murmur.

"Doesn't count. I begged for it-"

"No!" you deny, lifting on tiptoes to give him another kiss and stop his slander. "It does count because you're always handsome, I promise. I think I slept too much and miswired my brain when I woke up."

"I don't mind that you didn't call me handsome," he says firmly, "now let me in. We have dinner to make."

"Right, sorry."

Aaron frowns at you, then. It's weird. He frowns at his phone, at the TV, at nothing, but he doesn't frown at you.

"Is something wrong?" he asks as you traverse down the hall. You hold your hands out for his suit and bag to take to your room and hang up, ignoring his question. He doesn't give them to you. "Is there?"

"No." You smile as you say it.

You're an awful liar, especially with him. He makes you more nervous than anyone because he's your boyfriend and because he's a literal human lie detector.

"You didn't even try."

You cover your face with both hands and groan dramatically, spinning around and away from him. You don't want him to see how flustered you are.

"Don't make fun," you beg.

"You're embarrassed."

"Teach you that at the Bureau, do they?"

You stop in the doorway of the kitchen, distracted by your own racing thoughts when suddenly there are two long arms needling around your waist and pulling you backward. You gasp a laugh and squirm uselessly to escape.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

You tip your head back, hands falling from your face in surprise. "What for, handsome?"

His laugh fans out over your face but when he speaks again there's no humour there, only sincerity, "For being gone so long."

"Well don't be. You can't exactly help it, Agent Hotchner," you hum.

"Oh, don't."

"Going out and saving the world takes time. I knew that when I met you, 'n I know it now. You don't have to say sorry."

"I'm not apologising for my work. I'm apologising that we've," — his nose presses into the highest point of your cheek — "been apart."

"I did miss you," you relent.

He presses his lips to your cheek. "I missed you too."

It's a nice distraction. You'd missed one another, and now you're together. You forget for a while what you'd worried, and only when he leaves again do you remember.

Maybe I'm not a good girlfriend.

You're not stupid enough to think Hotch is using you for anything, or that he's insincere. You're level-headed, though. His affection for you isn't necessarily permanent no matter how genuine.

You don't want to be overbearing. The offers start slow.

I can wash that for you. Of course I'm sure, I'm great with whites.

Maybe I could make you lunch tomorrow. You can take it in, spare yourself the federal cafeteria.

Yeah, I got them shined for you. They were looking a little dull at the toes.

"Do you want me to press these?" you ask.

Aaron looks up from where he's sitting in bed. You'd been out on a foray to the bathroom and have come to a stop by his bedroom door where a pair of black slacks hang in wait for the morning.

He pushes a darling pair of reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No."

"Are you sure? It won't take five minutes."

"I'll do it in the morning."

"I can do it for you, then. Just wake me up," you say, pushing back the sheets on the empty side of his bed. Your socked foot bumps his thigh as you pull up your legs. "What are you reading?"

He puts his book on the nightstand, takes off his glasses. It's too bad. He really suits them.

"I want to talk to you about something."

You laugh and slide down onto the flat of your back.

"What?" he asks, confused, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes.

"It's unlike you to start that way. You always cut around the fat." You bring his bed sheets up to your nose and squint at him. "'M I in trouble?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"You know I care about you."

Your heart somersaults. That feels very much like a break-up opener, and he must see your anxiety on your face. He wrangles your hand from under the sheets and leans over you, his face in your eyeline, his fingers massaging yours until they ache in the good way.

"Do you know how much?" he asks.

"Is that a trick?"

"No."

You wait in case there's something he's going to add. When there's nothing, you pull the sheets to your chin and tamp down your perplexed pouting.

"Yeah, I know how much."

"I'd like to tell you how much." He pulls your joined hands toward his jaw. "I know I'm not always here, but I'm always thinking of you. In roundabout ways."

"What ways?" you ask. Self-indulgence.

Aaron Hotchner indulges you.

"I see," — he kisses your hand — "trees. I've seen a thousand trees, but when I see the bigger ones I wish you could see them too."

It's a dropping sensation, near uncomfortable, that's how gutted his confession makes you feel. "You do?"

"Sometimes women walk past me and I swear that it's you because they smell like your perfume. Flowers growing through cracks in the sidewalk. Lights through the jet window." It's the kind of stuff you like to point out to him when you're together.

He stares at you, a long, reassuring look.

He deserves a better reply, but all you can say is, "I think of you all the time, too."

"I love that you want to take care of me, but you don't need to wear yourself out."

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. So that's what this is about. Aaron has profiled you, and now he's being the gentleman that he is and assuaging your fears.

"I'm not," you say quickly.

He understands that you're saying I'm not wearing myself out rather than I'm not taking care of you. You are taking care of him, the best that you can, the best that he'll allow.

"I can press my own pants," he says, leaning down for a kiss. "I can shine my own shoes." He kisses you again. You screw your eyes closed as the warmth of his breath heats your cupid's bow. "I can do my own laundry." He pulls back, dropping your hand in favour of your neck. His thumb pushes against your windpipe gently, palm hot over your skin. "I'll accept the lunches, if you're sure you don't mind making them."

You feel as excited as you did the very first time he touched you, chest full of a dizzying pleasure, heart bump-bump-bumping a racing rhythm. His thumb strokes a lazy quarter circle into your neck. He can probably feel your pulse, see the way your eyes have blown.

"I love making them," you say, breathless in earnest.

"The team think I'm spoiled."

"You aren't spoiled." You're adored, you want to say. You cup his cheek instead. "You'd be spoiled if I brought them by everyday."

Aaron doesn't stay with you and you don't stay with him enough to make him lunch everyday. He might get one or two a week, and that's when he's home.

"Wouldn't that be nice," he mutters, his fingers pushing between your neck and the pillow underneath.

You hike up on to your elbows slowly to avoid headbutting him. "Well, I could."

His easy, loving smile flattens. "No."

"I wouldn't mind. My lunch break is super long and it only takes me ten minutes to get there. We could have lunch together."

"That's not going to work."

"Okay." You wish you could take it as calmly as he says it. You sound choked up. You are choked up.

"Sweetheart, the office is a war zone. Half the time I'm not there."

"I get it," you say, dropping flat onto your back again.

"Sweetheart."

"Handsome," you mirror, putting on your best unaffected smile.

You can't hold it very long, his concerned brows too much to deal with. You turn your head to the left and turn off the lamp on the nightstand, throwing at least half of your expression into darkness.

Aaron doesn't give up. Does he ever? He cups your cheek and pulls you back to face him.

"I can't promise any lunch dates. But I was thinking we'd go out for dinner next week, Friday," he begins hopefully, "somewhere nice."

It feels like an apology and you're desperate to take it.

"I don't need somewhere nice, s'long as you're there 'n not in Kansas, or Colorado, or Idaho, or New Jersey-"

He hums and drops his head until his nose lies against your own. "Gonna go through all fifty?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Hotchner?"

"I love your voice," he says agreeably.

Disarmed, you let him charm you, and you let him push it all out of your mind. Plan foiled, your fears fall on the backburner for a third time.

—

His fourth rejection is the first that feels entirely intentional, though you won't know until later.

Mostly because Aaron pushes you.

Far from cruel, the two of you are actually out walking in the city when he forces you into an alleyway, your fancy drink sloshing down the front of your sweater.

You laugh in surprise and almost roll your ankle, hands clinging to his coat to stop an unfortunate fall.

"Holy shit, Hotchner, learn to be a gentleman," you say as he presses up against you. "What are you doing? I'm soaked, you're gonna ruin your sleeves."

He kisses you hard. It's a surprise, your head jumping back against the wall to find his hand already there to protect it.

It's worth noting that Aaron is a sweetheart in practically every aspect of life. He once apologised after having walked in on you changing, which is ridiculous because most of the nights where you're together he insists on getting you some sort of undressed (even if it's just to help you into your pyjamas).

Needless to say, he's never kissed you like this. Your emotions spike so suddenly you laugh into his mouth, a girlish peel of giggles that you'll regret afterward but can't stop for the life of you.

He shushes you. "Sorry," he whispers, as ill-composed as you've ever heard him. "Sorry, just-" He cuts you both off with another bruising kiss.

Your laughter fades into sighs and little gasps for air. Somewhere near the alleyway opening a group of people pass by, a jovial series of cheers and friendly laughter trailing behind them. Aaron presses you further into the wall behind, and slowly, slowly winds down. Weirdly, you think his last couple of pecks feel sorry, softer and sweeter.

Your lips buzz.

"Why'd you buy me that fancy drink if you were gonna tip it all over me?" you ask good-naturedly when he finally pulls back.

"You looked too nice today." His deadpan voice wars with the smile on his face. "I'm sorry. We'll go find you something to change into."

"Was it really that important that you kiss me right then?" you ask, feigning disdain.

He looks out toward the main street again. "Yes. Where do you want to go? There's a Nordstrom."

You take a sip of your drink, unsurprised when he takes your hand and starts to lead you toward the department stores. "Have you ever been inside of a Nordstrom?"

"I'm sure I'll figure it out."

—

The fifth time is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or the brick. It feels heavier than a strand of straw. It's technically already come to pass, so it's an invisible brick.

You're out for coffee by yourself which really means you're out for something sweet, bundled up in a coat and scarf to fight the night-time chill.

"Thank you," you tell the barista, accepting your drink and receipt with a smile.

You turn around and almost walk straight into a pretty dark-haired woman with really nice hair. You make a note to tell Aaron about it when you see him next, not because he'll care but because he likes to hear what you've been thinking about. And right now, all you can think about is her feathered bangs.

I want nice bangs, you think offhandedly.

"I'm sorry," you say, trying to move around her.

She steps into your path.

"Sorry," you say again.

She's squinting at you, thin eyebrows peeking out from behind her hair. "Sorry, have we met?" she asks.

You try not to be too hasty, but you're not sure you've ever seen her. You stare at her as she stares at you, and you get a tiny inkling of familiarity, but it's gone as quick as it comes.

"I'm really sorry, I don't think so," you murmur, tilting your head to one side.

She bites her lip, let's it go. "Oh!" she says excitedly, voice bright with triumph. "Oh oh oh! I know who you are, you're Hotch's mysterious girlfriend!"

Your smile turns quizzical. You know nearly everybody calls Aaron 'Hotch'. Whenever you try it he either gives you the silent treatment or covers your mouth with his hand.

"I'm Emily Prentiss, I work in the BAU," she explains rapidly, shoving her purse under her hand to offer it for a handshake.

You do the same and shake her hand. Introducing yourself feels awkward. She knows you. You don't have a clue who she is. Only-

"Oh, I know who you are now, I'm sorry I didn't recognise you before!" you say contritely. "I've seen photos of you and the team together. It's really nice to meet you."

She nods. "It's nice to meet you too. I have to say, we've been dying to meet you. We even have a betting pool on what you're like, because Hotch barely says a thing about you."

You try not to look as devastated as you feel, re-wrapping your fingers around your cup. "No?"

"We didn't even know what you looked like until we saw you the other day. We came looking to say hi and you'd disappeared."

You lick your dry lips. "The other day?"

"Yeah, last Friday. We were out for impromptu drinks, celebrating a case. You know, you should come with sometime. It would be fun."

Emily talks each word with an undertone of good humour. She's stunning, bubbly, and her hair flows around her face with every movement.

"He really doesn't talk about me?"

Emily drops into girl code niceties, backtracking. "I mean, not too often. We catch him smiling at his phone and hear your voice sometimes when you call. He seems happy. Well, happy as Hotch can seem." She swallows. "He's a private creature."

He doesn't talk about me.

You pretend to check your watch.

"It was really good to meet you," you say, voice airy with a feigned nonchalance.

"Yeah, of course. Super nice," Emily says.

You smile at her. It's more like a grimace. By the time you're outside of the coffee shop you're too upset to care, a humiliated shock of tears brewing behind your achy eyes.

You hold your cup to your chest and unzip your purse to tuck the receipt inside, trying to maintain some control. There's a folded note inside, thick cardstock quartered.

You take it out. Your fingers tremble with offended adrenaline.

You're beautiful.

Short, sweet, extremely Aaron Hotchner. Too bad you can't believe it.

Emily Prentiss being out and about means the BAU are done for the night, though whether your workaholic boyfriend got the memo is anyone's best guess. You're not sure if it's better or worse if he's in work when you call. You're so upset that you can't help yourself.

"Hi, honey."

"Do you really think I'm beautiful?" you ask, staving off tears with all your willpower.

"I wouldn't write it if I didn't mean it. That one took you a while to find, I was-"

"Are you sure?"

"...Are you okay?"

You glare up at the dark sky rather than answer, blinking hard to force down your tears. You really don't wanna cry, but it's been a bad day and meeting Emily has made it worse. No matter how hard you try to think otherwise, all signs point to Aaron being ashamed of you. Embarrassed to be with you. He's hiding your relationship from everybody.

"Am I- Is it my clothes? My job?"

"What's wrong with your clothes?"

"You tell me, detective."

You're getting angry. He's- he's lying, or he's messing with you. He's making fun of you. At least that's how it feels.

"Where are you right now?" he asks. You can picture him shrugging on his suit jacket, putting his files in order to come and meet you.

You don't want to see him. "I'm at the coffee shop by your apartment. I actually ran into somebody, and I'm feeling very well-informed." A first tear bumps down your cheek. You ignore it.

"I don't understand."

"I don't understand! What am I doing wrong?" You bite your tongue in last ditch efforts to remain intact, but the tears won't hold off any longer. You swallow a sob. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. Nothing, honey, nothing is wrong with you."

You wipe your wet face with mean hands.

"Stay where you are. I'll come and meet you."

"No. I don't wanna see you."

"Honey-"

"Leave me alone, Aaron."

You hang up. You walk for a while, feeling as though steam is rising off of your flushed skin with every clumsy step. It had been a short phone call and already you can't remember what you said, all you can feel is angry, and then that runs out and all you can do is cry.

You've never felt incredibly attractive. Aaron makes you feel better than that — he has the uncanny ability to inspire self-confidence with a loaded look alone. He can smile at you and your skin feels like it's glowing.

So why doesn't that translate? If he thinks you're so pretty, why does he insist on hiding you away?

Because that day, he'd seen his friends. He could've introduced you but he took you down the alley and kissed you so you wouldn't be seen. That's not too busy: That's secretive.

That kiss. You fooled yourself into thinking you must've looked irresistible. Fuck. You went home that night thinking you were the best thing since sliced bread.

"I'm so stupid," you mutter, sniffling.

Your self deprecation is muffled by the sound of a slowing car. You don't look up. There are two possibilities for who it is, and you don't want to deal with either.

The car parks and then you do look up. Despite how mad you are you're not suicidal, and Aaron's given you extensive coaching on sex trafficking.

It's him. Shocker.

You're half-expecting him to reprimand you. You didn't look up until I parked. You know it takes five seconds to snatch and incapacitate someone?

He looks haphazardly put together. Suit jacket on but tie loosened, he rounds the hood of his car and joins you on the sidewalk. You don't want to play games with him. He really doesn't need it, he didn't sign up for it, and drama isn't your style, but you're sick of this.

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" he asks, standing an amicable two feet away, hands at his hips.

"I'm really mad."

"What else?"

"I'm thinking," you say, looking down at your cold hands, "that you… That you're…" You rub your cheek into your shoulder to hide a fresh tear. "I don't know, Aaron. I'm thinking lots of things."

"Do you want to think about them in the car?" he asks.

Do you want to talk about it?

You don't want to talk about it. You don't like crying in front of him on a good day.

You're pretty sure he'll combust on the spot if he knows you're walking home alone in the dark and distracted.

You get in the car. He has the good sense not to touch your shoulders like he normally would.

You buckle as soon as you've closed the passenger side door. "I'm sorry," you mumble, looking down at your knees.

"Let's forget that, for now." He turns the key but doesn't pull out. "Tell me what's upset you and I'll explain."

"I met Emily Prentiss."

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"She told me that you don't talk about me. Ever. That they didn't even know what I looked like."

You know he's listening but he keeps his eyes on the road, and you chance a look at the side of his face. He doesn't seem mad.

"I don't talk about you often," he says. "But that doesn't mean never… It's true that they didn't know what you look like."

"Until last week, when they saw us together and you pulled me into an alley so they couldn't see me."

"Yes."

Your lower lip trembles. "Do you see why that would upset me?" You're asking genuinely.

"Yeah, honey."

Your head jolts up. He's diverting his gaze from the road to you intermittently, offering up a regretful grimace. The oncoming headlights splash over his work worn face.

"Then why are you doing this? What's so wrong with me that you won't even admit we're together?"

"Nothing is wrong with you. I'm not ashamed of you," he says firmly, volume rising.

"Then why?"

His eyebrows pull together. "You're the best person I've ever met that isn't my son, and I selfishly don't want to share you yet. I also don't want to scare you off."

You pull your sleeves over your hands and turn in your seat, wiping your damp cheeks as he continues.

"My job is hard, and it's dangerous. It has jeopardised the safety and wellbeing of people I love before. So no, I'm not eager to introduce you to my world. The more intertwined with my life that you become, the more danger I put you in, and…" The car slows down again. He turns to look at you. "And I like that I'm the only one who knows you like this.

"I have been hiding you. I have. But it was a," — his tone turns wry — "misguided attempt at keeping you all to myself. Safe, and to myself."

You're finding it difficult to be mad with him.

He's finding it difficult to maintain his poker face. A fat tear rolls down your cheek and you're not sure what it's made of, fatigue or relief or plain hurt, whatever it is he doesn't like it. He pulls over.

You hold still as he pinches the tear off of your chin.

"How long have you felt like this?"

"Like what?" you ask wetly.

"Like this." He opens his hand against your cheek. It encompasses your face; you lean in, hungry for reassurance.

"I don't know."

"This is why you changed your hair. Your clothes. And started making my lunch."

You cover his hand with your own. "I actually really like making your lunches."

You stare at each other until suddenly you're laughing, sniffly, short of breath. Aaron joins in soon after. He always sounds so surprised to be laughing.

"I'm glad," he says when your laughter has abated, pinky and ring finger caressing down the slope of your cheek. "I really like having them. Rossi can't hide how jealous he is."

"They know about the lunches?"

His mindless petting pauses. "They know about the lunches. You're not a secret. I'm… selfish with the details. I'm selfish." Aaron takes back his hand. "I'm sorry."

You take as deep a breath as you can. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Mm. Can we go home?"

His eyebrows jump and swiftly smooth again. "Yeah, we can go home." He chucks your chin and gets the car moving again.

You watch him drive.

When you get home, he doesn't mind reassuring you some more. Actually, it's like he needs to do it. You'd love to say that it's overkill and that his low murmurings of praise are unnecessary, but you can't.

"You're lovely," he says seriously across two plates of pasta. Again through the mirror when you're brushing your teeth, and again when you've curled into his chest for the night. You're lovely. Nothing that needs hiding.

You hear him on the phone early in the morning, half asleep.

"Hey, Dave. Yeah. Okay. Uh… No, that's fine." He laughs under his breath. "Yeah, if she was awake I'd ask her to make you one. I think she would… Okay. See you in forty."

You bury your tired face into his pillows and beam.

—

Aaron's office is terrifyingly hectic. You can see already that the bullpen is full to bursting with agents, including but not limited to his special team of profilers. There's the distinct smell of coffee, sharp and burning, and then the underlay of printer ink, new paper.

You can't believe you're here.

You're not brave enough to introduce yourself to his team, and half aren't at their desks anyways. You hover in the doorway until somebody needs to get past you, taking a reluctant step inside.

You shouldn't wait for Aaron. You should be brave. You're a grown up, and you're bringing your grown up partner his very grown up lunch. You'd wanted desperately to do this. The least that you can do is do it by yourself.

You've scrapped most of the fall staples but kept the burgundy pants Aaron likes so much at his request. They feel insanely tight on your thighs, as does your collar. In fact, the room has definitely shrunk since you got here.

Like an idiot, Aaron says your name loud and clear, standing with a hand on the railings at the top of the instep. You hadn't even noticed him emerging from his office.

His voice demands — commands — attention. People turn in their seats, first toward him, and then toward you.

All eyes on me.

You don't run but you don't walk either, weaving through desk chairs and people looking a mix of busy and curious.

"You're being cruel," you say as you approach him, a brown paper bag held close to your abdomen.

"Hi, honey," he says. He wears a knowing smile, all dark and tall and handsome as he starts down the stairs to meet you.

"Don't punish me."

"Is that what you'd call this?" he asks, hand quick to clasp your shoulder, glueing you in place so he can kiss your forehead.

And yes, this is what you'd wanted. The doting boyfriend not just at home but at work, too.

That doesn't mean it isn't really, really embarrassing.

"Is everyone looking at me?" you murmur.

He slips his arm behind your shoulders to walk you up the stairs. "Yes." His voice drops lower. "At one place specifically, I imagine."

"What part is that, Agent?"

He laughs and opens his office door to beckon you inside. "Don't start."

༺༻

my first hotch fic omg. i did a big character study beforehand but i doubt it's entirely in character, hotch is a difficult character to write for! (and im only at season 4). but this was so fun and he's hot so it's worth it. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! i promise it makes a difference to me (and also i love seeing what people thought). thank you for reading!! ♥

9K notes · View notes

crazyk-imagine · 1 year

Text

Let’s Get to Planning

Pairing: Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth) x Civilian! Pregnant!reader

Characters: Civilian! Pregnant!reader, Leonard “Wolfman” Wolfe (Henry “Wolfman” Ruth), Charlotte “Charlie” Blackwood

Warnings: The classic friends with benefits leads to pregnancy trope, Wolfman being such a sweetheart, Charlie rooting for the two to get officially together, miscommunication, December baby (mentioned once), mentions of morning sickness, hormones all over the place, minor threatening, tis the first “Christmas” fic of the season

Word Count: 3,581

*Why can I never find more than four of the same gifs for this man? Ughh

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You blink, eyes barely adjusting to the darkness; his body heat being the one thing to keep you warm. The thin blankets and sheets on his bed do nothing, you’re lucky to keep warm if the window is closed (at home, Charlotte [the crackhead] likes the window open at your guy’s shared apartment and the whole place becomes an igloo).

Usually, you’re not opposed to having the window, in fact, you welcome it… unless the weather is windy in the late fall, early winter or winter in general. It’s another reason why you liked staying with him; he always managed to find a way to keep you warm, maybe that’s why you’re sad this is ending.

You push yourself up, the sheet falls, landing around your waist. You look around, trying to figure out where your clothes were thrown. You both kicked your shoes off near the front door, shirts were ripped off in the hallway just before the living room, and everything else was torn off in here. You try to move the sheet and realize his arm is around your waist.

You carefully place his arm beside him and push yourself out of bed. You grab your bottoms, going commando since you’re unable to find your underwear. You’ll find your shoes after and search for your bra which is in the hallway on the floor. You stop to hook it, sliding your bra straps over your shoulders making sure the straps aren’t too loose.

Your hand slides against the wall as you blindly walk in the dark. “If you were a shirt, where would you be?” You stop at the end of the hallway. “If I were a shirt, I wouldn’t be here whispering to myself.” Your eyes adjust to the dark and you venture into the living room, checking the couch, nothing. The coffee table, nothing. Okay the living room is a bust so you go check the kitchen, that’s a bust too.

You give up and walk back towards his room. “Seriously? The door?” You quickly put your shirt on and search for your shoes. “Shoes. Shoes. Ah-ha!” You quietly step towards the bed, so you have some stability and won’t fall over or break anything. The creaks of the mattress as it adjusts to your weight doesn’t wake him. You finish getting both on, rubbing your hands on your thighs before you stand up.

“Where are you going?” his groggy and rough voice echoes through your ears.

You turn, eyes widening. You were not expecting him to be awake. Your hand pats his thigh, “you’re dreaming.”

“Am I?” “You’re tired and you’ll think this was a dream.”

“I don’t,” his voice quiets down as he mumbles something you can’t hear. A quiet, sad sigh slips past your lips. “Bye Leonard.” You crawl onto the bed, pecking his forehead.

You don’t notice the small smile stretching across his lips as you leave his place.

You didn’t realize how hard this would be, your heart feels heavy, and your mind is running a hundred miles an hour.

Why does it hurt so much to end something that wasn’t going anywhere?

You push yourself out of bed, heading towards your closet so you can get ready and help Charlotte. You love her, you do but you don’t always want to go out even if she thinks it’ll help you move on; even when you tell her you have (of course she doesn’t believe you).

You toss the hanger onto your bed, searching through your dresser drawer for your undergarments when you start to feel nauseous. You pause, take a deep breath and- yeah, no you’re going to throw up.

You run to the bathroom; hands on either side of the toilet bowl, everything you’ve eaten coming up. You groan once you’ve finished and flush. You don’t want to stand up and opt to sit down across from the toilet.

Charlotte enters the apartment, calling for you.

You gather enough energy to tell her you’re in the bathroom and she can tell by the way you sound, you’re not well. She walks past your bed and leans against the bathroom doorway. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Just peachy, Charls. My streaks broken; I think I’m sick.” You don’t see her expression after throwing your head back against the wall, rubbing the back of it while mouthing, “ow!”

“What if- what if you’re not sick?”

“Not sick? I’m throwing up here, if this isn’t a stomach bug what else-” Your eyes widen. “No.”

“Yes.”

“But I can’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I just- I- I’m gonna be a single mom.”

“No, don’t say that.” She sets her purse down and sits beside you, pulling you into her embrace. “You are not alone, you hear me. This baby will have us… and Wolfman.”

“No,” you shake your head, “absolutely not.”

“He deserves to know.”

You cover your face with both hands, sniffling. “I know.”

“Let’s go out and buy a pregnancy test to confirm my theory before we call the doctor?”

“This is why you’re a teacher.”

“Why?”

“Because you like to prove yourself right.”

“That is not what being a teacher is about.”

You snort, wiping your cheeks, “okay, Charls.”

“I mean it,” she stomps her foot, smiling when you chuckle.

After your little adventure, you start trying to figure out how you’ll meet him. “Where am I going to find him? What if he’s been deployed for another mission?”

“I can find out where he is, and you can figure out the rest.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who’s pregnant, right now.”

“And I’m not the one who slept with a student.”

“Why do you always bring that up?”

“Because it’s fun.”

You dial the number you’ve memorized, listening to the dial tone, waiting for an expected hang up. You prepare to put the phone back in the phone receiver when-

“Hi, it’s Wolfman.”

“Crap,” you whisper. “Hi- hi, Leonard.” The clearly surprised tone tells you what you already know. Why would he be expecting your call?

“How… are you?” he asks.

“That’s actually what I called to talk to you about. Could-” You pause, hearing female voices in the back. “You sound like your busy. I should go.”

“No. No. No. Wait! What if we meet at that coffee shop you love?”

“I thought you didn’t like that place?”

“Let’s just say it grew on me. So, tomorrow around nine?”

“Yeah… bye Leonard.”

“Bye.” You blow out the breath you’ve been holding. “Oh my god.” You dial Charlottes number and wait for her to answer. “Answer your fu- Charls?”

“Did you, do it?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“We’ll meet at the coffee shop tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not that, I’m proud of you for doing the right thing and meeting up to tell him but I’m worried about your morning sickness.”

“My anxiety will overpower that.”

“Honey-”

“I’m joking… kind of.” You can hear voices in the back and know you called during a busy time. “I gotta go, Charls.”

“Wait-”

Eventually you fall asleep, the TV becoming background noise.

Charlotte walks in and sighs. Her shoulders sag after she sets her bag off besides the couch, she lifts the blanket off your lap and pulls up.

Your bump is barely noticeable, she wonders if he’ll notice.

She heads into the spare room and changes into something more comfortable so she can get some work done before you two go to sleep for the night. When she finishes, she removes her glasses and checks the time. “Oh wow,” she mutters.

She cleans up and heads into the kitchen, making a quick and easy dinner that’ll be light on your tummies but also filling. She sets the plates on the coffee table and gently shoves your shoulder; you don’t wake up with the first few until she really starts shaking you.

You jerk awake, smacking her arms.

“Ow! Why’d you hit me?”

“Why did you shake me like a rag doll?” You turn onto your back, “I’ve got precious cargo on board.”

“Well, princess. You weren’t waking up. I made food, now come on, it’s time to sit up so we can eat and watch stupid movies.”

You push yourself up, “you had me at food.”

“Of course, I did.”

You don’t put in much effort into looking nice, whatever you eat will be thrown up later anyway. No nice clothes equal no stains, meaning no worrying about using a stain spray.

Charlotte knows where you’re going so, you’re not worried about that, everything you need is in your purse.

Anxiety on the edge of ruining your day, check.

You sigh, not at all prepared for this but still seem to find the courage to walk out the door with your spare sonogram picture in your purse. You don’t get out of your car right away, not at all prepared for what may happen now that you’re here.

Your hand rests subconsciously on your belly, your eyes wonder around the street searching for him.

He pulls up across the street, seemingly doing the same as you.

You want to look away but the last night you saw him- he gets out of his car, his hat tucked away safely on his head. You’re curious to know if he would recognize the car since it’s Charlotte’s but then again, you rarely had him over and if you did then it would be when she was out.

He passes the car, focusing on is path towards the coffee shop, eyes hardly ever moving away from the building and street.

‘I can do this?’ You take a deep breath and grab your purse before exiting the car. ‘We got this.’

The doorbell to the door rings when you open it, Leonard looks up and his face lights up.

You take slow steps closer towards the booth, your booth.

Neither of you say anything but he does remove his hat (something he did a lot when you two were out in public, a sign of respect he’d say).

“How,” he clears his throat. “How have you been?”

Does he know? You study his expression, his warm and kind eyes that made it hard for you to leave that night and his neatly combed hair, showing you how anxious he was for this.

He was never one to care too much about his hair… unless he was meeting up with you. Why didn’t you notice that before? You shake your head. “I’ve- uh-” you cover your mouth. You close your eyes, focusing on keeping your breakfast down.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

“Are you sure you’re, okay? I’ve never seen you sick before. Should I- Should I call Charlie?”

You slowly shake your head, holding one finger up letting him know to give you a second or two.

“Is it okay if I get you water or should I see if they have-”

“Water,” your cheeks deflate as you huff out your breath. “Water is fine, thank you, Leo.”

He feels like there might be a chance at a real relationship when you use that nickname for him.

You take slow, big gulps of the clear and bland tasting liquid. “I called you because I needed to talk to you about something.”

He nods, “okay.”

“This is a big something… maybe something that could even change the way things are between us. I-” you struggle to find the words that are different but still have the same effect as just blurring out, “I’m pregnant with your child” and not have him run out on you. You riffle through your purse beside you. You pause staring at the picture. “If I show you this, can you promise that you won’t run away?”

“What? Why would I-”

“Just promise me, Leonard!” You turn back to face him.

“Okay, okay.” He nods, realizing how serious you are. “I will.”

You gulp, passing the photo over to him.

He takes it, fingertips brush against your fingers. He stares it, unsure of what he’s seeing. “What is- what am I looking at?”

“You’re looking at a sonogram picture from the baby currently growing inside me.”

His gaze doesn’t move from the photo.

You remove your hand from the glass, it now being wet and cold from the water left behind by the melting ice.

Time really does go by slowly when it comes to serious discussions, you don’t dare check the clock.

You can’t stand him being silent anymore and put your half down (even if you only did have a water), purse clutched in your hand. You stand up from the booth, giving yourself a second.

His voice stops you from leaving. “Wa- wait. What- what do you mean?”

You sit back down, staring at the glass. “I’m pregnant and it’s yours. It’s as simple as that Leonard.”

“I- is it-”

You purse your lips, sensing where he’s going with his question. “I swear on all that is holy, if you even try to ask me if they are yours when I just told you that the baby is. I’m going to rip your dick off and shove it down your throat and your hat is gonna go in a woodchipper.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“When we had our “relationship” I didn’t sleep with anyone else, okay? Not that I need to tell you that or explain myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

You cross your arms and keep your eyes low. “I came here to tell you about my condition and to tell you that you don’t have to be involved because I am keeping this baby.”

“No.”

You lift your head. “No?”

“I,” he gulps. “I want to be a part of the baby’s life… if you’ll let me. I’m not going to let you two fend for yourselves.”

You fight the urge to smile but that doesn’t stop the tears from pooling in your waterline. “I think- I think that would be a nice idea.”

“Really?” He asks with a smile.

“I think it… it would be good if the baby had both parents in his or her life.”

He stretches his arm across the table, wanting to hold your hand. “How- uh- how are we…”

You place your hand in his. “I don’t want to talk about that here.”

“We can go back to my place or- or we can go back to yours and Charlie’s?”

“I’d feel more comfortable at mine and Charls.”

“Then let’s go there.” He gives you a boyish grin as he sets his half down before scooting out of the booth, his hand stretched out for you to take.

“Do you remember where we live?”

He opens your car door for you, wishing that his hat would fall and cover his eyes. “If I say yes, will you still let me be a part of our child’s life?”

Your heart beats faster. “I would,” you nod, biting your lip to hide the smile.

“Uh- do you,” he holds the photo up.

“I have my copy in the photo album.”

“You already made a photo album?”

“Actually, Charls did. She was trying- she was helping me through my slump after we… parted and my doctor’s appointment to see if she was right which,” you reach down, rubbing your belly, “she was.”

You unlock the door, turning the knob to open it. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“I’m sure it’s not…” His jaw drops, all the cardboard around the living room and hallway make it hard to decipher if this is actually a home or not.

“We started to do some shopping, so the place was ready when bubbles here, decides it’s time.”

“Bubbles?” He asks, wondering if he heard you correctly. You nicknamed the baby, the one word he had a hard time with as a child.

“Yeah,” a nervous chuckle escapes you, “it was the first thing that popped into my head… and make me smile.”

“Can I,” he gestures to the unfinished crib.

“Oh, sure, sure. I’ll just- I’m gonna go change and you can work on this.”

He nods, setting everything he needs to the side until he realizes he doesn’t know where the tools are.

He walks down the hallway, ready to knock on the door but stops. His eyes stop on you sitting on the edge of the bed, hand on belly. It looks as though you’re talking to bubbles. He knocks.

“Come in.”

“I- uh- I don’t know where the tools are.”

“Oh, they’re,” you stop, staring down at the baby.

“What is it?” He’s worried something’s happened.

“Come here,” you whisper. “Give me your hand.”

He takes a step forward, giving you his hand only for it to be placed on your warm and moving- moving belly!? It takes him a second to understand what’s going on. “Is this- are they kicking?”

You nod with an excited smile dancing across your lips.

He kneels between your legs, wanting to be closer to the both of you. “You’re kicking,” his voice comes out in a whisper. He can’t believe what’s happening right now and yet, it makes all the difference because he knows now, that without a shadow of doubt, he will do anything and all so that he can to be a part of the baby’s life and yours. “Why’d you leave?”

“What?”

“I woke up when you were leaving, you always stayed the night. Hell, sometimes I’d have to fight to get you out of bed. Why’d you leave?”

“Is this really something we have to talk about right now, Leonard?”

“If we’re going to be taking care of a child together, we should at least explain why we’re not together if they ask.”

“I,” you sigh. “Did you honestly see us going anywhere?”

He jerks his head back at the question. “What?”

“Did you see us becoming a couple? Because you made it clear that you didn’t want a relationship!”

“When!?”

“You-” You sigh through your nose. “You never took me to meet your friends and pilot buddies-”

“Because they would ask you a lot of questions, sometimes not the most appropriate and I wanted to prevent you from that uncomfortable situation.”

You furrow your brows. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I-” He can’t find the words.

“I felt like a secret, Leo. Like you didn’t want to be seen with me or maybe… you were ashamed of me.”

“No! God, no. I- you really felt that way? I wanted to keep you to myself for a little longer before one of them found out.” His hand is hot and sweaty as it rests against your cheek. “Is that the reason you left?”

“That and the fact that you were talking about going out with this girl and how you wanted to finally ask her out.”

He blinks owlishly at you. “Where’d you hear that?”

“A couple of days before the whole,” you wave your hand around. “You know. I overheard you talking to someone, and I thought you wanted to end things so I… I left.”

“You’re gonna feel really stupid when I tell you I was talking to my buddy about you.”

“What?”

“I was trying to figure out when to ask you and then I decided the next morning would be good because we could go out for breakfast but when I woke up, I was alone.”

“You weren’t going to break up with me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, “never.”

“You were gonna ask me out?”

“I am.”

“You are… wait- you are?”

He takes your hands in his. “I am. Will you officially be the one I can call mine?”

“How can I say no when you say it like that?” You pull one of your hands out of his grasp, wiping away the tears that trickle down your cheeks.

He stands tall on his knees, leaning in.

You move your head closer to his, staring into his eyes.

Neither of you can stand it anymore and pull the other in for a long-awaited kiss, the kind to take your breath away. You’re the first to pull away. “Charls is gonna be happy.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“She’s gonna get ten bucks.” You notice the raised brow and wrap your arms around the back of his neck. “Don’t ask.”

He doesn’t, opting to kiss you instead. “I’m gonna finish the crib then we’ll watch a movie?”

You nod, pecking his lips, the happy smile never leaving either of your lips.

Charlotte walks through the door, closing it without looking into the living room. “How’d it go? Was I right?” She walks closer and finds the two of you on the couch, him nestled between your legs resting his head beside your belly, the back of his head resting against the couch. “I knew it.”

You shush her, “we’re watching a movie.”

“You’re the only one who’s awake.”

“Fine, I’m watching a movie so please shut thy mouth.”

“I love it when you get annoyed and use your Shakespeare era words on me.”

You scoff and shove her arm.

“I’m making dinner. Is he staying?”

You look down at the sleeping blond and turn back to her. “I don’t think he’s ever leaving.”

She nods. “I expect him to pay rent and help me spoil your Christmas baby.”

“Charlotte!”

She shushes you, “he’s sleeping.”

“Char-”

“Sleeping!”

You shake your head and continue watching the movie.

Continue: Part II

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the-wize-1 · 10 months

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Thawing the Widow: Chapter 3 - The Interrogation

Chapter Summary: Cat is interrogated, which is mildly annoying. And the redheaded lady won't stop pointing a gun at her. Rude. Do they think she's a terrorist or something?

Chapter Warnings: Hints of child abuse flashbacks, guns, swearing.

Notes: Thank you for such a positive response on the last chapter! Please keep reviewing/liking/reblogging if you enjoy! Next chapter is posted Thursday 5PM PST! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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December - Safehouse

The first thing Cat noticed was that she was tied to a chair. It was a really uncomfortable wooden chair, which didn’t make sense because all of the furniture in the room had been cushy and well-made. Did they reserve this chair just for tying people in? What made it more uncomfortable was that her hands were bound behind her back and her legs were each tied to a leg of the wooden chair. Another rope wrapped around her torso, binding her to it completely. She felt helpless, like a trapped fly stuck in a web.

And yet, the most noticeable part of her predicament wasn’t the chair. It was the muzzle of the gun, which was focused right above her left eye, obscuring half her vision.

Cat’s breath quickened. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Her insides were trembling like Jell-O. For a few seconds, fear was so overwhelming that she couldn’t move.

The only thing she could think of was Trevor had a gun, Trevor had a gun. He’d kept next to the liquor cabinet, behind the tequila. That made her think of the time she’d spilled one of his beers on the carpet. She’d realized her mistake before the bottle hit the ground. Trevor had been yelling his head off about a stain. With shaking hands, she’d tried to mop it up but only succeeded in spreading it. That crazy look in his eyes— wild, furious, insane. One second he’d been beside her, the next she was staring at the unfriendly end of a gun. Her entire body had frozen, locked in place. She couldn’t move. She’d thought for sure he’d shoot, and for a moment welcomed the darkness—

Cat squeezed her eyes shut, trying to forget. Except she couldn’t forget. She could never forget. Instead, she pushed the memory away— by now, she was a master of this— and shifted her attention to the voice behind the gun. It was a woman’s voice. Low and raspy.

“...come in, Barton. There’s an intruder in the safehouse.”

The woman seemed to be talking to another person, but as far as Cat could tell, she was the only person in the room. She hadn’t seemed to notice that Cat was awake yet. She stayed very still, heart pounding against her ribcage.

The woman’s voice paused. “Yes, I’m sure, because I’m pointing a gun to her head.” She glanced down, saw that Cat was awake, and muttered something unintelligible in another language, sounding like either Russian or Ukranian. (Cat had learned both one time when she was bored.)

Cat struggled wildly in the chair, trying in vain to escape. She couldn’t, of course. The ropes held strong.

“Rise and shine,” the woman said, bending down so that her piercing green eyes bore into Cat’s own.

Still shaky from the memory of Trevor, Cat hated that her voice trembled when she spoke. “W-what the hell, lady! Why do you have a gun?”

“Don’t move,” the woman ordered with an off-putting calmness.

This was no time to be scared. Cat counted off the beats of her heart as it slowed.

“How can I?” Her voice was even again. “You tied me to a chair. You couldn’t have tied me to one of those nice sofas?”

Taco, she remembered. Where was he? While she spoke, her eyes did a quick scan of the room for him. She was relieved to see him dozing behind a corner, hidden from view. She prayed that he stayed that way, and maybe the woman wouldn’t shoot him. Cat didn’t know what kind of psychopath would shoot such an adorable beagle, but she wasn’t about to take any chances with this woman.

She was clearly dangerous. Dark red hair, intense eyes, prominent features. The way she held the gun told Cat that she likely had shot many things before, perhaps beagles even more adorable than Taco. She was wearing some type of strange black leather catsuit, like spies did in movies.

“Are you a spy?” Cat blurted, then thought, Damn. ADHD impulsivity.

“I ask the questions here.” Her voice now had an edge to it; it was low and threatening. “Now, I’m only going to ask this once. Who do you work for?”

Cat was caught off guard. “Huh?”

The woman rolled her eyes, momentarily losing the edge. “Did I or did I not just say that I was only going to say it once?”

“Okay, no offense, but what’s the point of only saying it once? Is that like, a power move or something? And it seems kind of inconvenient, especially when you insist on asking vague and confusing questions. Those should be asked at least twice!”

The woman shoved her gun into Cat’s head. (Cat fought down a sea of memories. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.) “Answer the question.”

“I don’t work for anyone! I’m ten. Who’s gonna hire me to do anything?”

“How did you get in here?” the woman demanded.

“I— what? I don’t know— I used the door, I guess.”

“It was locked. How did you break in?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

The woman looked at her like she was unbelievably stupid. “Yes. That’s literally what this is. Did the gun and the fact that you’re tied to a chair not make it clear enough?” She leaned in closer. “Do you need me to break a bone to prove it to you?”

Cat leaned as far away as possible. “No! No, please don’t do that!”

“Excellent. So you should have no problem answering the question.”

Cat squirmed uncomfortably. “Uh, well— I wouldn’t say I broke in. I feel like that’s a strong phrase, you know? Kinda makes me look like a criminal…”

The woman’s gun clicked against her head. Involuntarily, Cat flinched. “Talk, or I shoot.”

“Jesus! I picked the damn lock, okay? Look, I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t steal anything— I mean, I did steal some things, but technically I haven’t stolen anything because I haven’t left this place yet, which means that the things I stole— I mean, didn’t steal— are still here. Making them unstolen.”

Cat’s gaze landed on the empty tray of peanut butter chocolate cookies. She felt a stab of guilt. Maybe it was best not to mention that specific part of her breaking and entering. Not that it mattered— the woman looked like she was going to kill her anyhow.

“What did you take?”

“Nothing!”

“You have ten seconds to tell me the truth.” The woman started counting at an alarmingly fast pace. “Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

“Those aren’t mississippis!” Cat protested.

For a second, the woman paused. “Excuse me?”

“In school, you’ve gotta go, ‘One-mississippi-two-mississippi-three—’”

“I’m going to shoot you.”

Cat caved. “It’s all in the bag!”

“What bag?”

“It’s a hideous pink backpack, covered in stupid butterflies!”

The woman’s arm reached out, and for a second Cat thought she was going to slap her— Operating on instinct, she flinched, hands going up to cover her face, only to be restrained by the ropes binding them to the chair. But the woman hadn’t laid a hand on her. Instead, she’d grabbed Cat’s backpack from the couch behind her. Although, she did frown at Cat’s reaction.

“You mean this one?”

“Yeah,” Cat said, relieved.

The woman stared at it a moment. “You’re right. It is hideous.”

“I didn’t pick it. My uncle did.”

“Your uncle has terrible taste.”

“Thank you— hey!”

The woman was emptying out the contents of the backpack on the floor. All the first aid supplies, snacks, and clothes she’d carefully positioned so that it just fit inside spilled out. Finally, wads and wads of money spilled out from the bottom. Twenties littered the floor. The woman didn’t seem to be finding what she was looking for— what she thought Cat stole.

“I didn’t steal all of that!” Cat said quickly. “Only the food and the rest of the supplies. The clothes, the money are all—”

“Money you stole?” the woman demanded.

Cat instantly backtracked. “No! Well, yes, I stole it— but not from here! I took it from my uncle Trevor’s apartment when I ran away. Trust me, if you knew him, you’d steal his money too.”

“What did you steal from here?”

“Just food, band-aids, water— that’s it, I swear!”

“Let me rephrase myself. What else did you steal from here?”

Suddenly, the door flew open and a man barrelled through the door. He was dressed in a black uniform as well, but it was different from the woman’s. His was a bulky vest, with only one sleeve covering an entire arm. His exposed forearm on his other arm had an armguard. He held a compound bow in his hand, with a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

“Help! Help!” Cat yelled at him. “This crazy lady’s trying to kill me!”

The woman frowned at her. “That’s a little insulting.”

“You know what’s really insulting?” Cat fired back. “Pointing a freaking gun at me!”

The man pointed at her with his bow— Jesus Christ, what was it with today and people pointing dangerous weapons at her— and glanced at the woman. “Please don’t tell me that’s the intruder.”

“Of course it’s the intruder. Why else would she be tied to a chair?”

The arrow man paused. “You’re kidding, right? Natasha— she’s just a kid, barely out of kindergarten. She’d can’t possibly be the target. If anything, she looks like a homeless kid, who accidentally got inside the safehouse. ”

Although she didn’t have the slightest idea what they were talking about, Cat felt a spurt of indignation. Barely out of kindergarten! She knew she was on the smaller side, but why rub it in?

“Just a kid! I’m not just a kid. And what makes you think I can’t be the target? If I wanted to be the target, I would be the target! Only, I’m not the target because I don’t even know what that is!” Then, unable to suppress a dig at his garb, she smirked. “Nice outfit, by the way. Is it Halloween already?”

Arrow Man gaped at her. He turned to Natasha. Cat turned to look at her as well, just in time to see her wiping a faint smirk from her face. “Did I just get insulted by a kindergartener?”

“She’s not just a kindergartener,” Natasha pointed out, face stony once again. “She’s an intruder.”

“I’m an intruder, and I’m not in kindergarten,” Cat interjected. “I’m in the fourth grade.”

“I don’t give a sh—”

“Natasha!” Arrow Man protested. “She’s a kid! You can’t swear in front of a kid.”

“Stop calling me a fucking kid, please,” said Cat.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Arrow Man, who was slack-jawed. “The kid just swore in front of the kid.” Then she told Cat, “You know, people generally stop talking when a gun’s being pointed at them.”

“Right, sorry.” Cat stayed silent for two seconds before piping up again. “Speaking of guns being pointed at heads— can you, like, not? You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Natasha sighed to Arrow Man. “I hate children. Let’s gag her.”

“Then how would we get any intel from her? How did she get in, anyway?”

“Claims that she picked the lock. She’s obviously lying, because we just got the new high-security ones installed.”

Arrow Man coughed, and did a very bad job of pretending he wasn’t avoiding eye contact. His voice had notably raised in pitch. “ Well… ”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Her expression read You idiot. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Not really.”

Her tone sent a shiver down Cat’s spine. “Barton.”

Aha! So his name was Barton. Cat filed that away for future reference. Probably a last name.

He winced. “Okay, so there’s a slight chance that I forgot to—”

Before he finished his sentence, Natasha started cussing him out in a language that Cat recognized as Russian. Violently. And quite graphically. To put it lightly, some of the things she was saying were not PG. She’d lowered her gun, gesturing wildly in the air, but Cat was too open mouthed to even think about making a run for it. The whole thing probably lasted twenty seconds.

“Jesus, Natasha!” Barton gasped once she ran out of air. “There’s a kid right there!”

“So? She can’t understand it.”

Cat scoffed at her. “Shows how much you know. I understood every word you said.”

Barton shot Natasha an I told you so look.

Natasha was more skeptical. “Oh, really? What did I say, then?” she challenged.

Cat repeated it back to her.

Natasha and Barton both stared at her. The woman regained her composure first. “How do you know Russian?” she asked suspiciously.

“I learned it.”

“Why?”

“I was bored.”

They exchanged a look. Neither looked like they believed her.

“If anything, this proves my point,” Natasha told Barton quietly. “Why would a random kid off the street know how to speak Russian if she wasn’t…” She trailed off, exchanging a meaningful expression with him.

A new understanding flooded into his face. “You don’t think she’s…”

“Maybe,” Natasha muttered darkly. “They have been known to take in kids.”

“Wait a second,” Cat said. “Who’s ‘they’? You think I’m a terrorist, or something?”

“Or something.”

Arrow Man regarded Cat thoughtfully. “She’d have to be a pretty amazing actor, if she is what you think she is.”

“But I’m not!” Cat exploded. “I swear I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” Natasha said coolly.

“How can I?” Cat asked desperately. “It’s not like I have a sign hanging above my head that reads ‘Not a Terrorist!’”

“Sounds like a you problem. Whatever it is you’re going to do, you better do it fast. You have two minutes before I decide to kill you.”

Barton leaned into Natasha to whisper, but Cat still caught what he was saying. “You’re not actually going to murder her, right?”

The woman elbowed him hard in the ribs. Cat could tell it was painful because of the way his face twisted. She was a better whisperer, because Cat couldn’t make out what she said in his ear.

Natasha frowned at her. “What are you waiting for? You have a minute and forty seconds now.”

Cat started spilling her entire life story. If there was one thing she was good at, it was talking and talking fast. “My full name is Catalina Gray. I’m ten years old. I’m not a terrorist. I used to live in California but then six months ago I had to move in with my uncle Trevor in New York. And New York is horrible because everyone’s mad all the time, except for Trevor, who was drunk all the time, and that lady Kimberly tried to get me to a foster home, but I was like ‘No way Jose’ and I ran away. And for like a week I was homeless but I think I’m getting better at it. And then yesterday I was looking for a place to sleep and then I found the alley and that’s how I found the door.” She stopped for a breath.

“It was pitch-black outside,” Natasha pointed out. “And the entire wall is painted black. There’s no way you saw it.”

“No, wait, I didn’t! Taco did!”

“A… taco told you where the door was?” Barton asked dubiously. He turned to Natasha and whispered conspiratorially, “Sounds suspicious to me.”

Natasha raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“No, Taco’s my dog!” Cat suddenly had an idea. She called out excitedly, forgetting that there was a woman pointing a gun at her. “And he’s right there! Taco! Taco! C’mere!”

Taco’s head lifted. He bound up excitedly and ran over to Cat, leaping into her lap. He didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

“Aww,” said Arrow Man. “It’s a beagle! I’ve always wanted one of those.”

Natasha looked like she wanted to elbow him again.

“Yeah, aren’t they adorable?” Cat beamed at him for a moment, recognizing a fellow dog person, before remembering that they were both trying to kill her.

Natasha snapped at her. “The dog’s adorableness is not relevant. How did you get past the door?”

“Right, so after Taco noticed the door, I picked the lock with my knife—”

Natasha glowered darkly at Barton. He made a face at her.

“—the door opened, and I just assumed no one was in here, so I thought it wouldn’t do any harm to take a long around—” She paused. “And you know what? I ate every— single— freaking one of those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and they were delicious.”

“What did you say?” Arrow Man demanded. He seemed to notice the empty tray of cookies. “There’s not a single one of them left?” He turned to Natasha. “Who does that?”

Natasha sighed, finally lowering the gun and jammed it into a holster. “This is ridiculous.”

Cat wondered how long she’d been holding it up for, and how sore her arms must be. Was she even human? Despite this unanswered question tugging at her, she felt like a huge pressure had been lifted off her shoulders. Now that the threat of the gun had drained away, she could feel the tension in her shoulders loosening.

“Does that mean you believe me?”

“It means that the probability that you’re a sad little orphan who just happens to know Russian is higher than the…” She paused. “...other alternative.”

“What Natasha means to say was,” Barton corrected, “she was wrong and I was right, as always, and she’s very sorry and won’t threaten to shoot you ever again.”

“Well, she’s very annoying, so the probability that I might shoot her in the future is actually quite high. Plus, she ate all of the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, and that’s an offense I’m not sure I can forgive.”

Cat smiled uneasily. “That’s a joke. You’re joking, right?”

“I take peanut butter cookies very seriously.”

“She’s joking,” Barton reassured her, then added under his breath, “Probably.”

“So… can I be untied now? This chair really is uncomfortable.”

Natasha and Barton exchanged a glance, like What are we supposed to do with her?

Cat groaned. “You’re not seriously going to keep me tied here? I already told you, I’m innocent!”

“Except for running away, breaking and entering, and admitting theft,” Natasha said.

“I never admitted to stealing.”

“You did. Several times, but that’s not the point.”

“We still have a mission to finish,” Barton muttered to Natasha.

“There’s only one more target. It’s not crucial. Only one of us needs to go,” Natasha said, straightening. “So one of us can stay behind and get rid of her.”

Get rid of her? What did that mean? Kill her? Sedate her? Throw her in the river? Cat wanted to know. She didn’t voice her questions; she doubted they would answer her anyway. The way they were talking about “missions” and “targets,” it was safe to assume they were either spies for some covert government agency. Which made them a) dangerous, and b) slightly impressive.

Which probably meant that their definition of “getting rid of her” was definitely leaning towards the “killing her” side.

Which was bad. Obviously.

Cat needed an escape plan. Her eyes darted around the perimeter of the room, seeking sharp objects she could use to untie herself. But even if she did manage to do that, how would she escape without them noticing? By the looks of them, both were well trained and had a large number of weapons. She wasn’t even armed. It was hopeless.

Barton and Natasha were too busy staring at each other to notice her looking around for an escape route, seeming to communicate solely through their eyes.

Suddenly, Barton yelled, “Not it!”

Natasha groaned. “The rules of ‘not it’ do not apply here.”

His voice lowered, so that Cat had to really focus in order to hear it. “You know I’m the better choice. We both know long distance isn’t your thing.”

“I can handle myself with a gun.”

“Yeah, but face it, I’m better. I’ve got these babies.” Barton patted the quiver of arrows. “What, are you scared of me leaving you with some kid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not scared of the kid.”

“You totally are, though. You’re scared of the kid.”

“Shut up, moron,” Natasha murmured in Russian, so low that Cat could barely pick it up. “I’m not.”

Barton slipped her a cheeky grin. “Sounds like everything should be fine, then. See you in a bit.”

Natasha grabbed for his wrist. “You can’t just—”

Barton was prepared. He yanked his arm back just in time to escape her grip, dodged the punch she threw at him, and backflipped over the couch. It happened so quickly Cat barely had time to register that it happened until it did. Within seconds, he’d swiped a can of Pringles from the mess left on the floor that Cat’s backpack had made, and was out the door.

Natasha swore angrily after his retreating back, this time in a language Cat didn’t recognize. She could tell she was swearing because of how she said it, though, like the words were something disgusting that she was spitting out.

“Um, hi,” Cat said, in case the woman had forgotten about her.

Natasha’s gaze flitted back to her, but it was so furious that, for a moment, Cat’s words got stuck in her throat.

“Any chance you’ll let me go now?”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Thank you to everyone who read this story so far! Please comment or send me an ask if you have any thoughts! Natasha made her first appearance so I’m curious what you think of my portrayal of her! I'm still new to Tumblr so apologies if there are any formatting errors and stuff! Next chapter on Thursday!

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whore-ibly-hot · 10 months

Text

Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader

'His little bride.'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.

(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)

Part 2 here

The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.

General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.

"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.

He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.

He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.

"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.

"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.

His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.

You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.

"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.

"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.

"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.

He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.

"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.

As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.

"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.

Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.

Dear sir,

As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.

-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.

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